#i need a fucking link back to refer to for an ask i got so we're posting this now

[stellarxdeath]

[ BACK IN STYLE ]

My best [ Worst ] Girl.

[ w/ text under the cut ]

[fake-bleach]

ROAD TRIP STOP | LOGAN HOWLETT x READER

taking a small road trip with old man logan where you’re halfway to where you need to be, and you're bored out of your mind. unluckily for you, your boyfriend won't possibly give into your antics.

or, logan fucks you in a gas station bathroom <3

word count: 3.3k

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS: (18+ only!) fem!reader, porn w/ slight plot lol, piv, unprotected sex, this shit is roughhh, degrading, filthyyy dirty talk, use of pet names, slight choking, coming inside/creampie, manhandling? i guess?, logan refers to himself as "your old man" bc i'm insane, anddd happy ending bc we all know how much i love those! :D

a/n: there aren't nearly enough fics abt old man logan & i need him Badly.

+ logan pictures from @divinesols incredible moodboard <3

ao3 link! | my masterlist

you’re 4 hours into your road trip, and logan, well, being the man he is, hasn’t let you drive a single second.

he tells you that you can just sit there n�� look pretty and that’s good enough for him. but, he’s getting tired, and the nearest hotel isn’t for another 50 miles.

you notice his eyes getting heavier, his body slouching more, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. so, you do what you do best. why not have some harmless fun with your old boyfriend?

your hands subtly inch over to his thighs, fingers trailing the clothed skin just above his knee, and he flinches surprisingly, glancing at you for a moment with that tired face of his.

“what are y’doing? huh?” he asks, with a quirk in his eyebrow and his voice rasping more than usual from his fatigue; it only makes it all the more arousing for you.

you grin, your head turned to look up at him with a sly expression. “just waking you up a bit. you’re practically falling asleep here.”

your fingers move upwards now, slowly but surely, and right before you can reach the spot just below his bulge, he sighs out, gripping your hand to lightly push it off of him.

“not here. got another hour left til’ we’re at the hotel. then, we can rest up, baby.”

you pout, looking at him eagerly. “are you even gonna make it there, lo?” you tease, “your eyes are getting heavier, you’re tired.. why don’t you just let me drive?” you attempt, but you’re knocked down the second you try.

he huffs, shaking his head. “don’t you try that shit. you know what m’gonna say to that.”

you groan at that, rolling your eyes fussily as your head turns to look up at the roof of the car. “you’re insufferable,” you sigh out, jokingly, of course. but, you were with logan long enough to know just how stubborn he could be. that he could almost always be.

which means, you knew exactly how to get what you wanted, in more ways than one. 

let’s just say this way was more fun, anyway.

you let out an exasperated breath before turning back to face him, your eyes lighting up just slightly before you open up your mouth.

“guess i just gotta..” you trail off, hands now on your body with your fingertips grazing the skin on your chest; roaming around the loose shirt you had on. “..entertain myself for the next hour then..”

logan turns his head to you now, eyes fixing on your hand just long enough to catch you slip it underneath your bra, cupping one of your tits. you let out a low moan as you look into his eyes, fingers rolling the nipple there, and he scoffs.

it’s a sound that has your heart racing immediately.

“you’ve been a good girl so far, sweetheart. would hate for you to switch up when we’re almost fuckin’ there.” he warns you, turning his head back to the road, having seen enough. “don’t you start now. gonna make you regret it.”

a pang of arousal hits you just like that, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing as he threatens you; a threat that you definitely need to see for yourself.

you merely pout at him again, but his words aren’t enough to stop you. not when you’re just getting started.

your hand leaves your breast, slowly inching down your stomach, then to the waistband of your shorts, all with your eyes still locked on him. you bite your lip as your hand breaches underneath the material, testing the waters before your fingers reach the hem of your panties.

fingertips aching to dip into the wet heat, you anticipate your own touch as your hands lower, but an immediate grasp at your wrist stops you completely, eliciting a gasp from your throat.

mouth falling open in shock, you turn to look at the man responsible with that gruff look on his face, and that snarl from him gives you more than enough of a warning.

you clear your throat, letting out a noise of frustration towards your boyfriend as he all but tosses your hand away carelessly.

“knock. it. off. don’t make me say it again.”

logan nearly growls at you, moving in closer to get right in your face; he isn’t playing around, and you know it.

but, god, does it only encourage you more.

it isn’t until logan’s focus is completely back on the road that you test the waters again; your fingers finally inserting themselves into your soft, warm folds, wet and waiting so impatiently.

it makes you moan, a hushed sound that you try your hardest to bite back from releasing, but you’re evidently unsuccessful.

so, before you know it, the truck is swerving, causing you to pull yourself back to hold onto the sides of the car, anywhere that you could grab onto. the wheels squeal loudly as the high pitch penetrates your ears, and logan makes a harsh u-turn without a second to waste.

“lo! what the fuck!” you exclaim loudly, wild eyes reaching for his own, but it’s no use. he’s dead set in front of him, shaking his head furiously as the white of his knuckles present itself from holding onto the wheel so tightly.

he’s had enough of your shit.

his eyes never leave the road in front of him once, never returning to you. no matter how much you talk or try to get him to respond, he doesn’t budge.

instead, for the next 5 minutes, silence fills the space between you as your eyes shut from your frustration. it’s all you really can do at this point.

but, it’s only when the high screech of the wheels halting and the gear being put into park has your eyes opening again, eyes latching onto the bright lights in front of you.

a gas station, and the convenience store’s white luminescent glass reflecting on logan’s face. he’s out the driver’s side as soon as you can look at him, and before you can process it, he’s dragging you out of the truck, slamming the door shut as he does so.

you scramble against him, fists almost pushing their hardest into his chest as you whine loudly, increasingly dazed and confused.

“logan, what the fuck are you doing?! let go of me!”

you fight against him harder, but there’s nothing stopping him. not now.

he lets out an exasperated breath, his heavy footsteps embedding themselves into the loud gravel beneath them as he drags you along.

“don’t play that shit with me. actin’ like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” he practically yells at you in a hushed voice, “you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“walk.” he orders you instantly, and you don’t hesitate to obey. not when his voice gets like that.

most of all, because it makes your heart pound—pounding in your chest because he’s right. you know what you’re doing.. but, you can’t say you regret it. no, not one bit.

and if he’s gonna make you regret it, you might as well go all out. right?

his grip on your arm is tight as you walk side by side with him, leading you into the gas station with the door open for you. you can’t even acknowledge the cashier from how quick logan swifts the two of you past them; straight towards the bathroom, and it makes you gulp. 

it’s too late for anyone to be around, too late for anyone to care, and you know that. but, the thought exhilarates you anyway.

he shoves the door open with a hushed whisper—one that’s almost incoherent as it escapes his lips. “you wanna act like a fucking brat?” he shuts the door hurriedly, shoving your body against the sink, “i’m gonna treat you like a fucking brat.”

you yelp at the sudden movement, his fingers digging themselves into your skin as you cry out at the feeling. it’s rough and brutal and it burns, but it’s so fucking good.

“lo.. lo, please,” you whine as your eyes shut tightly, the overwhelming sensation of his hands on you and his hot breath hitting your skin being too much to handle.

your body is flush against the sink as you attempt to squirm, to try to get him to do something, anything.

that cruel laugh of his fills your ears—quiet yet booming in your head as it sends chills throughout your entire body, eyes flashing open to look at him in the mirror in front of you. “please? please?” logan mocks you, “do y’even know what you’re asking for, baby? nah.. you don’t.”

“you just want..” logan trails off, his hands mindlessly reaching for your shorts, “to get fucked.. like the whore you are.”

without a single warning, he yanks them down along with your panties, and your whines are impossible to stop when the cool air hits your bare skin. when his filthy words are the only thing you can think about.

“can’t keep these pretty hands to yourself, you gotta rile me up to do it for you?” you hear the clank of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his jeans sliding down, “gotta piss me off every goddamn time you get so fucking needy? i mean,” he laughs harder now, “not that i really blame you..”

logan pauses, and his eyes that were once staring directly at you now shift to look straight ahead, latching onto your mirrored reflection instead. as if he was looking right into you now. “pretty girl like you.. would be a shame to let this cunt go to waste. so, i’ll do you a favor..”

your jaw falls open in complete shock as your face contorts, as the tip of his cock breaches your tight hole, making your eyes roll back instantaneously with a sob from your lips.

“i’ll use her real good. for what she’s made for, yeah?”

your hands grip the sink in front of you as tightly as possible, body trembling as logan groans into your ear, his hands on your body never loosening.

instead, his grip only tightens as his hips become flush against your ass, his entire cock piercing you to the hilt with a satisfied moan.

“that was easier this time, wasn’t it? gettin’ used to me now. just needed to..” logan takes a moment to pull himself out of you, the tip resting against your entrance as he groans. he slams himself back inside of you so hard that your body fails you, your hands landing on the mirror to hold yourself up, bent over.

“break her in real fucking good.”

your body shakes against him as you cry out at his intrusion, stammering out a string of noises as your walls involuntarily clench around him over and over again. it’s almost as if you’re rapidly adapting to him; the way he stretches you out so much that it hurts in the best way possible. you’re pulsing around him, increasingly growing wetter by the second as your eyes water from the intense sensation.

your words slur with a few whines of what seem to be logan’s name as your hands move back to the sink, attempting to push yourself back up against him, but he stops you. grabbing one of your hands, he places it right against the mirror again, holding it still as he grinds himself into you. it makes you breathe out rapidly, body bent over the sink completely now.

“keep em’ right there. right fucking there. you don’t get to do that. y’don’t get to make any choices here.” he grunts in your ear, his thick beard grazing along your jaw as his eyes flicker from your face back to the mirror. he notices the way you’re trembling, eyes filled with those pretty tears of yours, and it makes him smile—a chuckle leaving him shamelessly.

he takes a moment to admire you, whispering out, “what i’m gonna do to you, baby..” and it makes your eyes flutter shut, warmth filling your core.

his other hand trails up the front of your body now, and it practically covers you completely because of how big it is—your stomach, your breasts, your chest, then finally, your neck. your gasp is loud; heavy, as his fingers wrap around your throat, holding you still for him.

all of you in the palm of his hand—all in his control.

you moan eagerly as he looks into your eyes through the mirror, grinning almost maliciously, “isn’t this what you wanted?” he laughs, his hips stirring a bit as he agonizingly pulls out of you, making you wince, “you wanted my attention so bad, wanted my cock so fucking bad..” he growls in your ear, his hand sliding from your throat to the back of your neck, pushing you down hard, and it makes you grip onto the side of the sink even more. 

“well, now you fucking got it.”

the sound of his rasping grunt hits you first; before you’re sobbing out on his cock, pelvis hammering inside of you with a tight hold on your neck, keeping you there with no chance of stopping, no squirming, no escaping.. no running away from this.

all you can do is take it as he pounds into you, the agonizing ache of his cock sliding in and out of you rapidly increasing the coil in your core, your loud cries and moans enough to make him go harder.

“there you go, there she is..” logan grits out, hands now grasping at your hips, smacking your ass, eliciting a grunt from you, “better fuckin’ hope no one walks in here, or else all they’re gonna see is some whore gettin’ used.”

you cry out as you feel the tip of his cock reach the deepest parts inside of you, nudging your g-spot suddenly as a tear slides down your cheek, your knuckles white from how tight you were grasping at your surroundings. your cheeks grow hot from the idea of that happening, stomach tightening as heat pools your core.

“what’d they think, huh? you think they’d wanna join in on the fun? bet they’d wanna fuck you too after i’m done with you. tightest fuckin’ hole i’ve ever had.”

you whine out now, shaking your head desperately in retaliation as you deny it. you couldn’t ever have another man like this, not now, not ever—only him.

logan sighs out, “no, no, no, i’d never let em’ baby, don’t you worry,” he reassures you, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “this,” he murmurs, his hand reaching to cup the front of your cunt, the rough skin on his palm grazing your clit just enough to make you squeal, “s’all fuckin’ mine. you hear me? not a single soul gets to use her like i can.”

“not like she’d want it anyway. only wants my cock in her. s’the only way she can really be filled up.. fucked stupid and cryin’ for me. ain’t that right? never got fucked by a man like me before y’met me, and i’m sure as hell no one will ever get her trembling like i do.”

you shake your head again, tears continuously spilling out of your eyes as your stomach tightens repeatedly, “n-no, lo, only you—” you stammer out as logan buries himself inside of you to the hilt, plunging into the warm heat of your walls, and he slows, relying on pure power than pace now. the harsh drive of his hips has your head fogging up, so close to reaching your peak with your cunt shuddering.

“ohh, there we go, she’s doing it now. shaking all over this fucking cock, squeezin’ me so tight,” he hisses, “that all you up in this pretty little head, or can you even control it? can’t even control it, can you, baby?”

a string of noises leaves your lips, breathless and mixed with whines and a few tears in your eyes as your core spasms out, his cock hitting deep inside of you repeatedly.

“what was that? can’t really.. understand you, baby, y’gotta speak up..” he teases, a mean laugh escaping his throat, “c’monnn, use your words, really think em’ out, say em’ clearly.”

“c’mon, show me that you’re still my good girl. my good little girl. speak up for your old man, honey.”

you yelp out at his filthy words, “m’.. i c-can’t.. control it, ah!” your moans involuntarily stringing out, eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of your head, your pussy convulsing around him intensely. “g-gonna–c-cum, lo, oh—” you spit out, your chest grasping for as much air as possible.

he hums in your ear now, fingers reaching for your clit and fastening tight, harsh circles at it, making you shudder, your cunt throbbing around his cock—pulsating over and over again as you start to see white. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart, gonna make you take it, fuck.”

you can’t even register him anymore as he talks you through it, the “come for me, baby,” muffled in your ears as you listen to him, cunt constricting around him tightly as you soak him, and the sound is filthy as logan chases his release, squelching loudly from your climax.

you let out a muffled sob as logan finally reaches his peak, slamming himself deep inside of you as he holds you there, the spurts of white hot spilling & coating your walls. all you can hear is the ringing in your ears, along with the mixture of your heavy breaths and logan’s rasps surrounding you.

logan’s strong arms pull you up against him as you catch your breath, heart rate slowing as your back leans against his chest tiredly. he mutters sweet nothings to you, praising you with kisses along your neck, cheek, then to your lips.

“my good fucking girl, my sweet girl—oh, baby,” he hums in your ear, eyes shut as he takes you in. you sigh out, breathing him in as your hand reaches behind, landing on the back of his head to pull him in closer, “god, i love you.”

you laugh, pressing a mindless kiss on his skin, “i love you more, lo, i–i’m sorry for acting out, for being such a—” you begin to apologize, but he just shuts you up with another peck to your lips. “shh, you hush now. i appreciate it.. you riling me up all the damn time. s’ the only way i can still feel so young.”

you giggle, eyes opening up to turn your head to him, taking in his disheveled look—tired, old, grumpy. the man you loved, as handsome as ever.

“always young in my eyes, lo..” you smile, “besides.. it’s the only way i can get you to fuck me that good.” you tease.

he huffs, rolling his eyes. “i fuck you that good every goddamn time, n’ don’t you deny it.”

you laugh, nodding. you can’t deny that fact. but, your eyebrows furrow slightly, suddenly thinking back to the previous events.

“did you really fuck me in a gas station bathroom, babe? what if someone walked in?!” you groan, pushing your forehead into his chest, embarrassed.

he chuckles, “locked it the minute we got in here, baby. wouldn’t let anyone see you like that,” he reassures you, gently gripping the side of your head to make you look up at him, “you got that?”

his face is stern now as he looks into your eyes, and those butterflies in your stomach erupt as if it were the first time you ever got them from him. you nod though, gleaming up at him.

“got it.”

he grins, “good. now, let’s get you cleaned up n’ back on the road. back’s killing me even more now n’ that bed’s calling my name.”

you laugh at him, teasing him further. “old man.”

you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[bbokicidal]

A Simple Analysis. | OT8 [SKZ]

Warnings: I'm gonna be straight discussing these men and their pp sizes so if you don't want to read about that then just skip this post, no biggie.

Notes: I'm just theorizing what I think they're like 'n I included some good 'ol references. Please note - these references include pictures/videos of the boys AS WELL AS pictures that are NOT the boys but are references to what I picture in my head when I write smut for them. I also need to thank @skzms because I Lowkey could not find bulge pics/vids on my own and their post really helped me out w that.

Extra Warning: There are twitter links in this post, so you know what that means!! Watch at your own discretion losers, I don't want ppl in my inbox whining that I use refs that 'don't look like them' like obv jfc let me hop on bub quick to ask Chris for a dick pic smh.

Extra extra warning: I like slowly lost the ability to think the more I wrote this because all I was doing was looking at SKZ cock so I mean. forgive me.

Chris

HEA. VY.

Heavy Heavy Heavy !!!! I said what I said !!! And if you want to know why, you can simply look at this video!! If I'm being totally honest here, I don't think he's massive down below but I do think he's a little above average at least. Maybe -- mm... six and a half inches? Pretty sure it's pretty, pink, and always leaking pre because he gets hard so easily.

Also, pretty sure it's relatively thick. I mean, we've seen it a few times before in his pants/shorts, so... definitely enough to make you whimper when he's splitting you open. <3

I'm not even gonna like. explain why I think this bc I'm pretty sure we all know but it's veiny as fuck and you cannot argue w that.

And his favorite thing is when you mention during sex how full you feel just bc of how heavy he is. :]

In conclusion: Pretty pink fat cock that is more than enough to make you feel incredible each time you fuck. <3333

Minho

This man is... packing. p a c k i n g.

Packing like I'm pretty sure it's not like thick thick but it's thick enough and it's probably more on the purple side than the pink side, and it's so fucking long--

Not as heavy as Chan but definitely bigger. Bigger, longer, one pretty blue vein running up the side. Literally so perfect and just the right size for your hands to fit around. Also not too long to the point where it hurts to take it but definitely... big. Seven, at least. At. Least.

And his favorite thing is when you whine about how he's fucking you so good that you might die. Dunno why that comment specifically gets to him, but he makes sure to fuck you a little deeper after that.

In conclusion: pretty cock for a pretty man and so fucking yummy.

Changbin

Okay look people might disagree but I think Binnie's a lil on the smaller side !!

Now look. I'm not saying 'bah this bitch has a small cock' I'm just saying it's not a cervix-kisser like a few of the men on this list. It's just right!! It's the perfect size to be perfectly comfortable when fucking and he knows that 'n he's happy with it. (I'm thinking five, bc five is a comfy size.)

However.

He will ABSOLUTELY split you wide fucking open with how thick he is. This man has the chubbiest, pink, mouth-watering, pussy-dripping, eyes-rolling-back, tears running down your thighs, cock ever !!! He's gotta prep you for so fucking long and there is always soooo much foreplay to you two having sex because he's just so thick that if you don't prep lots it's gonna hurt a lil and Bin really really just wants to take care of you. :(((

And his favorite thing is seeing the way you struggle to take him in your mouth because of how thick he is. :]]]]]

In conclusion: best cock on this list. <3

Hyunjin

Hoh. My God.

Hyunjin,,,, ... Hyunjin's packing a fucking rod of a cock, I can't even lie to you. I'm like 90% sure it's at least eight inches and if it isn't then I'm dead. Y'all thought Minho was big? LAWD have mercy, Hyunjin's got a fucking PIPE on him. A third leg, if you will. Shit slaps his thigh when he walks if he don't wear briefs.

SO. PRETTY. I keep saying all their cocks are pretty BC THEY ARE I JUST KNOW IT but Hyunjin's cock is actually fucking gorgeous like it's the type where even if you're someone who's like "I don't like dick pics" and he sends you one?? you're like "omg y'know what I've had an epiphany"

Not like heavy or thick like the others but soooo long, soooo pretty, soooo mouth watering. The type of cock that has you actually drooling and getting fucked dumb every time he puts it in you.

And his favorite thing is when you do just that ^ and go all quiet n whimpery during sex because your brain is mushy.

In conclusion: Monster cock and no one can convince me otherwise !!

Jisung

Mm, okay. I think it's -- average?? But see I dunno why but I'm picturing a little on the thinner side. (AND NO THAT ISN'T MY SUB JI SUPREMACY MINDSET SPEAKING) but just bc it's a little thinner doesn't mean it's not heavy !!!

And even though it only might be like - five and a half, it's still so cute and so pretty and so fucking tasty!!!

Also like a firm believer that he jerks it at least twice a day, sorry not sorry.

And his favorite thing is when you blow him because you just take it so well and he loves seeing it all disappear down your throat <33 mm mm mmmm !!

In conclusion: Mmmm,,, cutest cock on the list <3

Felix

Y'all keep saying Felix has a little cock just bc you enjoy Twink Felix and look - I too enjoy Twink Felix but I also believe in frat boy Felix supremacy SO -

Big dick Felix in the building !!!

Pretty sure he's above average. Like, 6 or 6 and a half, maybe?? SO pretty, cut, pink, so so cute, so fucking yummy looking.

Easily like, the slickest cock on the list. And if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. if you don't that too bad ig.

The type of cock you wanna like. put in your mouth forever and just never stop giving him head fr.

And his favorite thing is when you jerk him because sometimes he just doesn't have the energy or care but he wants it. Plus your hands look so much better on it than his do. :ccc <333

In conclusion: Pretty, big, hefty cock that fills you up soooo good. Also constantly leaking cum n making a mess but you didn't hear that from me !!!!

Seungmin

Y'all,,, I'm not just saying this because I'm a Seungmin bias but,,,

This man has a fucking. rod. Not like Hyunjin-length rod but rod that's like at least seven inches and I refuse to believe otherwise because have you seen the,,,,

Fucking!!Monster!!Of!!A!!Cock!!!!

Thick! So thick! So heavy! Rivals Chris w how heavy he is !!

And his favorite thing is when you choke on it because raaahhh!!! (im not okay)

In conclusion: 2Min Monster Cock Squad

Jeongin

Holy God y'all.

Think I mentioned it once in a post where I was like, "P sure Jeongin has a big dick because as soon as he hit 21 he had this massive boom in confidence n I'm p sure it's bc his dick grew like 6 inches"

Sooooo,,, pretty sure he's also in the monster cock squad.

Like, at least seven inches, again. So big, so tasty. The type of cock that makes you pray to God it won't rip you apart because I just know he fucks hard, bro.

And his favorite thing is when you actually scream during sex because of how good he makes you feel. <3

In conclusion: Jeongin big dick supremacy, we all know he's packing a fucking log of summer sausage in his boxers.

Taglist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

[luffysprincess]

LIE DETECTOR TEST : RENSUKE KUNIGAMI 

⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions

⊹ pairing : rensuke kunigami x reader (established relationship)

⊹ wc : 740

⊹ warnings : fem!reader with she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a “girlfriend”, unedited, suggestive/nsfw. MINORS DNI

⊹ a/n : kunigami was highly requested and I’m sorry for such a long wait but I finally got the motivation to write his part!! lmk who should be interviewed next <33 ALSO if anyone has a reblog of bachira’s version pls send me the link. I never saved it before I deactivated my previous acc TT

⊹ isagi’s version | bachira’s version

Kunigami’s never been hooked up to a polygraph before. He’s never been in an interview like this before either. When the team’s PR manager introduced the idea to the team, Kunigami was rather excited for something so fun and unique. It’d definitely get them more attention and hopefully expand their fan base. Not to mention, he used to love watching those ‘answering your tweets’ interviews so he was looking forward to being on the other end of the screen this time. 

He, however, did not expect the fans to be so dirty minded. 

“Twitter user @/rensuckmyclit asks ‘How do you feel about breeding and how do I get myself a rensuke creampie??’”

He shouldn’t be so surprised, not after hearing what Isagi and Bachira had to answer but he was hoping he’d get some tame questions. How in the hell was he supposed to answer this?

It didn’t help that he could hear the two men beside him laughing at his expression, one of shock, confusion and embarrassment. But he’s made his bed and now he’s gotta lie in it or however the saying goes. 

“Yeah breeding is…nice, and uh you can’t?” his statement coming out as more of a question. 

All heads in the room turn to Milo, the polygraph examiner, curious to hear his verdict but are met with an old man frowning at his machine. “Inconclusive.”

“Maybe try saying more than just two words, idiot,” Isagi sarcastically adds as he punches his arm. 

“Don’t bother lying, Milo’ill catch ya,” Bachira adds, grinning mischievously at the ginger. 

“I’ll repeat the question for you: ‘How do you feel about breeding and how do I get myself a rensuke creampie??’”

“How are you even saying that with a straight face?!” Kunigami questions. “Ugh nevermind.…Breeding is uh…a yes for me.”

“So you’re into it?”

“Yes I’m into it,” he sighs.

“Milo?”

“Truth”

“And as for the second part of the question—god I can’t believe I’m about to say this on camera—,” Kunigami drags his hand down his face and mutters out the rest of the answer, “only Y/N gets a ‘rensuke creampie’.” He uses his free hand to form air quotes for the embarrassing term. 

“Y/N?” the interviewer questions.

“My girlfriend. Now can I get the next question before these two pass out? Megs looks like he forgot how to breathe– dammit its not that funny!” Hearing their usually collected teammate lose his temper over this only released another wave of cackles from the boys, contagious enough that even the polygraph examiner and the interviewer couldn’t hold back their chuckles. Kunigami can only huff in embarrassment as he waits for what’s next.

“Okay, okay… our next question is from twitter user @/kunigamisrightasscheekhairs.”

“What the fuck are these handles?”

“I think they’re creative,” Bachira snickers.

“They ask ‘What’s the weirdest thing you’ve been asked to sign?’”

Kunigami takes a second to reflect on all his fan interactions. Frowning, he hums in thought and just when he thinks he’s got answer he remembers an even odder instance. On the outside he looks like a fish opening and closing its mouth with nothing ever coming out until finally he sits up straighter to respond, “Someone once asked me to sign her tits.” 

“What’s the verdict Milo? Is he telling the truth?”

“Yup.”

“Well did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sign the girl’s tits.”

“I don’t need to answer that so I won’t” Kunigami smirks at Isagi feeling smart but the blue eyed man just smirks back, “Well that just makes it seem like you definitely did. I wonder if Y/N knows about this. Should I tell her?”

Isagi is met with Kunigami’s playful glare and a series of curses thrown at him, all of which will be censored out when this episode is posted on BlueTube. 

However, the room is silenced when Kunigami goes serious. He turns to the camera with a straight face, “I’m only admitting this because I don’t want any false accusations of me cheating or anything going around. Yes I signed her tits. And yes Y/N knows about it. They were her tits. And because I know one of these two idiots will ask, yes we were dating at the time.”

“All true,” the examiner confirms but one look at Kunigami’s face would be more than enough to know if he was really telling the truth. Afterall, his face was turning redder than his hair. 

taglist:  @kazuubaby @satanblessing @saiki-enthusiast @nnasv @nymphsdomain @mitzukichan18 @celestair @ilovechuuyaa @mortallytenaciouskoala @tsumu-senpai @hweartiish

[tactical-jellyfish]

How the 141 handles long-term relationships

Warnings!: Nothing, other than a reference to Simon's dad. Just silly fluff to tide my sillies (you guys) over until the new chapters of the big boy fic(s) are done :)

Also: Price isn't included in this because I wrote a fic where he's an absolute asshole and accidentally made myself dislike him. Might add him later, idk.

Simon Riley is not nearly the stern man everyone thinks he is when he's at home.

It's kind of funny, really, but he's quiet, and he is stupid in love (assuming he already trusts you as a partner, which, if he's dating you, he does). Something like a cat, really.

He wants to be in your vicinity, always. He wants to know you're safe and okay at every hour he can, but sometimes he can't handle all that lovey shit.

This is why I do think Simon would spring for someone who is very quiet, and not very touchy. He adores that, he really does. It would be even better if you didn't mind having a big, bulky man staring at you while you work for hours on end.

It's to the point that, when the rest of the task force comes over, they aren't sure if you're a roommate or a spouse(?) until they see Simon gently bump his forehead with yours, watch how he follows you the same way a prissy longhair will trail after its nonchalant owner.

Price pulls you over that night and tells you that you have his full permission to marry the lieutenant. Simon hears him, but he doesn't say anything.

Another thing: He wants desperately to take your last name. It doesn't matter if it's stupid, he wants it so badly.

He's a bastard even with a father who was a bastard. His name links him back to corpses and an abuser, he wants to be rid of it. He won't ask, but if you do, he cries.

You've seen Simon cry before. You have. Mostly after nightmares, the especially bad ones. This is nothing like that.

He cries of joy before you twice. The first is when you let him take your last name, and the second is on your "wedding" day.

There is no ceremony, just a short trip to the courthouse. He cries anyway, watching you sign the papers, pulls you into a firm hug as he sniffles into your shoulder, tells you how much he fucking adores you.

He won't let you forget that. Ever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Johnny MacTavish is a harder task.

He's always one very predictable sort of way in his relationships: Playful. Loving and witty, always ready to tease.

Sure, there are days he's tired, days he's beat to the bone and he just wants to collapse and let moss grow over him, but he sees you and he gets a shot of something divine.

It doesn't matter who you are, really. Sometimes he needs you to match the energy a little, but other than that, he could get on well with any partner, as long as love is reciprocal.

Weddings, though... it depends.

This is where most of my more personal headcanons come into play here. I really think Soap's family is very Catholic. And that Soap is very bisexual.

If his family doesn't know (assuming the relationship is straight, too), it's great! It's a packed venue, sure, but it's raucous in the loving, familial way.

Soap wears his best kilt, cries a little as you walk down the aisle and kisses you so long his mother smacks him over it.

If not (he got kicked out, presumably years before)... it's much less fun.

He still adores you, truly, but, again, it's a bit solemn for him. Seeing you, perfect you, ready to marry a man who has no family left who wants him, it's a nasty feeling.

Johnny sees you the way he thinks everyone should. You're a person, yes, but of practically biblical levels of perfection, in his eyes. You've put up with so much, done so much, and you want him.

He won't ever get to show you to his mother, or his sisters, or his cousins, but he wants to. God, does he want to. He just knows they would have adored you, as they should.

But he can't. And it bums him out, it really does.

Still, he takes your face into his hands, and kisses you like the sinner he is, pours himself into your silhouette like he could somehow peel your ribs apart and find a space near your heart, to sit and love you for as long as he can.

No one is there to smack him for taking too long, and you hold him. And that's enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kyle Garrick is honestly the least challenging to end up in the good graces of.

He wants, more than anything, a peer. Someone who he can talk shit with and feel good confiding in.

So, of course he fell into a relationship with you. How could he not? Look at you. Brilliant, he'll say that. Brilliant, and an absolute menace with the silveriest tongue he's ever seen.

Again, like most, he's not really crazy about getting married. Not while he has a job so risky and at his age. It's more of an eventually, he feels no pressure to lock you down so fast, he already knows he has you, and that's enough for him.

This is most of the reason why the engagement is so long. I'm talking several years. Yes, multiple years. Moved in together, got a pet or two, even the rings.

And it's great, everything he could ask for. He comes home to a brilliant partner every day he's got the time, and he always wants to see you, because you're you. You can discuss, you can debate, and you can pull him over and tell him when he's being stupid.

The partnership works. And it keeps working.

At some point, you two were effectively married in everything but law, so you just forgot about the "wedding" bullshit and got one of his aunts to officiate in the living room and had a party that night with family.

Like any good soldier, Kyle has many issues with stress when he's home. His ultimate solution is to cuddle you whenever you won't be annoyed with it. Sometimes you talk, sometimes it's quiet, he doesn't mind.

He just wants you. Always.

And he knows he always will.

[abbyshands]

i need more sub ellie omg that was so good

welcomed

PALESTINE LINKS | before engaging !!! | click before you fic ♡ | m. list | join my tag list!

♡ a/n; this is an old req but !!! finally getting around to it so let’s hope this suffices. been having breeding kink brain rot the last few days so this was more than necessary <3

♡ pairing; sub!ellie williams x dom!fem!reader

♡ warnings; ellie calls reader mommy/mama/ma'am, use of a dildo, choking (r!receiving), sweet degrading (pretty slut, sweet whore), praise, nicknames for ellie (hun, baby, sweet girl, pretty girl), titty sucking, huge breeding kink, reader refers to dildo as her cock/dick, dildo is referred to as reader's cock/dick, etc

♡ synopsis; you had been out on patrol, all fucking day. so, when you're finally back home, finally back in ellie's arms, she's not afraid to show you just how much she missed you.

♡ wc; 1.6k

she said “fuck me like i’m famous,” i said, OKAY.

FOR VISUAL PURPOSES.

ellie had all but jumped into your arms as soon as you had gotten back from patrol, face buried into your neck, hands around your body. she was needy, your poor baby, pent up all day from you being gone.

and you couldn't just leave her like that, could you?

you were kneeling in the midst of ellie's legs, spread wide open for you, her pretty pussy soaked as you pumped your black dildo in and out of it. ellie's head was cocked backwards, auburn hair messy over the pillow as small whines escaped her lips.

"m- mommy, fuck," she cussed as her body squirmed, her hands rested on your hips as her face went pink. "please, can you, fuck, need you to, mmm," she spluttered. she couldn't properly get her words out, not when you were fucking her like this.

but you wouldn't let her off that easy.

"what, baby? c'mon, use your words for me," you rasped, beginning to rub your thumb over ellie's swollen clit as you forced your dildo in and out of her cunt. ellie let out a small groan of annoyance as she bit into her bottom lip.

“f- faster, mommy. c’you move faster?” ellie whined, pale green eyes wide and dilated as ellie looked into you. and if moves could speak? she'd be fucking begging.

you take it upon yourself to force your cock deeper into ellie's cunt, causing a mewl of your name to escape her lips, her body jerking. you can't help the smirk that crosses your face when it happens, and, of course, it only encourages you to give her all that she's asking for.

“mhm. whatever my pretty slut needs,” you hum, pumping your black dildo in and out of ellie's pussy as fast as your hand will allow you to.

ellie's response is quick as her head falls back into the pillow behind her, because just like that, you've got your girl right where you want her. “f- fuck! feels so, fuck, good. don’t stop, mama.”

“not gonna, hun. nah uh. gonna keep fucking this cunt ‘til my baby’s making a mess all over my cock, yeah?” you rasp, and now, you move closer. you move so you’re hovering above ellie on your knees, while managing to make your access to her cunt even better than it'd been before.

“mmph, y- yes, mommy,” she whined brokenly, clearly liking the view of you on your knees. maybe a bit too much, but not that you minded at all.

ellie only grew more desperate, more needy, as time went on. you'd be concerned she was being a bit too loud, to the point where people outside of your shared home could hear you. if you gave a fuck.

“god, shit,” ellie moaned as she reached her hand out to grasp your neck, veiny hands closing around it in a somewhat rough grip. you let out a groan of your own once the pressure seeps into your skin, your eyes shutting in pleasure in no more than a second.

“oh, would you look at that. is mommy fucking her girl dumb? god, such a sweet fucking whore," you praise your good girl, even if the rasp in your tone makes you sound pretty whorish yourself. "all cockdrunk for me when i’m only using my hand. must really like mama’s dick, hm?” you tease.

ellie nods eagerly in response, like you'll suddenly fade away if she doesn't. she forces herself to look into your eyes just to drive you crazy, and she does. "mmm, y- yeah, w- want you to, fuck, put a baby into me, mommy. canfeelyousodeep.”

well, that was new. and ridiculously welcomed.

you and ellie had had talks every once in a while, about what it would be like to have a baby, if you could. who would get who pregnant, who could handle it better. silly discussions of the sort that were usually just that: silly. but now? fuck. you hadn't known it would go to your girl's head like this. you hadn't known how much it would go to yours.

and what kind of person would you be to not oblige?

“is that right, hun? need me to fuck a baby into that pretty little pussy of yours?” you voice, and the words come out easily, as if you've said them to ellie over and over again in the past. ellie's brain seems to click right there, because she enables a moan so pornographic from her lips, it's criminal. illegal.

ellie doesn't have enough time to find herself embarrassed by what she's just said. she's too damn needy, too wet, too far gone, to really say much at all. barely, she manages to mutter a few words in response. “mmm, yes, please. s’all i want. you’re all i want," she says, and it's obvious her words are genuine. she needs you. no one else. just you.

“such a good girl. god, so fucking tight. pretty hole’s just begging for me to fill it, huh?" you groan, her words making you ravenous, and her whines making you crazy. you move in closer to ellie, your lips a mere few inches away from hers, before going on. "wanna be filled in mommy’s cum so bad, don’t you, yeah? my pretty slut needs me to fill her up?"

ellie's speechless, pausing, just to whimper as loud as she can, her eyes rolling back into her head as she begins to feel your index rubbing her swollen clit. you give her her time, fucking her into submission as you wait for her to become coherent once more. and when she does? 

you know she's a wreck for you.

“y- yes, ma’am. so bad. please, i’ll be so good for you. s’good, just, just—please," she splutters out finally, voice broken, whiny, and goddamn desperate, and all you could think about was how pretty she was. too pretty for her own good. and just to cap it?

she was all yours.

“i know you will. such a pretty little slut for me, hm? needy girl. gonna make you a mama, yeah? just like you want,” you rasp.

but you’re nowhere near done.

“god, my sweet whore can’t get enough of me, huh? let me use this pretty pussy all day if i wanted to. how long have you been craving me, baby?”

ellie’s way too quick to answer. “all day, mama. patrol’s too long, fuck. could barely manage," ellie easily obliges your ask, and you can't help but chuckle, nor can you help what you do following.

but ellie doesn't seem to mind.

you bend down from your knees and use your lips to latch onto one of ellie's pretty nipples, which is rock hard for you. you've got her moaning easily as you swirl masterfully around her breast, all while your attack on her pussy never ceases. “poor girl. probably getting yourself wet, pretty legs all pressed up, body begging for some release," you say, words coherent, as your lips remain on ellie's nipple. "well, don’t worry, hun. mommy’s here to take care of you. right?”

ellie nodded eagerly, her hand remaining on your neck, but now being on the back of it. words failing her badly, she can only manage a broken, little, “r- right.”

maybe if you were feeling mean, you'd make your girl say a little bit more than that. but right now, from the way ellie was looking up at you, to how fucking soaked she was? you decided to be a bit more generous than usual.

your movements on, in ellie's pussy, and your lips on her nipple, make it impossible for her to hold on for much longer, as you knew it would. actually, it'd been your goal from the jump. her grip on your neck grows rougher, and you know you've got her now. “fuck, mommy, so close, s’close. can feel you in me, fuck," ellie whines.

“i know you can, hun. gonna fill my pretty girl up, yeah? make a fucking mama out of you like you want," you groan as you feel her fingers close around your neck's back, cutting off more of your oxygen, and sending a rush of butterflies down to your own cunt. "just keep being good for me. give you as many babies as you want.”

“mmph, as many as i want, mommy?” ellie whimpers. oh, does she like that idea.

you smirk, adoring the way ellie's words flow so prettily from her lips. adoring the way only you can make her feel like this; how the gorgeous brunette below you was yours and yours alone. “mhm. whatever my baby needs? she can have.”

and, finally. . .

“f- fuck, m- mommy, gonna cum. please, can i cum?”

you quicken your pace, moving your hand as fast as you possibly can as you force your dick in and out of ellie's cunt at a goddamn sinner's pace. it's only then that you decide to allow ellie's body to have all it's been begging for. “mmm, ‘course you can, sweet girl," you rasp, easily. "c’mon. make a mess for me.”

she doesn't need much more than that.

you have ellie finishing in seconds once you give her permission to, and the brunette girl is gorgeous as she buries her face into the pillow, voice a whiny wreck, your name falling from her lips. her back arches up into your hand as you talk her through her orgasm, your own face growing warm as you watch her fall apart for you.

“oh, fuck, thankyou, thankyousomuch," ellie hurriedly moaned out as her rear side came back down to the bed. her green eyes bored into yours as she panted, pale cheeks hot in a rosy blush. "you’re so fucking good. fuck.”

“y’think so, baby?” you smile at her, slowly but surely removing your cock from her cunt once you were sure she was fully pleased. ellie returned your expression, but it wasn't in the form of a smile, or a grin. she was smirking.

you knew full well what that was about.

“i know so. now, can i make you feel good, too?”

reblogs are very much welcomed (get it?) <3

divider creds !

[ego13]

AFTER MIDNIGHT part. 1 – y.jm

PAIR ࿐ fem! reader x yu jimin. GENRE ࿐ pure angst/smut, detective, criminalistic. WARNINGS ࿐ murders, violence, semi-detailed description of corpses, references to child abuse/harassment, drug references, cheating, redflag!jimin, deception, complicated relationships, eventual smut, cunnilingus, kissing, impact play, misleading, praise kink, pet names (sweetheart , baby), open ending. SYNOPSIS ࿐ a series of suspicious murders have swept through a small town, raising it to its ears, which forces you to take up the case, not even suspecting that one of your "old" friends will return from the shadows. WORD COUNT 11,2k ࿐ PLAYLIST After Midnight ࿐

Jimin was holding her half of the headphones delicately, as if it were a secret she didn’t want the nobody to steal. The other half nestled in your ear, you leaned her head just slightly closer, lying it on her shoulder. The soft chords of "Sleepwalking" by Bring Me The Horizon drifted between you both, carried by the tiny MP3 player tucked in her hoodie pocket.

“We’ll always be together, right?” she asked, her voice quieter than the song, almost swallowed by the wind.

You turned to look at her. Her eyes were interested and serious, her dark hair tangled slightly from the breeze. There was something in her expression — an earnestness that made the moment feel like it was being carved into the wood beneath you.

“Always,” you said without hesitation, reaching out to pinky swear.

Jimin smiled then — bright, unguarded, and free. Your pinkies linked like the final note of a perfect song, sealed by laughter and that last chorus echoing in their ears.

"Why are you even asking me this? Is there something I don't know?" You asked with a ringing interest in your voice, clearly surprised by such a sudden interest in this kind of question.

"No... you know more about me than I do, even if I wanted to hide something from you, you would understand in the first moments," Jimin chuckled, clearly changing the subject, trying to avoid a direct answer to the question.

"You're right, so don't even think about hiding anything from me! I'll find out anyway," you giggled, turning your gaze into the distance, connecting the bright stars into small constellations in the clear sky with your gaze.

Noticing this, Yu smiled, she didn’t look at the stars, she didn’t need to, the brightest and most beautiful star in her life was now sitting in front of her, that's why her hand slowly crept up to yours, carefully intertwining your fingers together.

"Just... just suddenly, just suddenly, if something happens to me, will you promise to always remember me?"

The question made you look back at her, looking at her with eyes full of uncertainty. Why was she asking such strange things? The question was stuck in your head and you couldn't find the right words to answer, just nodding silently, taking a deep breath.

Seeing this, her hand tightened its grip on yours, smiling weakly as she brought it to her lips, leaving a few kisses on each of your knuckles as the last chords of the song slowly faded away.

The sound of wind faded. The song cut out.

Your eyes opened.

The room was dark except for the blinking light on her phone vibrating against the nightstand. Your head throbbed slightly — a dull reminder of falling asleep without eating. You blinked once before reaching the phone.

"Yunbin, Investigative Committee."

You answered, voice rough. “Yeah?”

“You’re awake! Thank god.” Yunbin’s tone was clipped. “Check your email. Right fucking now. It’s urgent.”

You sat up, rubbing the heel of her hand into her eye. “Can’t it wait until morning I have a fucking meeting with of Mr. Park tomorrow, if I don't get enough sleep I'll definitely spit in his face.

“No, this can't wait,” he said. “It’s him. We got new evidence. Check your inbox. The email with the archive is there. Password is the usual. Please don't delay. Let me know the second you open it.”

He hung up before you could say anything else.

You sighed, shoved the blanket aside, and dragged her laptop from under the bed. Fingers trembled slightly as you typed in her password — more from the chill than fear, or so you told yourself.

The email was already waiting. No subject. No text. Just an attachment named "SEASIDE_CASE_ARCHIVE.zip"

You clicked it. Entered the password. The archive opened.

There were four folders. Each named after a date. Each containing photos.

You clicked the first one.

The screen filled with images of a body — a young girl, no older than twenty, laid out in the sand. Her stomach was sliced open in a clean, straight line, the flesh parted but blood minimal, as if the cut had been made with professional precision. Her face was eerily calm. In her hands, arranged gently, was a small bouquet of white lilac.

You clicked through the other folders. The pattern repeated.

Four girls. All killed in the same way. All on the same spit of land by the sea — but each found in a slightly different spot. Their torsos opened. Their hands clutching lilac. There was no chaos in the scenes. No mess. Just death, arranged with cold care.

Your stomach turned.

The medical team had nicknamed the killer “The Reaper.” Well... you could see why.

There was nothing passionate or messy about the murders. Just clinical brutality. It didn’t look like rage. It looked like a statement. What was planned, damn, this bastard definitely has professional hands, you were willing to bet that the guys from the forensics team who have done more autopsies in their careers than you can imagine could do such a precise abdominal dissection.

You closed the last photo and sat still in the silence, the sound of the laptop’s fan the only thing filling the room.

Your phone buzzed again. A new message from Yunbin.

Yunbin:

Do any of the girls look familiar to you?

You:

No... I’ve never seen any of them before.

Yunbin:

Are you sure?

You:

One hundred percent. Why?

Yunbin:

All four girls were around your age. 15 to 18. No known family connections. Different backgrounds, no ties to each other on paper. But here’s where it gets strange.

You:

Go on.

Yunbin:

Three of them had registered visits to the same mental health clinic in Seoul. Same month. Same doctor. No details on the sessions — records sealed.

You:

What about the fourth?

Yunbin:

No clinic record... but get this — she was caught shoplifting from a pharmacy six months ago! Security footage shows her muttering to herself and holding a bouquet of lilac.

You:

White lilac? Same lilac?

Yunbin:

Exactly.

You:

So... he targets vulnerable girls?

Yunbin:

Looks that way. Victims showed signs of recent emotional stress — anxiety, insomnia, some hinted at suicidal ideation in personal journals or police interviews.

You:

How the hell does he pick them?

Yunbin:

That’s the question. There’s no digital link. No chatrooms, no shared devices, no obvious connection between them.

You:

And no one saw him?

Yunbin:

No witnesses. He moves fast. The bodies were all found within 24 hours of death. No defensive wounds either. It’s like they didn’t fight.

You:

Or couldn’t?

Yunbin:

Exactly! Autopsies show they were sedated before the incision. Carefully. Nothing messy.

You:

Listen... I need everything you have on that clinic.

Yunbin:

Already on it. I’ll send you the internal list of patients from the month they visited. Might be something there. Including staff rosters. Maybe someone slipped.

You:

Thanks. I’ll dig in.

Yunbin:

One more thing.

You:

Yeah?

Yunbin:

I was told that she, a woman, called the local clinic. She made a call to emergency services a week before the first victim.

You:

What did she say?

Yunbin:

The transcript’s short. She said: “He’s coming. He already took her. I saw it in her eyes.” Then hung up. The number is unavailable, geolocation cannot be calculated, apparently the phone is for one-time use.

You:

The owner of the phone could not be identified either?

Yunbin:

That’s what I'm trying to find out.

You:

Fine, going to sleep now, because I'm about to switch off. I'll meet you at the the office.

You set the phone face down on the desk and leaned back in the headboard. The screen still glowed faintly, casting a cold light across the room. Eyes burned from staring too long. The images from the archive were still there in the back of your mind.

The victims have no connection? This will need to be checked, because if this is really the case, how then do we even look for the maniac? How do we predict the next victim?

You closed the laptop. Stood up, your knees ached slightly from sitting too long. You pulled the curtains tighter and crawled back into bed without changing. The sheets were still warm. She lay flat on her back, eyes open in the dark.

Sleep came slowly, despite the mess that's going on in your head.

The alarm buzzed at 7:15. You slapped it off without even opening your eyes.

Body felt like it had been hit by a truck. You lay there for another minute, then rolled out of bed and dragged yourself to the bathroom.

You stared at herself in the mirror. Pale. Hair is a fucking mess. You looked like someone who hadn’t slept properly in days, and that... wasn’t far from the truth.

In the kitchen, you made yourself some black coffee and didn’t bother with breakfast. Just stood at the counter, sipping it in silence. Thoughts about what happened didn't leave your head. And that dream with Jimin, what was that all about?

You moved on autopilot — pulled on dark slacks, a white blouse, blazer, boots. Tied your hair back loosely. Slid the badge into the pocket, then her ID, then her USB drive.

Laptop in the bag. Phone charged. Everything is strictly according to the template by which you lived every fucking day.

You checked the lock on the door twice before leaving.

The hallway outside your apartment was quiet. Old floorboards creaked under your steps. You took the stairs instead of the elevator.

The city was waking up when she hit the street. Traffic already building. People on their phones, rushing to work, completely unaware that somewhere by the sea, four girls had died without a sound.

By the time you reached the corner, the noise and crowds were already too much. The city felt louder than usual. Head was still foggy. You made your way to the small underground garage behind the building and unlocked your jeep.

It was old, beat-up, but reliable. No tech distractions, just a manual engine and the low hum of the radio you never tuned.

You pulled out onto the main road, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping her coffee cup. And for a moment you thought about the dream again. The bridge. The music. Jimin’s face.

It hadn’t come out of nowhere.

She had been your best friend for years. From first grade to senior year, they were always together — school projects, sleepovers, summer breaks. You shared everything.

Then came the end of high school. Graduation. College applications. And suddenly, Jimin was just… gone.

No goodbye. No call. Not even a text.

Her number stopped working. Socials were wiped. Mutual friends knew nothing. A couple rumors floated around — that her family moved out of Seoul, maybe Busan or Incheon — but nothing solid.

Eventually, people stopped asking.

But the you hadn’t. You still remembered messaging Yu's old email once, months later, just to try. No response.

That bridge from the dream — it was real. It was the place they went when things were hard. When school got rough. When Jimin’s mom was drinking again. When they you both didn't wanted to go home.

And now, for some reason, her face was blurred. Vivid. Sharp. Like she’d never existed.

You shook your head and blinked at the red light. The GPS buzzed even though you wasn’t using it. Just out of habit.

You turned down the quieter side street that led toward the committee offices — a large gray building tucked between an old bank and a private security firm. You parked in the lot, engine off, and sat for a second with the keys in your hand.

Jimin had vanished.

No note. No warning.

Just like that.

You rubbed her eyes once more, then grabbed your bag and stepped out into the morning air.

The curtains did nothing to block out the morning light.

Jimin squinted, groaned, and rolled over — but instead of a pillow, her face pressed into a scratchy throw blanket that smelled like gin and the couch she’d passed out on again. Her head pounded. Her mouth was dry.

Footsteps padded softly across the marble floor.

"Jimin," a voice said gently, like someone trying not to start a fight before breakfast. "You need to get up."

She didn’t move at first. Just let out a grunt and buried her face deeper into the cushion.

"Jimin." The voice came again, firmer now. "Come on. I asked you not to drink last night."

She opened one eye and turned her head.

There she was — her wife, Chanyeol. Dressed like always in something understated but expensive, with a fresh blowout and no visible sign of age despite being ten years older. Perfect. Fucking rich.

Jimin sat up slowly, her spine aching from the awkward position she’d slept in. She tugged her shirt down, even though it was wrinkled and smelled like cigarettes.

"I didn’t plan on drinking," she muttered, voice hoarse.

Chanyeol walked over and handed her a glass of water. "No one ever does."

Yu drank it in one go. Her throat burned.

"You need to pull yourself together," her wife said, crouching in front of her, her tone still measured. "She’s on the way."

Jimin blinked. "Who?"

"My daughter," the woman said. "I told you yesterday. She’s coming for dinner."

Yu exhaled. "Right."

"She hasn’t seen you in weeks. Please, at least try to be presentable. Don’t make this awkward, for me especially."

Jimin pushed herself up and staggered slightly. Chanyeol caught her elbow, steadying her for a second before letting go.

"I’ll go to shower," Yu said. "Give me fifteen minutes."

She nodded, then turned to leave, heels clicking softly on the floor. At the doorway she paused.

"And Jimin," she added without looking back, "if you’re serious about that novel, maybe open the damn laptop today."

Then she was gone.

Yu stood in silence for a moment, staring at the empty glass in her hand. The penthouse around her looked like something out of a magazine — all glass, leather, and minimalism. Nothing in it felt like hers.

She made her way to the bathroom, turning on the water.

Jimin stood under the shower, arms against the tile, water beating down on the back of her neck. She didn’t move. Just let it run down her body in unsuccessful attempts to sober up.

The heat should’ve helped — burned away the hangover, the taste of stale alcohol, the fog in her head — but it didn’t. It never did. Her thoughts kept circling the same drain they always did.

The book.

She had the idea three years ago. A crime novel about a detective chasing a killer who left flowers in the hands of his victims. She wrote the first chapter in a single night, drunk off cheap wine and inspiration. It wasn’t perfect, but it had something.

Then came the offers. A stipend. A sponsor. A publisher who’d "keep an eye" on her progress.

And then came her.

Her wife.

They met at a fundraiser she wasn’t supposed to be at, dressed in someone else’s suit, pretending to belong. But the woman had noticed her — really noticed her — and something about being seen by someone with power and money had hooked Jimin.

It didn’t take long. The penthouse came next. The promises. Then the wedding.

And then the slow drift.

Now the book sat untouched on her desktop — a document opened more times than she could count, each time filled with more a fucking guilt than words.

And every time she thought about writing again, she heard his voice.

Chanyeol’s father. The chairman. The old bastard who’d never said her name once but never stopped talking about her.

"She’s a loser with a shitty book and a dream with a hole in her pocket."

"She’s using you to play artist."

"She wants the money, not the marriage."

Every time he visited, he’d shake his head like she was a stray dog the family hadn’t managed to kick out yet. And the worst part?

He wasn’t completely wrong.

Jimin had needed the money. She’d needed a place to stay. She’d needed someone to say "just write and don’t worry about rent."

She never lied about that. But somewhere along the way, she forgot how to write at all.

The water started to run cold. She didn’t flinch.

Her palms were wrinkled. Her eyes burned. The hum of the ventilation fan filled the silence.

If she didn’t pull herself together, the old man would be right — again.

And worse, the girl showing up for dinner would see it too.

Yu shut off the water and stood in the silence for a few seconds longer.

Then she reached for the towel.

She rubbed the towel over her head, slow and distracted. The bathroom mirror was fogged up, but she didn’t bother wiping it down. She was still standing there, bare feet on cold tile, when her phone started buzzing from the counter.

"HANA - TV EDITORIAL OFFICE"

She stared at the name for a second, then picked it up and answered with a low, dry, "Yeah?"

"You sound like shit," Hana said without missing a beat.

"I feel worse."

"Still drinking yourself sideways?"

"Got a better hobby in mind?"

There was a pause on the line. Yu leaned on the sink and waited, eyes on the fogged-up glass.

"I’ve got something," Hana finally said. Her tone dropped into that serious register she used when she actually had news. "Real shit. Not clickbait."

"Go on."

"You know Mokpo?"

Jimin blinked. "Yeah. Port city. South coast."

"Right. So... a guy I know down there — small-time fixer, drinks with cops — he just told me there’s movement on a hush-hush case. Local police are losing their minds trying to keep it under wraps. No official statements, but he swears there’s a serial involved. Four dead girls, all in different parts of the city."

Yu straightened a little. "Confirmed?"

"Unofficially, yeah. But the details…" Hana hesitated, then said, "They’re all staged. Same exact pattern. Surgical stuff. Like out of a damn screenplay."

Jimin didn’t speak for a moment.

"You’re not calling just to tell me bedtime stories."

"Nope." Hana sounded like she was grinning now. "I’m saying this is your shot. Material. Real, dark stuff. You wanna finish your silly book? Go look death in the face again. You used to be good at that. Before all this…"

She trailed off, but Jimin caught the tone.

"Before I sold out," she finished flatly.

"I didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to."

Another pause. Then Hana softened. "Look. We both need a piece of cake. I need a segment for the docuseries we’re pitching. You need to write something that’s not an apology email to your agent. Let’s both stop drowning in this shit."

Jimin closed her eyes.

She could already feel the pull of it — the adrenaline, the story, the clarity she hadn’t had in years. She wasn’t dumb, she knew why murder called to her more than love ever did. There was no room for lies in a post-mortem.

"Where do I start?" she asked quietly.

"I’ll text you the fixer’s number. Name’s Minseok. He owes me. If you head down there, he’ll grease the doors."

Yu nodded slowly, towel hanging in one hand.

"And Jimin," Hana added, voice low now, "don’t fuck this up."

Call ended.

Jimin stood for a second, still dripping slightly, staring at her reflection through the steam. The fog was starting to clear.

She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, hair still damp and clinging to her neck. She moved quietly down the hall, the scent of coffee already drifting toward her.

Her wife was in the kitchen, setting the table with calm precision — warm bread rolls in a basket, little glass dishes with fruit and yogurt.

Yu cleared her throat.

"You clean up fast," she said without looking up.

"Didn’t have time to fall apart today."

The woman gave a soft snort — not quite amusement, not quite approval.

Jimin padded across the marble floor, pulling the towel tighter as she sat down. She’d usually throw on sweatpants or something loose, but there was no time, not with the idea burning in the back of her head.

"I need a favor," she said, cutting right into it.

Her wife finally looked at her. "What kind?"

"Money."

A pause.

"How much?"

"Enough to get to Mokpo. Couple nights in a motel. Bus ticket. Some gear. Call it two million won, give or take."

Her wife blinked. "Mokpo?"

"Yeah. I wanna clear my head. Change the scenery. That’s all."

Yu avoided her eyes and reached for the coffee, pouring herself a cup like it would distract from the lie.

"Thought you didn’t have any friends there."

"I don’t," Jimin said quickly. "That’s the point. No people, no distractions."

Before she could reply, heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs.

And then came him.

Mr. Nam.

Old money in a linen shirt, still somehow sharp at nearly seventy, with perfect posture and a permanent sneer. He didn’t even glance at Jimin as he walked in, just went straight for the fridge and poured himself a glass of water.

"Morning, Dad," her wife said politely.

"Hm," he grunted. He turned, saw Jimin, and finally acknowledged her with a dry look.

"Still drunk?" he asked.

"Morning to you too," she muttered.

He sat at the head of the table and took a sip of water, eyes flicking between the two women. "What are we talking about now? More ‘creative escapes’?"

Jimin exhaled, annoyed. "I said I wanted to go to Mokpo. That’s it."

"For what?" He asked, leaning forward. “A yoga retreat? One of those ocean-view writing camps?"

"She wants to clear her head," Chanyeol said carefully.

The old man chuckled. "Of course she does."

He turned his full attention to Jimin now, his smile thin.

"You know, I spent forty years building a company that pays people with actual skills. You’ve spent what — three years trying to write a book you won’t finish and draining my daughter’s account in the meantime?"

"Dad—" she started.

"No, it’s fine," Jimin said coldly, setting her cup down. "He’s not wrong."

She looked him in the eye, dead calm. "But I’m still going."

The man snorted again. "You’re gonna run to the coast, drink in some moldy motel room, and call it ‘research’? You’re not an artist. You’re a freeloader in designer socks."

Jimin didn’t flinch. She’d heard worse.

But her jaw tightened. "I’ll finish it. One way or another."

"Oh?" The man smirked. "Then stop begging for handouts. Go work."

Her wife stood suddenly, hands on the table. "That’s enough."

The old man shrugged, grabbed his coffee, and walked off like he hadn’t just spit on her entire life.

Jimin sat in silence. Her throat was tight, but she didn’t let it show.

After a few moments, her wife sat back down, quieter now.

"You really going to write this time?" she asked softly.

She looked up, her voice low.

"I’m not asking again."

She was quiet the whole time she packed. A cheap duffel bag, some old notebooks, charger, camera she barely used anymore, hoodie, jeans.

Chanyeol leaned on the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed.

"You're really going alone?" she asked, her voice low.

"Yeah."

"You’re not meeting anyone down there?"

She zipped the bag slowly. "No."

There was a pause. Then she asked, more gently, "Do you want me to book the hotel for you?"

Jimin shook her head. "I'll figure it out."

"I just— You don't really do well on your own, baby."

That stung more than she let on. She slung the bag over her shoulder and turned to face her.

"I need to try."

Chanyeol looked like she wanted to say something else — maybe ask her to stay, maybe tell her she was full of shit. But instead, she nodded once and stepped aside.

"Call me when you get there."

"Okay."

Downstairs, the old man was sitting on the patio with his paper and tea, pretending not to notice her walking out the door. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a goodbye. Didn't deserve it.

The cab ride to Seoul Station was short, quiet. She stared out the window the whole time, sunglasses on even though the sky was gray. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — a message from Hana.

Hana:

Minseok’s expecting you. Meet him by the docks after 7pm. You still going?

Jimin:

Yeah.

She tucked the phone away and leaned back. Her head still ached from last night’s wine.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, steady and cold. You stood near your desk, arms crossed, sipping coffee that had long gone lukewarm. Office was silent that was broken only by the soft sounds of Yunbin peeling off bits of tape and slapping photographs against the glass wall.

One by one, the victims appeared — grainy photos, close-ups of lifeless eyes, slashed skin, and lilacs.

"You sure you want these out in the open?" Yunbin asked without turning, "it's not the most pleasant sight, you know."

"Leave them," you said. "I want to see them when I walk in every morning, besides, i've seen worse."

He paused, glanced at her over his shoulder. "You're not sleeping, are you?"

You didn’t answer. Just stared at the newest photo he’d placed — a girl no older than seventeen, her body half-buried in wet sand, arms crossed neatly over her chest, fingers curled around the wilted lilac.

"Medical report says the cuts were done post-mortem," Yunbin said. "Stomach opened with something precise. Scalpel, most likely, but it's not certain, Yunho from the medical sector is still conducting an examination, the results will be out within a day."

You set your coffee down. "No defensive wounds?"

"None."

"So they were drugged?"

"Or just caught off guard. No signs of sexual assault. No robbery. No struggle."

You nodded, slowly processing.

"Victims don’t know each other. No online connections, no overlapping phone activity, no shared friends."

"Then how the hell is he choosing them?" you asked.

Yunbin shrugged. "Only common point is location. All dumped on that same stretch of coast, but spaced out by kilometers. Spit’s nearly eight kilometers long."

You walked over to the wall, looked at the photos again. "He wants them found."

"Obviously. Poses them like a fucking piece of art."

You tapped her nail against the glass. "And the lilacs?"

"White lilac means youthful innocence. In the old books, anyway."

"Jesus Christ," you muttered. "Fucking poet."

They stood in silence for a beat. Then he said, "You really don’t recognize any of them?"

You shook her head. "No. They’re all strangers."

He peeled the last photo from the file and smoothed it against the glass. The youngest. Maybe fifteen.

"Then maybe that’s the point," he said quietly. "They’re strangers to everyone. Nobody who’ll raise a fuss too soon. Easy to lose."

You stared at the girl’s face. Pale, half-lit by the camera flash.

"I want every missing persons report filed in that region for the past six months," you said. "Even ones that weren’t taken seriously."

"On it."

"And Yunbin," you turned toward him.

He paused at the door.

"Keep this in-house. No leaks. No press, I don't want some bastards from TV getting under our feet."

He gave you a small nod.

"Got it."

The door closed behind him, and you remained standing there, leaning against the edge of the table, examining each victim with a long-honed master's gaze.

The victims were not related.

But is it true?

Something made you reach for the file on one of the victims, opening the first page as if trying to find a catch in what was written.

"The victim's marital status... The father is an alcoholic, received a two-year sentence for robbery and fighting..."

It seemed that you had found absolutely nothing important in these lines, so you took the file of the last victim, but this time, opening it, your gaze instantly found the right line.

"The victim's marital status... Mother is an alcoholic, bad relationship with father after which he left the family, strained relationship with stepfather."

Fathers.

Perhaps there is a clue here.

And it was at that moment that you felt something click in your head. Reviewing the entire dossier for what seemed like the hundredth time, you began to understand something you had missed earlier.

All the victims had terrible relationships with their fathers.

How could you possibly miss this?

But that didn't matter now.

Taking a pen from the table, opening the cap with your teeth, you quickly wrote down the address of the last victim on a small piece of paper.

Yeosu, a city three hours' drive from Mokpo.

The hand grabbed the car keys lying nearby, as if a bullet flew out of the office. It seemed that you finally began to catch this invisible thread, and you had no right to lose it.

The rented Hyundai coughed as it climbed the hill toward the Investigative Committee building — a dull gray block of concrete with tinted glass and a security booth out front.

Jimin had one arm resting on the window frame, the wind tugging at her hair. She spotted Yunbin the second he stepped out — button-down shirt half untucked, lanyard around his neck, phone in hand.

She smirked and quickly pulled over near the curb.

"Yunbin!" she called out, snapping her fingers like she’d just remembered something. "Hey!"

He stopped, squinted toward the car, then took a step closer. His expression shifted from confusion to vague recognition.

"Jimin?" he asked.

"In the flesh. Hana’s friend. Fucking writer, remember?"

Yunbin looked at his watch, then at the sidewalk. "Right. She mentioned you might be in town with Minseok."

She leaned on the steering wheel. "Funny thing, I was just headed to the same coffee shop you’re probably walking to. Want a ride? I swear the air conditioning works better in here than it looks."

He gave the car a long, skeptical look, then shrugged. "Sure, I guess, I’ve walked enough today."

Yu grinned and unlocked the passenger door. "Hop in. First coffee’s on me."

As he climbed in, buckling up with one hand and glancing around the dashboard like he was checking for bugs, Jimin mentally took stock, easygoing, maybe a little overworked, but not the suspicious type. Getting him on her side would be no problem.

"Appreciate it," he said, settling in. "Didn’t expect to run into anyone I knew around here."

"I didn’t expect to end up here, either," she replied. "Small world, right?"

He chuckled lightly. "Or maybe Hana set us up."

"Wouldn’t put it past her."

They drove in silence for a few blocks. Jimin kept it casual, one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, but her mind was already ten moves ahead — rehearsing how she’d ask about the case without sounding too obvious, wondering how close she could get to the real story without scaring him off.

"So," she said casually, "how bad is it in there? Everyone's walking around like there’s a bomb under their desks."

Yunbin didn’t look at her, just stared out the window. "Worse than that."

Bingo. Fucking bingo.

It seems that everything will be much easier than she thought.

The coffee shop was only a few blocks away, a corner place with dusty windows and a faded sign that read "24/7 Coffee." Jimin parked a little crooked, tossed the keys onto the dashboard, and followed Yunbin inside.

They grabbed a small table near the window. he ordered black coffee. Jimin asked for an iced americano, even though she hated the aftertaste.

"So," she said, stirring the straw like she cared, "what’s really going on out here? Hana made it sound like some true crime goldmine."

Yunbin leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. "Yeah. You could say that."

Yu kept her expression neutral, sipping through the straw. She didn’t want to push too hard. Let him talk.

"There’s been four bodies so far," he said. "All dumped on the same stretch of coast. Different spots, but the same pattern."

She nodded slowly. "The girls, right? I read something vague on some forum. Thought it was a hoax."

"It’s real," Yunbin said, his voice a little lower now. "Stomach cut open, organs left intact. No signs of struggle. Holding white lilac in their hands. No fingerprints. No suspects."

"And you?"

"I'm just the assistant, you know," he shrugged. "The real one doing the legwork is the lead investigator. She’s been glued to the case since the first body was found, I've been her assistant for two years now, I assure you, she's a pro at what she does."

Jimin raised an eyebrow. "She?"

"Yeah. Young investigator, moved down here six months ago from Seoul. Total hard-ass. Doesn’t sleep, doesn’t smile. Her name is—"

He didn’t finish. Yu's hand slipped on the condensation of her plastic cup and knocked it sideways, spilling coffee across the table.

"Shit," she muttered, fumbling for napkins.

He sat back, startled. "Hey, you good?"

She waved it off. "Yeah. Just... the cup slipped. What were you saying?"

"Her name. You probably don’t know her. She’s not exactly the social type."

"Try me."

He gave her a look. "Y/N."

Jimin froze mid-wipe. Her stomach twisted in a way she hadn’t felt in years. She forced a short laugh.

"No shit."

Yunbin nodded, sipping his drink. "You know her?"

She leaned back, staring past him, eyes unfocused. "We went to school together. Long time ago. Haven’t seen her in..." She trailed off.

"Small world, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said, swallowing hard. "Fucking small."

She tried to act normal, pretending to clean the mess she’d made, but her mind was running circles. She looked up at Yunbin, forcing a smile.

"So... this girl, right," she said, her voice carefully casual, "what’s her deal? You said she moved here from Seoul?"

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah. She got transferred a while ago. Some people say it was a demotion, others say she asked for it. She doesn’t talk about it."

She squinted. "How old is she?"

"Twenty five, but you know, she's the kind that looks like she hasn’t aged in ten years, but her eyes look like she’s lived three lives, after two years with her I can definitely say that she has seen a lot of shit, you know."

Jimin smirked. That sounded exactly like the you she used to know. But still... part of her didn’t want to believe it. It was too coincidental, too suspicious.

"She's like... well, she has a little scar under her eye, kind of quiet but sharp as hell, yeah?"

"That’s her," Yunbin said without hesitation. "She’s the real deal. Cold, maybe, but when she’s working a case. I swear she doesn’t even blink when looking at crime scene photos. Although, during all this time, I still haven’t gotten used to looking at fucking bodies that was teared apart, this shit still comes to me in terrible nightmares every day."

Yu didn’t respond right away. Her eyes drifted toward the window. The sound of cars passing by blurred into the background.

All at once, she was somewhere else.

Spring, maybe third grade. You sat cross-legged on the grass, a small smile tugging at her lips as she twisted little white flowers into a braid, slowly threading them through her hair. Jimin sat still, letting her do it, not because she cared how it looked but because it was your hands. Gentle, focused. Careful not to pull too hard.

"You look like one of those fairies in books," you had whispered, not even looking at her, too busy with the next flower.

Jimin had laughed. "Fairies don’t wear school uniforms!"

That memory hit harder than expected. She blinked and came back to the present.

She cleared her throat. "We were friends. A long time ago."

He raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think she had any."

"She used to."

Yu took a long sip of her watered-down coffee and sat in silence for a moment.

"Yunbin," she said finally, "think you could introduce me to her?"

He looked at her for a second, then gave a slow, suspicious smile.

"Depends. You here for research… or something else?"

"Does it matter?"

He chuckled. "It might."

Yunbin was still smirking, but there was a note of caution behind it now.

"Look," he said, "I’ll be straightforward with you. She isn’t exactly the welcoming type. Especially not lately. She doesn’t like outsiders sniffing around, and if she gets even a hint that you’re here for your own reasons..."

Jimin crossed her arms. "I’m not trying to mess up her case! I just want to—"

"Finish your book. Get some dirt for your show. Yeah, I get it ever since you first appeared here," Yunbin cut in. "But let’s not pretend this is a clean visit. You’re not a cop. You’re not a journalist with credentials. You’re someone with a fucking unfinished book, and she’s not the same girl you remember."

Yu looked away, her jaw tense. "Then don’t introduce me to her. Just... give me a way to observe. From the edges, you know? I won't be tossing and turning right in the middle of things."

Yunbin paused, thinking. He scratched the back of his neck.

"I can introduce you to the guys from our team. It’ll give you some access—secondhand, but still better than nothing."

"It's better than nothing," she said quietly.

"But we should go now," he added. "She's out of town for the day. Went to talk to the family of the last victim."

Jimin blinked. "That last victim?"

"Yeah. A girl was found three days ago. Same setup. Same flowers. Her mother finally agreed to talk this morning. And she left at dawn."

She nodded slowly. "Then let’s go."

Yunbin stood up and tossed his cup in the trash bin, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Don't ask dumb questions, you will arouse suspicion ahead of time."

Yu raised her eyebrows. "I wasn’t planning to."

"Right."

The living room smelled faintly of old wood. A beige lace curtain swayed in the open window. You stood silently beside the upright piano, your elbow resting lightly on the yellowed wood, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

The woman sat hunched on the worn couch, hands wringing a damp tissue until it tore in her fingers. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

"I still... I still can't believe it," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

You gave a brief nod. You didn’t write anything down yet. You just watched.

The silence lingered long enough to feel heavy before you finally spoke, your tone calm and.

"Mrs. Kang, I understand this is hard. But I need to ask some questions. About Minji."

The woman flinched at the name but nodded. "Okay."

"When did you start noticing a change in her behavior?"

"About six months ago. Maybe a little more. At first, it was small things — coming home late, locking herself in her room. But then..." She swallowed hard, voice cracking. "Then she stopped caring. She used to be such a good student. I never had to ask twice! And then her grades just... dropped. She started skipping school."

"Did she ever say why?"

"No," she whispered. "She never told me anything anymore. I asked, I begged. She’d just say I wouldn’t understand. She started wearing makeup I’d never seen before. Different clothes. And she’d come home smelling like soju."

You nodded, still not writing anything down.

"How was her relationship with her stepfather?"

The mother hesitated.

"Not good," she admitted finally. "They argued all the time. He’d try to talk to her like a father, but she’d shut him down immediately. Yell at him for stupid things. Like asking about her day."

"Did he ever hit her?"

The woman looked up, sharply. "No! Never! He’s not like that. He just… gave up after a while. Said she needed time. But I think she hated him. Just for being here."

You finally took out her notebook, flipping it open to a clean page.

"Did she mention any new friends? People you didn’t recognize?"

The woman shook her head slowly. "She stopped talking about her friends, too. I’d hear her whispering on the phone late at night, but when I asked, she’d say it was no one. I thought maybe it was just some boy. A phase."

"Did you ever hear any names? Maybe she was planning meetings with someone and mentioned it in passing?"

"No," she said, voice barely audible. "She changed her phone password. I couldn’t see anything. And now…"

She broke off again, her shoulders shaking. You looked at her, but didn’t move to offer comfort. You gave her space to cry without pity.

After a long pause, you asked quietly, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Two nights before police found her," the woman said, eyes far away. "She was drunk again. Slammed the door on the way in. Yelled at me for cooking the wrong food. Then she locked herself in her room. I didn't even hear her leave that night."

There was a long silence again. You closed your notebook and stepped away from the piano.

"If you allow me, may I go into the girl's room?"

The woman didn't even raise her gaze, only silently nodding towards the elderly granny sitting next to her on the chair. Seeing this gesture, she stood up, took her cane and slowly walked towards you.

You followed the grandmother up the creaky staircase, the old wood groaning beneath her steps. The house was... dead quiet.

You reached the second floor, where a narrow hallway stretched in front of you. The grandmother turned toward the first door on the left and opened it slowly, letting you to enter the room.

"This is Minji's room," she said, her voice hoarse and filled with grief. "You can look, but... it's not much."

You stepped inside. The room was small but neat. A bed covered in faded pink sheets, a desk cluttered with half-finished homework, and a few stuffed animals scattered on the floor.

"She was always a good girl," the grandmother continued, standing in the doorway with her hands folded in front of her. "She never gave me any trouble, not like her father. But..." She paused, as if the words were too hard to say. "She was lonely. She used to cry, you know. Especially when she tried to reach her father."

You turned to face the grandmother, your expression neutral but her eyes sharp. "She tried to contact him?"

She nodded, her eyes watering. "Many times. She'd call him, leave messages. But he was always too busy, too angry to help. Always told her to stop bothering him."

"Did she say anything specific about that? About him?"

The old woman sniffed and wiped her eyes. "She... she just wanted him to come and pick her up once. She told me she was going to ask him to take her to Seoul. Said she couldn’t stand it here anymore." She swallowed hard. "That was the day before... the day she... well, you know."

You frowned, trying to piece it together. "So she asked him for help?"

"Yes," the grandmother said softly. "She sounded so desperate, like she was running out of time. But he just yelled at her. Told her she was being dramatic and to stop calling him." Her voice cracked. "She cried after that, poor thing. But she still called him. She called him the night before she..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. Her face crumpled as the grief overwhelmed her, and You felt a familiar weight in your chest. You couldn’t afford to feel sorry. You needed answers, not sympathy.

"I’m... I'm so sorry," you said quietly, though the words felt hollow. "Thank you for telling me."

The old woman gave a weak nod and stepped back. "I just wish he’d listened. Maybe if he had, maybe..."

"Maybe," you muttered, stepping back from the door. She gave the grandmother a final glance before leaving the room. She had all the pieces she needed. Now she just had to put them together.

Before leaving the room, you moved quietly toward the bed, your eyes scanning the surroundings one last time. Your gaze fell on the small diary that had been tucked under the pillow.

You reached down, careful not to make a sound, and slipped the diary under your jacket. It was a gut feeling, the kind that only years of experience could teach you. Of course you didn’t know what was inside yet, but it would be important.

You turned to the shelves filled with toys and felt your stomach tighten. One of the little bears, a soft, dusty pink, had its stomach torn open. The sight was... surprisingly terrifying, the plush fabric exposed, the soft cotton stuffing spilling out from the rough slit.

You stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as you crouched down to get a better look.

Your fingers brushed the torn edge of the bear’s stomach, your intuition didn't let you down, and your fingers felt something – something hard and unnatural. You carefully poked around inside, fingertips grazing a small ziplock bag that was tucked into the bear’s interior.

You didn’t know what was inside, but it was unmistakably suspicious. Drugs? Maybe. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet, but the texture of the bag felt all too familiar. Poor girl, something was clearly wrong here, an ordinary child can't just go crazy one day. There's something there. Violence? Harassment? Possibly, given the strained relationship with her stepfather.

You pulled her fingers away slowly and stood up, you carefully placed that ziplock into your pocked. You wasn’t sure what this meant, but you knew it wasn’t a coincidence. This needed to get this tested — needed confirmation before you made any moves. It could tie into the case. Or it could be something else entirely. Either way, you was going to find out.

Finally you looked at the grandmother, who was sitting in the chair by the window, your hands still wringing the same tissue. You took a deep breath and walked over to her.

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around the old woman, holding her tightly. The moment was silent, but the weight of it was heavy. You could feel the pain radiating off her like a thick fog.

Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but in this moment, you allowed herself to just hold the woman who had lost so much.

"I swear, I’ll find the bastard who did this," you said quietly, voice low but firm. "I won’t let him get away with it."

The grandmother nodded against your chest, her body shaking with quiet sobs. "Please," she whispered. "Make him answer for his actions..."

You didn’t speak again. Simply pulled away, your eyes catched the fragile hope in the old woman’s face. You had to get to work.

As you walked back to her jeep, you lit a cigarette, the familiar burn settling in your lungs. You leaned against the vehicle, took a long drag and let out a slow breath, staring at the road.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Investigative Committee’s office, the weight of the day heavy on your shoulders.

You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it though—not yet. There was work to be done.

As you entered the office, you was greeted by the sounds of laughter. Your team, including Yunbin, was gathered around the small conference table. They were clearly enjoying something — Jimin’s jokes, no doubt.

You paused for a moment, standing at the door and taking in the sight. Yu was seated comfortably, laughing along with them, her presence like a familiar part of the group, even though you had never given her that permission.

You hand gripped the doorframe for a second as the irritation boiled under you skin, but you quickly masked it. There was no point in showing your frustration. You wasn’t about to let anyone see how much Jimin’s presence bothered you.

You stepped into the room, eyes cool as they swept over the group. Yunbin’s face lit up as he turned to you. "Ah, Chief! You’re back. We were just—"

"Keep the jokes for later," you interrupted, your voice flat, dismissing the tension in the room with the sharpness of her words. "There should be no strangers here."

Yu straightened in her seat, a flicker of something crossing her face. Maybe surprise, maybe just the usual deflection. Either way, it didn’t matter. You wasn’t going to acknowledge you in front of the team. Not yet. Not like this.

"Got it," Yunbin said, still grinning but sensing the shift in the room. He quickly moved to gather some papers, trying to ease the awkwardness.

You took her usual seat at the head of the table, pulling out the diary she’d taken from Minji's room. She laid it on the table, staring at it for a moment before opening it carefully. The words seemed innocent at first, but soon turned into pain, which the girl poured out onto paper, in the hope that it would not hurt so much inside.

You could feel Jimin’s eyes on you. But you didn’t look up. You wouldn’t let herself be distracted. Not yet.

She stayed seated for a moment after you sat down, unsure if she should say something. The mood in the room had shifted completely. The others went quiet, shuffling papers, pretending to look busy. She hated the tension, but even more, she hated that you hadn’t looked her in the eye once.

She finally stood up, slowly walking over toward the desk.

"Hey," Jimin started, her voice low, careful, like she was approaching a wild animal. "Can we talk for a second?"

You didn’t lift her eyes from the diary.

"It’s been a long time, I know," she continued, hesitating. "But I think I can help. With the case. I have media connections, people who’ll talk to me, not the cops. I know how to handle this stuff."

The room fell completely silent. Yunbin looked up from his seat, lips pressed into a line.

You flipped a page in the diary with deliberate calm. Then, you closed the textbook, sat back in her chair, and looked at Yu like she was something you'd scraped off her shoe.

"You show up out of nowhere, ten fucking years later, like nothing happened," you said flatly. "You want to play detective now?"

"Listen, dear—" Jimin’s voice cracked slightly.

"Don’t fucking call me that," you snapped, standing up. "You don’t belong here. This isn’t a goddamn joke. These girls are dead. You’re not going to use this case to write your little novel or impress your TV buddies."

"I’m not trying to—"

"Get the fuck out of my office, Jimin."

The words hit like a hammer, and she blinked, caught off guard by the raw anger in her tone. It wasn’t just professional — there was pain behind it. Real, personal pain.

Yunbin stood up too, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Chief," he said softly. "I know how this looks, but Jimin’s not a bad person. She might actually be able to help. We can control what she sees. Just give her a chance."

You didn’t look at him. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes stayed locked on her, who now stood frozen in front of the desk, her hands curled into fists.

"One chance," you said, voice cold. "You step out of line, even once, I’ll have security drag you out the fuck out of here."

Jimin nodded, swallowing whatever pride she had left.

"I won’t get in your way."

"You already did," you muttered, sitting back down.

The Jeep moved steadily, tires humming quietly beneath them. You drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting rigidly in your lap. Jimin sat in the passenger seat, her hands clasped together, thumbs fidgeting.

You hadn’t spoken in almost ten minutes.

"Thanks for letting me come," she said, finally breaking the silence.

No reply.

She glanced sideways. Your eyes were fixed on the road, jaw tight.

"I mean it. You didn’t have to. I know that."

"You’re right. I didn’t," you said flatly.

She exhaled a short breath, more like a sigh. "You’ve changed... a lot."

You scoffed. "You haven’t."

"No, I have," Jimin said. "Maybe not in all the right ways. But I’m not the same girl who ran off after graduation."

"You didn’t run off, Jimin. You disappeared."

The word hit hard. she bit the inside of her cheek, watching the waves crash far beyond the roadside barrier.

"My parents dragged me to Seoul without warning. It wasn’t planned, it just... happened. And I should have called. Wrote. Anything. I know."

Your hands tightened on the wheel. "And ten years passed."

You thought about what was said, it was all a complete mess, does she seriously think that she can show up after so much time as if nothing happened?

You fell silent, talking to Jimin about personal things is the last thing you need, because what if you get carried away again, fall head over heels in love again, no. There is a patrol of the spit by the sea ahead, and getting close to her is the last thing you need.

[leesolbeesol]

LIGHTWEIGHT

univeristy!au taesan x fem!reader (ft. the rest of bonedo!)

SUMMARY: Meeting Taesan at a basement party doesn't go as planned, what happens when you can't get rid of him? Do you even want to?

GENRE: fluff, slightly suggestive in one chapter, university!au (mentions of fraternities, classes, lectures, dorms, etc.) WARNINGS: Taesan gets punched, he doesn't deserve it but everything is okay | swearing | mentions of moaning but it doesn't get too crazy, reader makes fun of Taesan for it | fem!reader | heavy mentions of alcohol in the first chapter | EXCESSIVE flirting | ends with a confession!! NOTES: I have never been to a frat party. I have never participated in Greek life. I do not drink for personal reasons. I have never dated Han Dongmin (unfortunately). In other words, this is likely very unrealistic because my information comes from speculation, reddit threads, and other fanfics on tumblr dot com. This was so fun to write WC: 16.2k, divided into 6 "chapters" of varying length

RIDE OR DIE

You shift on your twin bed and feel the crinkly sheets shifting under your weight. You glance at the egg-shaped off-white clock on your wobbly, school-provided desk. The clock hits noon, your roommate will be home any minute and you’re hoping to power through the end of this report before then. Since you chose her as your roommate freshman year (because of maybe five instagram messages), Jen’s been your best friend, your literal ride or die, but she’s not the best body-doubling partner for cranking out assignments. When she’s with someone, she needs to provide commentary on whatever's going on, which is both a blessing and a curse. It’s a curse when it comes to being someone’s study partner.

The wooden door opens in an instant, and Jen’s frame appears in the doorway, flanked by about three bags. “Oh, dear roommate!” She greets you in song. She lets the bags fall from her arms with a thunk on the floor, and a couple papers scatter on the floor out of one of many of her partially-zipped backpacks. She marches towards you, waving her phone in your face.  “Look at this! One of our sisters invited us to a party Sigma Chi’s is throwing this evening!” She says excitedly before steadying her gaze on you. You back up as a carefully manicured finger stretches out towards your face. “We need to go.” She always refers to her sorority sisters as your (plural) sisters, which you think is sweet. It’s her way of including you. You figure that, at some point, she decided ‘my sisters this, my sisters that’ got a little bit exclusionary.

“No.” You answer her and turn back to your computer, entering the link for a hopefully-penultimate citation. This is the one thing you’re maybe not so “ride-or-die” about with Jen. You like parties, sure, but you aren't going to give up a good night’s sleep (without midterms, and all) so easily.

“What do you mean? It’s going to be so much fun!” She whines. “We just finished our midterms, we need to celebrate! What could you be even working on anyway?”

“There’s a presentation after midterms for some fucking reason, I don’t know. Plus, it's a totally bad idea to bring me. Nothing good happens at frat parties.” You tell her, pointedly. You do this dance with her semi-frequently: she invites you, you say no, she asks why, you say why, she asks again, you (sometimes) give in. You’ve got this waltz down to a science.

“Can you finish it later? Come on, please? You skipped out on the last three.” She looks at you with pleading eyes, ignoring your advice. You wonder if this was how she got everyone to do her bidding; pouting at them with her big brown eyes. You eye her suspiciously. It was true: you had denied her invitation to the last three events and probably the last three hosted by Sigma… what was it? Sigma Key? Whatever. You don’t particularly like most frat boys. In your experience, they tend to be on the annoying side… the very annoying side. The avoid-at-all-costs side.

You look at her as a smile grows on your face, “Will you do my laundry for a week when we get back from break?” At this point, you were considering going anyway, but you were going to try and milk it.

“And I’ll take out the trash.” She smiles back. Now… maybe hanging out in a dingy basement flanked by drunk college kids doesn’t sound that bad, right?

“Promise?”

She raises her hand as if to be sworn in to lawyerhood—or whatever they call it. “I, your loving, adoring roommate, solemnly swear to do your laundry and take out the trash for two weeks when we get back from break.” You suppress a laugh.

“What time is the party?” Satisfied, you surrender, albeit happily. She does manual labor for a couple weeks and you only have to go with her for a couple hours? Sounds like a dream.

“11pm.”

BUDDING ALCOHOLIC

The faint taste of tequila on your lips is your only reminder of your promise not to get the fuck out of dodge. If you hadn’t pregamed this party, you would have been regretting coming right about now, even if it means two weeks worth of chores being eliminated from your future. The music is noise-complaint worthy and not that good, even as far as frat music tends to go. Your best guess for timing is that it’s about midnight, and a couple of your peers are already drunk by the looks of it, making out by the window and stumbling on the grass out front. It already smells like vomit as you walk through the front door. To be fair, you’ve never been to a frat house in the daytime, so maybe the smell of vomit is just a permanent feature.

“You’re the best! Thanks for coming!” She swings an arm around you, at least a little tipsy. You shift in your Jen-approved outfit: a (very) tight black tank top, light-wash jeans, and a pair of Jen-borrowed, frat-designated, almost-destroyed sneakers. You’ve gathered from your brief excursions into the world of Greek life that this is the frat uniform.

“Hey, Jen-fer!” A guy, clearly a brother, comes up to the two of you with a cheeky smile on his face. It seems like every time someone greets Jen, she has a new nickname. Or maybe he’s just drunk and slurring his words. The guy looks like “people call me Chad but you can call me tonight” personified in his khaki shorts and impressively only slightly wrinkled t-shirt, sporting your school’s mascot with ‘VARSITY BASEBALL’ across it in loud, chunky lettering. “Who’s this?” He inquires as a girl swings her arm around his neck. The smile never leaves his face as he leans down to peck her. You watch as the girl and Jen have some sort of telepathic conversation by exchanging big smiles and little waves — she’s a sister, maybe? You really only know the girls that Jen’s closest to: Madelin (spelled like mandolin), Avery (who you thought was a boy for a couple months because you only know one other Avery, a boy), Elliann (whose name you remember how to spell only because you wrote Ellyanne once and you got a talking-to), and Gene (whose contact you have saved as the jeans emoji).

“Ugh, Jay! She’s my roommate, I told you about her.” You smile weakly as she points her attention towards you, “this is Jay. You remember Jay, right? From Econ?”

“Yeah… from Econ.” You mumble something unconvincing because you very much do not remember Jay from Econ. There are about a million Jay’s at this school. There’s Jason’s and James’s and Jongseong’s and Joshua’s and Julian’s who all go by Jay. Hell, there’s even a Jachariah (pronounced exactly like Zachariah but substitute the Z) who goes by Jay in your English Comp class. You think it would make sense to go by Jack (Like Zack) because there are less Jack’s, somehow, but whatever. When you return from zoning out, Jen starts talking at you. Some people are touchy drunks, some people are sad drunks, but Jen is a very, very talkative drunk. To be honest, she’s a talkative sober too.

She asks you to choose between the two drinks in her outstretched hands, naming both, though you can’t identify the taste or ingredients either, even with the name provided. Both looked like water.

Fuck it, what’s the difference? “Um, that one.” You say, pointing to the red cup in her right hand.

“Great! Are you okay on your own? I’m going to talk to Ellen!” She smiles big. Who’s Ellen? You have no idea. “Oh, hey! Meet my friend —hic! This is Tay!” She waves to someone behind you, and beckons them over with a finger. Great, now you have a Tae to keep track of.  Her goodbye is sonorous, “Bye bye!” 

“Bye, Jen-fer.” You tease her with the drawling nickname, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she waltzes off. You break into a slow smile as you see her leave. If you could remember what feeling sober is like, you would know by the drowsiness alone you’re a little more than tipsy. If Jen is a talkative drunk, you’re a sleepy drunk. You take a big swig of the red cup and it burns as it goes down, making you cough instinctively to get rid of the sensation. After taking a moment to compose, you shotgun the whole cup. Aside from the burning, you’re left with the distinctive aftertaste of artificial sweeteners sticking to your throat. 

You back up a little, and bump right into a wall. You curse, thinking you probably looked stupid doing that… that is, before you nearly jump out of your skin when the wall puts a hand on your shoulder. Sufficiently scared, you jump right back to where you started like a tennis ball. 

In your inebriation, you're pretty sure it might be the worst mistake of your life to look at the wall when you land eyes on the definitely-not-plaster you bumped into. 

You realize that she was saying Tae, not Tay. Tae, though you know him as Taesan, is the name of a—kinda emo—guy in your World Literature class who you decided was cute one time when zoning out in a lecture and have been a little shy around ever since. Why is he here? A frat does not seem like his scene. Your drunk self agrees with your sober self on the former issue, however. He is cute—really cute. His hair is straight and black and his bangs fall just above his eyebrows. You were definitely catastrophizing, because bumping into Taesan is maybe the best thing you could have hoped for at this Greek-whatever party.

“Oh… it’s Taesan!” It doesn’t even cross your mind to suppress the giant grin that spreads across your face as you say his name as you sway. “Can I call you that instead of Tae? Too many ay’s around, I think.” You mumble, feeling as cloudy as ever.

He shrugs, “Sure, I mean, I call you by your full name, usually.” 

Mostly ignoring him, you continue, focusing on the way the edges of his lips curl like he’s suppressing a smile. Squinting at him, you monologue. “You’re cute. But you’re bad at…” You squint harder, circling your finger in front of his face as if to cast a spell. He looks a little confused with his straight eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t look scared—yet. If you were in your right mind, you would have been amazed and totally terrified that you hadn’t scared him off with the wiggly finger. Maybe the slipped compliment at the beginning helped build some rapport? “You’re bad at… analysis.” You decide on pinpointing a weakness of his. Now, his analysis is actually pretty good. Sure, he's not going to win any awards with it, but who is in an undergraduate World Literature class taught by a less-than-enthusiastic professor nearing retirement? The alcoholic fog is just a little much, anyway. Maybe you’re more of a lightweight than you care to admit. 

“I think my analysis is pretty good, actually.” He frowns, but doesn’t seem offended in the slightest. He’s always quiet in lecture, you’re surprised he hasn’t made a quick excuse to get away yet.

You part your lips as you squint harder and point up at his face again, grasping for words that don’t come all that easy to you. “You… should kiss me.” As the words fall out of your mouth, he seems to look around a little bit in surprise. To your luck, he still doesn’t run screaming.

It’s his turn to point a finger at himself and his cool, bad-boy act slips, “kiss—kiss me?” He stutters, going wide-eyed and glancing around like this is a big reality TV-style prank and there are cameramen waiting in the shadows of this sticky, stinky basement, itching to catch him off guard. Perhaps you’re subconsciously practicing rejection therapy. 

“Yeah… you should analyze kissing me.” You attempt a smile as you try to keep your eyes open. The music is pounding in your ears as you stare into the gap between him and the wall to his left.

Still dumbfounded, he tries to find words, now staring at you staring off into space, “well, uh… you… that would be cool, but… I don’t… I don’t think you actually want to kiss me. You smell like tequila.” The alcohol is definitely taking its toll on you, evidenced by the way you lean forward and slump onto the boy in front of you, closing your eyes. His words don’t even go in one ear and out the other, they go over your head entirely. You could feel his body heat even through his thick navy tee. You hear his heartbeat and—you’re no medical student—it’s loud. With your eyes closed, you hear the DJ switch the song to something with less bass and you feel a warm hand come to your shoulder blade, patting it awkwardly. You hear an attempt at words coming from his vocal chords, but you hear nothing identifiable as human language. Just a few um’s and maybe an uh.

“Hey, Tae!” You hear Jen approach behind you, calling out to the boy who you’ve designated as your new mattress. You open your eyes for a second, and you’re kindly greeted with a view of his chest. Slowly analyzing your field of vision (which includes a fuzzy wall and his shirt), you blink once, twice, and then, the third time you close them, they stay closed. As fast as that, you’re gone: disappeared, asleep.

Before you can open your eyes again, you’re assaulted by a pounding headache. You haven’t felt a headache like this since the first time you got drunk with Jen. You’d assumed you’d learned your lesson. This time, it’s not a good thing that you exceeded your own expectations.

You open your eyes and see a rather unwelcome sight of Jen who has her hands on your shoulders, shaking you. It’s certainly not helping your headache. As you come to consciousness, you become aware of the damp, suffocating sweat that clings to your body and the aching that you feel in each and every of your muscles and joints. You can’t even lift a finger.

“Hey. Wake up! Don’t worry, you’re not dying. It’s just a hangover.” She consoles you, but she doesn’t stop pushing you, however. “You drank way too much.” She laughs, drawing out her words and turning her head to the side as her hair falls in front of her face.

You muster your words, “what?” Your voice is grainy and low. You feel like pure, unadulterated hell. The pounding in your head doesn’t stop, it just migrates from one side to the other. Back to left to front to right and back again like a cue ball bouncing around the table.

“You… are… hung… over.” She says like she's trying to teach a baby to say mama. You groan and roll over, freeing yourself from her manicured hands and burying your head in your sheets. As you roll over, you feel the familiar and deeply uncomfortable scratch of the seam of your jeans. You were still wearing the clothes you wore to the party, hooray! “And,” she continues, “you’re going to tell me why Han Taesan is at our door.” Her voice sounds half like she’s scolding you and half like she’s waiting for you to spill. Processing this information, you scrunch your eyes and groan again.

“He’s not.” You deny with a murmur despite the knocking that you hear on the door. The person at the door, reportedly Taesan, knocks one, two, three times.

“He is. He wants to know how you are… tell me what happened between you two!” She urges.

“You’re lying. He is not at the door.” Maybe if you say it enough he’ll go away. Manifesting, you know? You want to know nothing about why he’s here. The party last night was a blur. You remember drinking, seeing a couple familiar faces, bumping into Taesan and then it’s dark and you wake up in your bed with Jen shaking you.

“He is.” She says solemnly. She cocks her head and continues in a more sympathetic tone, “do you want me to tell him to go away?” She asks.

“Yes.” Regardless of whether you want to see him, specifically, you don’t want to see anyone at all. You’re still in your clothes from last night, your whole body hurts, you feel like total crap, and you doubt you showered last night. You do not want to see Han Taesan, and that’s final.

“Yes, ma’am.” She says and jumps off the tall bed. Through half-lidded eyes, you see her crack the door and exchange words with the visitor. You confirm it’s Taesan when his stupid face appears in the crack. Almost involuntarily you close your eyes. As the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind. Even with a foggy mind and a throbbing headache, you know nothing good can come out of talking to him, or even seeing him, when you’re so wildly hungover. You feel like a ghost haunting your body. You hear the door shut, and you open your eyes to see Jen shimmying over to you with her eyebrows raised and a disbelieving smile across her face. You close your eyes again, you do not want to see or hear what she has to offer unless it’s an ibuprofen.

“I can’t believe he came to check up on you! Isn’t that sweet? I have no idea what was happening with you two before I got there, but he was so cute about you. He looked so nervous! It’s not like him at all.” You can practically hear her dancing around in excitement. “Your love life never goes anywhere, this is so exciting!” You grumble in protest at her jab at you. She’s been begging to let her set you up with someone, but the only people she knows are frat bros and sorority girls, neither of which are your type, usually. Is Taesan part of a frat? Doesn’t seem like him.

“Jen… advil… please.” You reach out for her with a weak hand.

“You’re not dying.” She assures you, but dutifully returns to your bedside with two little red pills, a bottle of water, and a bag of goldfish. This is how Jen is, you’ve learned; poking fun at you while still looking out for you. “Come on, take them.” She says, holding out the pills. “You’re lucky it’s a Saturday. For a hangover, you need water, food, and sleep.” She recites. Maybe hangover care is a required class for members of the sorority known for the most functions.

“Thanks…” You mutter, bringing a weak hand to your still pounding forehead. “What happened?” You ask. It might help to know what you’re up against in terms of embarrassment.

“Before I got there? No idea. After I got there? Well, you were passed out,” she laughs, “I had no idea you could fall asleep that fast. He looked crazy confused, having you slung over him and all, you know? Anyway, he was dry sober, he just got there. I had the car, obviously, and so he offered to give you a ride back to the dorm in my car. Now, I went with you, of course. For one, I’m always going to come with you when you’re asleep and being taken care of by some man. Two, there’s no way I’m letting any man drive my car without serious supervision.” Now, this elicits a stifled laugh from you, after which you immediately wince in pain. Laughing isn’t good medicine for hangovers, apparently. “Anyway, he picked you up bridal-style, it was really cute, and brought you to our car, and then drove both of us home. I put you to bed, and he left after.” She states, "I wiped your drool, don’t worry.” She nudges you with an elbow.

“Ugh, Jen. Don’t joke with me right now.”

“No, seriously, you did drool. It’s one of, like, five reasons I’m never going to put you in a room with alcohol ever again.”

“I told you it was a bad idea to bring me.” You lament. You don’t like the idea of drooling in the vicinity of Taesan. And he carried you to the car? Seriously, not a high point for your ego. It’s not even about your germinal maybe-crush on him. “Give me some goldfish.”

“You always say that it’s a bad idea, but okay.” She hands you a handful and you shove it into your mouth. It doesn’t mix well with the morning-breath taste and somehow lingering tinge of alcohol. Your head is pounding and if the headache doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment might.

THE ILLUSION

Dr. Woo claps his hands together as the final undergrad enters the lecture hall. The long tables that act as desks proceed away from the central board in stairs. 

“Yeah. Big project coming up, right?” He says with a hint of fake enthusiasm. “It’s going to be a group project, if two people count as a group. Hooray.” A resounding groan emanates from the student body. Dr. Woo is visually unphased by this. “Despite the fact that choice is an illusion, you can pick your own partners. This is college. I don’t care.” He waves a hand dismissing any rebuttal, not that any was coming. Regardless of any other feelings about Dr. Woo, everyone knows he’s a great (read: easy) grader. “Anyway, go crazy. You all know the topic.”

Your heart drops as the room immediately erupts in chattering. Your circle was small at best, and you knew no one in World Lit except for… oh no. You feel a tap on your shoulder. Almost in slow motion, you turn around and see Taesan’s damned handsome face.

“Hey,” he says, very, very casually, “do you want to be my partner?” Oh, what the fuck.

“Um…” You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not that you don’t want to be partners with him, really. It’s just that you don’t want to recoil in embarrassment every time you work on a project worth 20% of your grade. 

He cocks his head to the side, “so?” You’re pretty sure his face could bring world peace. Have him try to convince a warlord to stop fighting by flashing a smile and they’d be a pacifist in under ten minutes.

You sigh, “yeah. Sure.” You try to smile, it doesn’t work that well. Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? Do it for the plot, right? Choosing to partner with him is definitely for the plot. You’re not entirely convinced that he’s pure in his intentions to partner with you; maybe this is part of a bigger frat boy scheme.

“My analysis is actually good, I swear.” He says as he pulls back the chair next to you to sit down. Is that a reference? To what? You are thoroughly confused, clearly remembering very little of that fateful night. He tucks his hands behind his head and leans back.

“What?” You laugh a little, if only out of awkwardness. 

He presses his lips together and they contort as if a laugh is threatening him. “Nevermind. It’s nothing, really.” He is utterly unconvincing when he lies. Maybe he couldn’t convince the warlord.

“Taesan, what?” Your arms cross as you lean back in your chair. Around you, there’s a buzz of new partnerships and dates being set to meet. You two, however, are alone in your own world. In your periphery, Dr. Woo is staring you down. You’re pretty sure he can sense when work isn’t getting done. You can’t tell if he’s just a salty old man or a teenager with a gossip itch trapped in an old professor’s body.

Taesan notices, “Dr. Woo is creeping me out. I’ll tell you in the hall.” He picks up one of your pens and hands it to you in a non subtle suggestion for you to pack up. 

You sling your backpack over one shoulder (despite how you’re told it’s bad for your back) and lead Taesan out of the lecture hall.

“So, are you partners with me just to make fun of me?” You probe him as he catches up to you. “I’m taking you to my dorm, by the way. We can get started on the project.” There’s a silent addition of ‘even if you’re being an asshole, I chose to be stuck with you for some reason’ when you give him a purposeful glance. Maybe Dr. Woo is right. Maybe choice is an illusion. He looks completely lost.

“No, no. It’s not like that, really. I didn't mean to make you feel bad, I just thought it was funny.” He turns around and shakes his head to punctuate his point. 

“Is it better if I don’t know what happened at the party?” One eyebrow raises and you stare him down with some weird level of confidence. Maybe knowing that he’s seen you drooling, drunk, and looking crazy makes you feel like you don’t have much else to lose.

“No, nothing bad happened. You were just drunk. It happens to the best of us.” He shrugs as you enter onto the green.

“Don’t drag this out, let me bite the bullet if I want to.”

He laughs a little, “alright. In summary, you backed into me, told me I was cute, told me my analysis sucks,” so that’s what that was about, “and told me I should kiss you and I told you that you were too drunk,” oh, what the fuck, “and then you fell asleep on me and Jennifer came over. I carried you to the car and drove both you and her home because she had a couple drinks and I had none. I checked up on you because I knew you were going to have one hell of a hangover.” Great, you’re stuck with this fucker you borderline harassed while blackout drunk.

“You were right. It was one hell of a hangover.” You grumble, looking at the floor to avoid any eye contact with him.

“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re not the first person to tell me I’m cute when they’re drunk.” He teases and you roll your eyes. In your heart, though, this is deeply, deeply embarrassing. The thought of what happened stings like a blade in your heart and in your mind. It’s not as bad as the hangover, but it’s pretty damn bad.

“Yeah, right. I was drunk, okay?” Your words are biting. “Why are you partners with me, then? I wasn’t that great the one time you met me.” Maybe you don’t want to know the answer, but the words are already out of your mouth. You scuff your heels as you walk, still avoiding contact with the one and only Han Taesan.

“You’re cute and you’re smart.” He shrugs and you break your rule of avoiding his eyes because now you’re staring at him in disbelief. “Plus, you’re great at keeping me humble.” He meets your eyes now and you’re immediately regretting thinking anything about the previous compliment meant anything at all.

“If you keep being a jerk, I’m going to keep you humble as hell.” You grumble.

“Sorry,” he frowns mildly, “the first part holds more weight.” And now, you’ve flipped. It does mean something… maybe. You face forward again to hide a smile that he totally catches anyways. You’ve made great time alongside Taesan, you’re almost to your dorm.

“Thanks?”

“My pleasure.” He postures. “Why were you there in the first place? No offense, but you don’t strike me as an alcoholic. An alcoholic can handle being drunk better than that.” It’s sort of a compliment, you guess.

“None taken, I don’t believe that being an alcoholic is in the cards for me.” You snort. “Jen dragged me there. I told her it was a bad idea, but she convinced me to go anyway by bribing me with doing my least favorite chores for a week or two.” You explain, crossing your arms and he laughs. “No offense, you don’t seem like you’re part of the frat nor do you seem like an alcoholic. So, what were you doing there?” You redirect. It’s true: he doesn’t seem like a brother nor a drinker.

“I lost a bet. Riwoo bet me that I couldn’t fit fifteen grapes in my mouth and I wanted to prove him wrong because, well, he’s Riwoo, but I lost the bet.” A laugh bubbles up from your chest imagining the situation. Not only did he try, but he tried and failed. “My punishment was either to go to a frat or to do mine and six of my roommates’ laundry for a semester. I picked the frat, obviously. I’ve lived with those guys for long enough to know that all of them stink like hell.” He adds, grimacing. “Plus, ‘doing laundry’ meant changing the sheets and picking up laundry, too.” He looks at you, pointedly.

“You’re lying, no way.” You laugh, partly with him and partly at him.

“You clearly haven’t met my roommates, this way?” His finger points to the building that you’re rooming in with Jen. You pray she’s not there or you’re going to be met with a litany of highly invasive questions.

You nod at his direction, “yeah, there are like seven thousand people here and I can recognize about thirty faces max. That’s like nothing-percent.”

“Good for me, then. I don’t think I’d be the first person you’d be calling cute if they were there with me.” The tone of his voice is light, but in his eyes you see that he fears it’s the truth. Huh, Taesan is just like the rest of us, who’da thunk?

“Where did your cool guy act go?” You tease, leading him up the stairs to your dorm, distinguished by the handmade felt pennants, spelling your’s and Jen’s names. “Drunk me wasn’t lying when she said you were cute, seriously.” You assure him. “Now, I just have to learn if your analysis is as bad as she said it was.” You push open the door with your back, mostly so you don’t have to face him after calling him cute to his face. Last week, you would have run away on the spot; Taesan has you acting like a bad ATM—all out of order.

ENTOURAGE

You hated to admit it, his analysis was great. By spending hours writing and rewriting scripts to memorize for your oral presentation, you watched Taesan connect dots you didn't even know were there and recall obscure details from lectures that happened to be integral to the coherence of your project. You can practically see the cogs turn in his head, the way he bites the inside of his lip when he’s really focused, the way his face lights up when he gets an idea, the way he slides his thin wire glasses up his straight nose with a knuckle when they slip down because he furrowed his eyebrows too much.

This is how you find yourself at four on a Wednesday afternoon, weeks after your first incidental meeting with him: admiring his work on your dorm floor.

“Damn, Taesan.” You still kept to calling him his full name instead of Tae, you felt like it meant something. “This is amazing, I would have never thought to connect those passages, we read that first book ages ago!” You shook your head, his analysis was that good. Maybe not award-winning, but definitely worth an A, even in your harshest grader’s class. He smirks as he laughs a little, taking off his glasses and stretching his hands up, grasping at nothing while trying to stretch his back. You two had been sitting for hours on the hard floor of your dorm room; you told him to sit on your chair, but he refused, demanding he sit next to you so that he can ‘see what you’re writing’ better.

“You brought up At the Bottom of the River in the first place.” He deflects your praise. You’ll gladly take the compliment even if you had no part in his discovery. As you shrug his deflection off, you feel his arm come down around your shoulder and you jump a little, not expecting the touch. Of course, his hand feels nice where it rests, but you’re still not quite used to the way Taesan evidently shows affection. The first time he pulled the classic ‘I’m-just-stretching-actually-I’m-putting-my-arm-around-you’ move, you didn’t expect it in the slightest. You had finished a part you were putting off and he moved to stretch, suddenly putting his arm around you and shaking you while cheering you on about your victory. The laugh you let out when that happened was something entirely unprecedented for you, you laughed until your stomach hurt and your eyes watered, and you couldn’t even pinpoint why.

“Yeah, sure.” You look at him, exaggerating your skepticism with your one raised eyebrow, his arm still around you.

“When’s Jen getting back? Do we have time to mess around or should I go before she starts pestering you?” He asks, half-joking as he tilts his head towards yours. Jen had taken a liking to him, if not too much of a liking to him… for you. Whenever you and Taesan were together and Jen spotted you, she made the least subtle comments possible telling you to get together, wiggling her eyebrows and full of exaggerated winks. It wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Hey, look at the position you two are in right now: foreheads so close they’re almost touching, alone in your dorm, with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. Still, you’ve gathered that’s just kind of how Taesan is with his friends. From what you’ve heard, he’s like that with everyone. It’s not unique to you.

“She said she’d be back at five, so…” you check the egg clock, “like, thirty minutes?” 

“Nice.” He purses his lips. “Are you nervous for the presentation? It’s tomorrow, you know?” Taesan has his sensitive moments, for sure. He sounds—he is—genuinely concerned about how you’re feeling about it, you can hear it in his voice. He’s not great at hiding things like that. Even when he’s making fun of you, it’s never malicious.

“I’m fine. I’m nervous, but it is a big presentation, after all. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” You tell him, flexing an arm to prove your point, though the action is inhibited by his arm still around you.

“Never doubted you for a second, Miss Independent. You can still be nervous though, it’s okay to be nervous.” 

“Are you nervous? You sound like you’re projecting.”

He exhales, “yeah, I’m nervous as hell.” He laughs a little after the admission, but it’s not a humorous one.

“Hey, text me if you get nervous before, right? Doesn’t help to keep it to yourself. And, no offense, but I think I’ll be better at commiserating with you than your roommates, however lovely they are.” 

He exhales. “Yeah, thanks.” He’s being surprisingly soft, and you can’t help but seize the opportunity to connect a little with the sensitive side of Taesan instead of the cool, nonchalant Taesan. From what you’ve gathered, his Nirvana-decorated headphones, monochrome black clothes, and his sullen resting face makes him less approachable to your peers.

“You’ll be fine. As you said to me when we were partnered, you’re cute and you’re smart. You’ve got it.” You tell him, leaning your head onto his shoulder. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Can you feel someone’s heartbeat through their shoulder? Probably not, but the human body is full of surprises. One surprise is how hard you can see his pulse through his carotid artery, pulsing in his neck. Good God, this boy is going to get high blood pressure if his heart is always going a million miles an hour. “Tell me about writing music. I’m tired.” You tell him, closing your eyes. 

You’re brought back to what you were told about the first time you met him. This time, however, you falling asleep on him isn’t so much of a surprise. Your knowledge of composition contrasts Taesan’s, you know little more than the basics. Asking him to talk about it is an easy route to a one-sided conversation where you get to listen to him talk, which is always a good time. He gets so animated, it’s hilarious and adorable.

“Your wish is my command.” He laughs, and you feel the vibration against your head and he starts on a critically tangential spiel. 

Before you can get too comfortable leaning on Taesan listening to him talk about rhyme schemes, the door swings open. Jen walks in after opening the door with her signature slam. Why you haven’t gotten any complaints yet, you have no idea.

“Oh… my God.” You can practically hear her freeze in the doorway. Out of sight, out of mind, so you keep your eyes closed.

“Jen, no one’s dying.” You assure her, suddenly deeply uncomfortable, shifting on the floor.

“You’re right, no one’s dying. My heart is so happy, look at you!” She almost giggles.

“Is this a good time for me to go?” Taesan starts to ask the pivotal question that’s going to determine exactly how embarrassed you are going to be this afternoon.

“Yes—” “No—” You and Jen say in unison. You open your eyes just to glare at her, seeing her standing over you.

“No… I’m going to get to know my best friend’s… group project partner.” She winks very not-subtly at you. Taesan looks at you just as you look at him, and he shrugs. 

“The more the merrier, right?” He asks. The rhetorical question becomes immediately very literal as Jen continues.

“Oooh… I like the way he thinks, girl.” She says, pointing to you. “Taesan, invite your roommates over, too. We can have a party!” She’s almost clapping with how excited she is, rolling back on her heels.

Taesan lights up, “oh hell yeah! I’ll see who’s available.” Oh, Taesan. Always the extrovert.

You groan, but it’s futile to try and stop the scheming. How did this get so bad so fast? “No drinking.” You instruct them.

“Half of them can’t even drink legally yet, plus, do you seriously think I’m going to drink the night before our presentation? No way.” He assures you, and you groan again in hesitant acceptance.

“I’m never letting you drink again. Don’t worry about that.” She promises you quietly before switching back to hyped-up Jen mode. “Oh, this is so exciting! When can they get here?” She’s sitting cross-legged in front of you two now, rifling through contacts on her phone in its sparkly case.

“Well,” Taesan pauses, “If they’d answer my texts—” ding! Almost like he scripted it, he gets a notification. “And there we go. Turns out they’re just hanging out at our place, all of them are free. Do you want them here now?”

“Hell yeah, I do! We should watch a movie… what movie should we watch? Don’t tell me they like horror…” She pushes her eyebrows together in what sounds half like a threat and half like a plea.

“Yeah, not that I know of.”

“We should watch 10 Things I Hate About You.” You suggest.

And that’s how you got to be sitting in a circle on your room’s floor with Taesan, Jen, and every single one of Taesan’s five roommates. You’d only briefly met a couple of them in passing before. Right now, you’re even managing to not cut each others’ throats out while playing UNO! What an achievement!

“And the color is… wait for it!” Taesan’s roommate with the light brown, almost orange hair and rounder, blueish-green black glasses says, leaning around to intimidate the others with a giant smile on his face. Everyone erupts in laughter at him. You remember that this is Riwoo, the one who dared Taesan to stuff 15 grapes in his mouth in the first place. “Blue!” He announces.

Your last card was red. Damn it.

Jaehyun immediately slumps over, Sungho frowns, Leehan stares at the card deck and Woonhak stares, terrified, at Jen when she jumps up, screaming “Uno!” as she slams her blue five on the pile. Shouts resound from the boys around you. Taesan is laughing. 

As the room erupts around you, Taesan nudges you with his shoulder, showing you his card. His last color was red, too. “We’re both winners in my heart.” He tells you with a wink. What a sap. You push his face away with a hand, stifling a laugh as you feel a heat come to your cheeks. Your light push makes him dip away from you like the inflatable tube men outside gas stations.

“You’re so corny.” You tell him as you take in the scene unfolding around you. Inviting Taesan’s friends over was a great idea. Jen is yelling at Jaehyun, Jaehyun looks terrified. Woonhak and Sungho are yelling at Riwoo, Riwoo is laughing at them. Leehan is laughing at Riwoo laughing at Woonhak and Sungho.

Taesan catches you smiling at the camaraderie, “if people yelling at each other was all it took to make you smile, I’d have invited them over way earlier.”

“Taesan,” you laugh, “I don’t like schadenfreude. It’s nice to see Jen let loose sometimes. I don’t think she gets to argue with anyone very often.”

“If she wants anyone to argue with, I’m available.” He spreads his arms to punctuate his point. At this, you laugh even harder. As you look around again, you see everyone laughing and collapsing on the floor, except for Jen, who’s pretending to fume and sulk on her bed. You know her well enough to catch the smile that pulls at her lips.

“It’s like watching kids at the park.” You motion towards Taesan���s friends, who’ve clearly become very comfortable around you and Jen.

“This weird authenticity is kind of their whole M.O.” He smiles, very clearly adoring their antics. “Imagine having to do their laundry though. I’m glad I chose to go to the party instead.” He pretends to shiver which draws out a laugh from you.

“Yeah, if you had chosen to do their laundry you also wouldn’t have been able to see me drool on you when you carried me to the car.” You snort. You’ve made peace with your drunken night. After all, you’ve already lost your dignity and he’s still hanging around.

“It was so cute though!” He contests and you roll your eyes at him. You have sworn up and down that he doesn’t like you like… that. Even if he did like you, you’re pretty sure no one likes anyone else enough that their drool is cute. Therefore, Jen’s points are null. Simple as that.

“I’m just soooo adorable,” you roll your eyes, “you don’t have to rub it in, dude.” you smile incredulously at him, throwing one of your legs over the other, just short of taking out Riwoo’s leg.

“I’m not joking!” His tone is defensive in ultimate Taesan fashion.

“Yeah, sure.” You tell him as Jen reaches out to you and pulls you to your feet, leaving Taesan alone on the floor.

Jen whispers to you, “so, when’s the wedding?” You roll your eyes.

“Shut up, you always do this.” You groan. “Do you get some sadistic joy from seeing me uncomfortable?” You cross your arms, almost elbowing Woonhak. This room is not big enough for eight people to fit in comfortably.

“Can I be the maid of honor?” She ignores your complaints and you let out an exaggerated groan in response.

“Don’t make me regret not making him go home.”

“Fine, fine.” She looks to be backing down. That is until she smirks, meeting your eyes again. “I’m not the only one who sees something!” She says cheerily before bouncing off as far as one can, which is about a foot. She looks back at you and winks before (lightly) punching Woonhak in the back to get his attention. She’s immediately drawn into some debate of some sort or another. Earlier, Leehan had assigned you both fish and Jen had been assigned a ‘Cherry Barb’ and she immediately took issue with the name for some reason or other. It was very cathartic for Taesan to watch someone contest Leehan’s fish opinions. He was totally dumbstruck; it was hilarious. Then, of course, you got an informational speech from Leehan which quelled Jens’ argument. Now, she’s a Cherry Barb.

Maybe this is how it should be, friends arguing with friends and laughing about it after, cramped in a too small room. When you meet Taesan’s eyes, you see the sparkle in them tell you he thinks so too. Maybe your friends will become the opposite of children of divorce, gaining family instead of it being separated. Is that just children of marriage? Ugh, Jen’s infected you.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Taesan wiggles his eyebrows, clearly having heard the conversation. You roll your eyes.

BREAKING CODE

Jen is passed out on her bed on the opposite side of the room. The egg clock greets you with the time in blaring white: 11:32 pm. Head in your hands, you groan. No amount of free-on-youtube reality TV was going to calm your nerves. None of your favorite episodes are helping, even the one you have open on your computer. 

After the boys had left, you guaranteed yourself that everything would be fine. Your presentation would go great, no questions asked. Now, sitting in your room practically alone, you feel way less optimistic. 

Thoughts of Taesan cross your mind and you furrow your eyebrows, trying to shoo them. You wonder if he’s awake right now, if he’s anxious like you. You try to calm yourself by thinking that it could be worse, the presentation could be 30% of your grade. Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t help. Your phone, thrown aside earlier and laying on the bed, is practically inviting you to make a bad decision with its open, empty screen.

You stare out the window, contemplating whether or not to take the risk and text him. Your window opens up to a view of the door to enter your dorm building, and you can see the freshly fallen snow settling around it. The snow covers the creaky benches and even the overhang above the door. It’s while you're doing this contemplating that, to your fortune or maybe misfortune, the risk decides to take you with a ding from your phone.

On your home screen, you see a contact pop up and you freeze. You read the name again, it still says MOUNTAIN. Taesan put that as his contact name.

You look again, you weren’t hallucinating. It’s Taesan texting you. Is he nervous? Did he seriously take you up on your offer? You were simultaneously hoping that he would text you while hoping that he would never, ever even think to.

You steel yourself and open your phone, that’s when you get your answer.

[MOUNTAIN]: are you up [MOUNTAIN]: i’m nervous are you

You did tell him to text you if he was nervous. That offer, however, happened when you were feeling a little bolder. You are not feeling especially bold right now.

[you]: i might be [MOUNTAIN]: meet me lets go to the convenience store [MOUNTAIN]: chills me out before midterms usually and this is like the same thing

You didn’t need to even try to make a bad decision, the bad decision came to you, enticing you with the lure of a convenience store and a chance to escape your stuffy dorm.

Resting your phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling like a corpse with the way your hands are positioned, you weigh your options. Mentally, you make a list.

PROs:

You see Taesan

You get a snack probably

CONs:

You see Taesan

It’s been established that crazy shit goes down when you see Taesan past like nine pm—it’s like your friendship is a vampire but night-intolerant instead of day-intolerant

The last time you made a for the plot decision it didn’t turn out that bad. Yeah, partnering with Taesan could have sucked, but it didn’t. Going to the party was a kind of yolo-esque decision, too, and that was kind of a blessing in disguise. You rationalize your preference for meeting him with the fact that you know him better now. He’s not a rando and, as far as you know, he’s not evil.

You only live once, right?

You pick your phone back up and text him before you can rethink it.

[you]: meet where? [MOUNTAIN]: outside your dorm building in 10

You squint at the screen. His place is like a twenty minute walk away and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have a car, that would be weird for him. You can’t pinpoint why, but you don’t like the idea of him owning a car, despite the fact that he’s driven Jen’s with you in it. Ugh.

[you]: okay

You are totally chill about this.

Looking over at Jen in her bed, you decide you don’t want to be interrogated about this decision yet. She will not let you hear the end of it, and that’s not going to calm your nerves. It’s kind of against customary law safety recommendations to not tell your roommate where you’re going at night, but you decide that’s not applicable here.

Taking your computer off your lap and swinging your feet over the side of your bed as quietly as possible, you assess the situation. The nice thing about totally embarrassing yourself the first time you met him is that you now don’t particularly care about how you look. You’re wearing Jen’s mother’s giant Hartford Whalers hockey team brand shirt and some irritatingly red plaid pajama pants that totally crash with the cool blues and greens of your shirt.

Tiptoeing to the square, wooden-framed mirror hung in the entrance you check how your hair looks. You pull on your oversized puffer jacket as quietly as possible from the command hook-provided coat hanger adorning off the back of the exit door. The zipper is cold in your hands as you check to make sure Jen is oblivious to your impending excursion. She is still fast asleep, evident from the way her chest slowly rises and falls and the faint snores that you hear from her. 

The door handle is freezing to the touch. You expected as much from a dorm building with as little central heating as it tends to cater, but it’s still unpleasant. The door opens with a loud creak. You stand assured that no one has successfully snuck out of any single one of these dorms because the floorboards creak and the doors practically announce over the loudspeaker when anyone opens them.

Thankfully, Jen is none the wiser as you glance back at her, she’s in the same sleeping position you last saw her in: lying on her stomach with one leg thrown up closer to her chest and an arm flung over her head. It’s completely bizarre and totally adorable of her.

You make your way through the straightforward yet somehow labyrinthine halls of your dorm building. As you approach the glass entryway, you see Taesan illuminated by the orange streetlight, leaning against the red brick of the adjacent building standing on a recently-hardened layer of snowfall. He’s layered an unzipped black puffer jacket, similar to yours, over a gray hoodie and accessorised with a hat that makes his head look round like an egg. He’s rubbing his gloved hands together to keep them warm. He sees you before you even open the door, and his face lights up when he does.

After suppressing a smile, you scold him, “I can’t believe you called me to meet you at this hour!” 

“You told me I could!” He defends. You notice how you can see his breath against the cold air. It’s colder than you thought, you push your bare hands further into your pockets.

“How did you even get here so fast? Do you secretly live in the next building, or something? Are you my tropey boy next door?” You nudge him, wiggling your eyebrows as if this was some plot straight out of a fanfiction.

“Yeah, right.”

“Come on, you’re not secretly pining for me?” You tease him, sinking deeper into the collar of your coat on account of the biting wind that hits you once you leave the sanctuary of the protected building and, though you’re not willing to admit it to yourself, because the boy next to you makes your cheeks hot.

“Yeah, I’m secretly hanging off of your every word, just waiting for the moment I can confess my undying love for you.” He rolls his eyes. Noticing your hands shoved in your pockets, he changes the subject, “are you cold? I brought some extra gloves, do you want them?” His words are surprisingly considerate considering the incessant teasing you subject him to daily.

“Yeah.” You laugh, freezing as he takes the knit black gloves out of his pocket. Taking them from him and putting them on, you adjust them carefully. They’re far too big for you, but it’s the thought that counts, right? The “thought that counts” is definitely keeping your hands warmer. As you examine your new apparel with a smile, you feel a pressure over your head. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed him taking his hat off and now he is pushing it onto your head. You jump back, “hey! You could have lice!” Your smile disappears in favor of a pout. The hat does feel nice on your ears though.

Taesan bursts out laughing, “I do not have lice, I promise.” Still laughing, he elaborates, “plus, you’re cold. Your ears were so cold they were getting red.” You glare at him as he only laughs harder. Instinctively, you throw up your hands to cover your ears

“Point me to the convenience store or I’m going back inside whether you’re nervous or not.” You grumble.

“Okay, Miss Grump. Just follow me.” He says with a stupidly charming smile and grabs your wrist before picking up the pace. To him, picking up the pace means speed-walking, but for you, it means jogging.

“Ack!” You jump at the sudden movement, “Taesan! You can’t do that!” You try to free your wrist and, when you succeed, you cross your arms, standing solid in place as he turns around.

“If you don’t come with me, I’ll yell that you think Heath Ledger is super sexy during the presentation!” He yells, running backwards. Your jaw drops open. You want to trust Taesan enough to think he wouldn’t do that, but you also know Taesan well enough that he totally would do that. It was a bad idea to watch 10 Things I Hate About You with him, Jen, and his roommates after the Uno game. You do not need your personal preferences aired out to an auditorium of your peers and Dr. Woo. Plus, the only thing you like about Heath Ledger is that he essentially serenaded Kat Stratford!

Damn it. Stuck between would and would not, you narrow your eyes and start sprinting after him before he can turn a corner.

“You’re so on, Mr. Mountain!” He turns to look behind him, seeing you gaining fast on him as you run as fast as your legs will take you towards him. It’s his turn to be surprised, and he speeds up. After all, he wasn’t going that fast in the first place. As you close the gap between the two of you, you can hear his infectious laughter that makes you press down a swelling in your chest. You do not like Taesan, you assure yourself. It’s all in good fun. It’s only good fun. Focusing on the challenge ahead, you see Taesan just ahead of you, about to turn down a sidewalk.

He’s right behind a snowbank. If you’re the sun and the snowbank is the earth, he’s the moon in a solar eclipse.

It’s impulsive, your next action, truly. Presented with the right circumstances, however, you like to take your chances. With a shout that’s more primeval than you intended it to be, you grab onto his puffer jacket and tackle him onto the earth that is the snowbank.

It’s almost like slow-motion when you, with an evil smile, keep your eyes focused on Taesan as you see the world around you slowly become more horizontal as you fall, yourself falling on his back as he falls flat on his chest.

When his front compresses the snow enough to stop his descent towards the obscured grass, you hear him let out a moan. A moment of silence passes as both of you process what just happened. You’re propped up on your hands (gloved, thanks to Taesan) and he’s lying on his back, hands thrown above him because of his attempt at stabilization during the fall. His lips are slightly parted in shock, and his eyes are wide open, staring at you. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. He totally moaned when he fell. At least you can play teasing offense on him instead of having to defend why you tackled this man that is in no way, shape, or form your boyfriend. To be fair, men whimpering is hot. It’s just that you didn’t expect the man whimpering to be Taesan. It doesn’t really fit with his image.

You hold yourself up with one hand, clutching your stomach as you double over in laughter. “Oh my gosh, this is hilarious! I’m going to tell Riwoo that you moan when you get pushed around by women. He’ll never let you hear the end of it!” Taesan looks completely scandalized. His mouth is open and he looks totally terrified, you almost feel bad for him. 

Almost.

He covers his eyes with his gloves, “don’t you dare say anything.” Tears form in your eyes as you attempt to suppress a laugh to try and spare any more of his dignity. That doesn’t extend to teasing, though. It’s simply too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“What if, during the presentation, I yell out that you moan when someone pins you down?” You theorize him, sitting down on the dry ground next to him, throwing your legs over his stomach.

Still holding his hands over his eyes, he mutters a defensive response, “it’s not like that!” Flat on his back, he looks, somehow, handsome with snow visible in and contrasting against his darker hair, and his gloves covering his reddening face in embarrassment. If you’re lucky, maybe this is how he felt watching you fall onto him when you were drunk the first time you met. It’s more adoration than disgust.

“Aw, there’s no shame in it.” You coax. He is completely and totally embarrassed, you can tell by the way his ears are bright, cherry red.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? What do you want?” He whines, refusing to look at you even when you try to pry his hands away from his face.

“Whatever we do and wherever we go together, it’s on you. Monetarily, I mean.” You push a finger into his chest as he finally frees his eyes from his own grip, daring to look at you face on.

“You serious?” He groans, he’s still red but looks to be over the initial shock. Either from the biting wind swirling around you or because of your teasing, his cheeks are coated in a dusting of red.

“Yeah, unless you want everyone to know about your sexual preferences.” Releasing him from your pushed finger, you cross your arms and shrug innocently.

“This is blackmail. This is extortion!” He complains, covering his eyes again.

“So… yes or no?” You grab his wrists and rip them from his face, revealing his angsty stare.

“...Yes, I’ll pay. Will you let it go now?” His words are harsher and he’s sulking, glaring at you. Maybe you pushed it too far.

“Hey, I meant it when I said it’s nothing to be ashamed about.” You let go of his wrists, opting to rub his shoulder instead, in an attempt to reassure him. “Listen, I lost my dignity by falling on you and drooling when we met, and you lost your dignity just now. Let’s just say we’re even.” You smile optimistically, hoping it will psych him into believing you because what you say is the truth, even if it’s a touchy subject, apparently.

Once he’s reminded of your not-so-cute meet-cute, he seems to relax a little. “You did drool like crazy. Do I really have to pay?” He’s smiling now, thank God. He rests his hands on his chest, looking way more comfortable.

“Yup. You do.” You laugh, it’s a softer laugh than your earlier fit, though. “Convenience store?” You prompt him, offering a hand to have him get up. As your hand interlocks with his, a smile tugs at the sides of your lips and you still can’t tell if the heat in your face is from the wind chill or Taesan. “And, take your hat back, idiot. Your ears are red.” The hat traps all the heat radiating from your flushed face and it makes you almost feel sweaty.

He laughs a little before speaking, “thanks for the hat. My ears are just so cold.” He jokes. “The store is just this way.” He points to the right he was going to take when you knocked him down. He was leading you the right way, at least. “Never try to blackmail me again, I swear.” He threatens, pouting, and then shoves you, however lightly. He doesn't look very scary.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.” You retort. He glares at you, keeping eye contact as you walk closer to the glowing, welcoming arms of the convenience store in the form of its bright lights, illuminating the street from the inside, casting an eerie glow onto the otherwise dark and snow-ridden street. In response to his look, you childishly blow a strawberry at him. This hasn’t been either of your finest hours. Your antics draw out a smile from him, at least. Practically skipping along, you try to change the subject to something less personal, maybe. “What did you expect when you called me out here? You said you were nervous, after all.”

“Yeah, I did say that. I got the pre-presentation nerves, you know? ‘Thought we could talk about it.” He rubs his neck. This is definitely a less personal topic, but that’s not to say it’s impersonal.

“So, talk.” You command, avoiding eye contact mostly so you don’t laugh, replaying him falling over.

“What is there to say? I had some nerves.” He laughs, opening the silvery door to the convenience store, stepping aside to let you through.

“What a gentleman,” you muse, “how’d you learn that? Rom-coms?”

“I’m allowed to be nice, too, you know. You watch more romantic comedies than me.” He rolls his eyes.

“I do it ironically.” You drawl. “I was nervous too, to be honest,” you were not going to tell him that you were watching rom-coms trying to relax, that would be a little too much ammo for him, “Jen was fast asleep and I was just kind of… lying there.” You pick up a miscellaneous chip bag, lazily inspecting it.

“Oh, I totally get it. The only other person awake was Leehan, and he was going to trap me in fish conversation if I even so much as approached him.” You snort at this. Even from your brief interactions with Leehan this afternoon, his passion is palpable. You can just see it in his face that he’s a little bit of an uber-nerd about those particular animals. Nerd is being used affectionately, of course. His interest is admirable. “Do you want those chips?” He asks, pointing to the bag in your hand.

“Not really, I like those other ones better.” You shrug, pointing to the alternative, an equally fluorescent bag of slightly better-tasting chips. “We can tame the worries together,” you smile at him, reaching behind you to grab your preferred flavor, “the question is how.”

“Going to the convenience store is a pretty good start.” He pushes his bottom lip into the top one. As you watch this action, he suppresses a smile, suddenly. “I have an idea.” Of course he does. He says this with a growing smile on his face as he locks eyes with you. “We should have a snowball fight.” Your own smile grows as he waits for your response.

“We should.” You nod. This time, you have an idea, a bad one. “Only if you moan again.” You charge him with the scandalous comment, and he looks affronted again, and immediately reaches out a free hand to shove you.

“Don’t say that so loud!” He hissed, looking around the almost empty store to see if anyone heard him. “That stays between you and me.” You roll your eyes but you can’t hide your amusement.

“Yeah, okay.” You walk off towards the cashier across the store to buy your snacks, sticking out your tongue at him. On the way, you inspect and in turn pick up a chocolate bar and a mediocre-looking apple to buy with your chips; it’s all about balance.

Taesan comes up behind you as you place your haul on the mini conveyor belt and gives a small bow to the cashier. He sets down two bags of chips and an enoki mushroom snack that has Japanese writing on it, for which you give him a disgusted look. Perusing his other selections, you smile when you see the second chip bag, for which you change your disgusted look for one of gratitude.

“Aw, did you get those for me?” You ask, pointing to the less perfect, but still pretty good flavor.

“No, I got them for… um…” He pauses, seemingly unable to think of someone else he would get them for. It’s kind of cute, if not a little embarrassing. “I got them for you. I can be kind, remember?” Sassy man apocalypse.

“Duly noted.” You purse your lips. You look at him expectantly, going from him to his card on the back of his phone, again.

“What?” He asks, innocently. Sungho wasn’t joking when he said that he looks like a cat. As he realizes you’re deadass, he narrows his eyes and turns to you, “are you serious about the whole paying thing?” He cocks his head.

“I was pretty clear. That is, unless you—” You’re cut off by Taesan clamping a hand over your mouth, for which he gets a repulsed and highly suspicious glare from the middle-aged cashier, he meets this with another bow, unclasping your face from his grip. When you’re let go, you raise your eyebrows at him as if to say ‘really?’ His hand smells like lavender soap, it’s kind of pleasant, actually. From the state of his and his roommates’ everything-but-sleeping room, you wouldn’t have guessed they were in possession of floral hand soap. When you’re done thinking about how he smells, you’re feeling a little embarrassed and also physically being led out of the store, hopefully after Taesan paid.

“Was that really necessary?” You ask, hands free because Taesan’s holding the store-provided bag that houses all of your treats.

“I don’t need anyone hearing about… that. Especially a middle-aged anyone.” He clarifies and fair enough. You take the opportunity, however, to scoop up a clump of snow (distinctly not yellow, you checked) and pitch it at him. Still carefully holding your bag, he looks at you with a sense of betrayal. “Oh, I’m going to get you.” He threatens before hurling a snowball that splashes against your only water-resistant coat.

Snowball after snowball is thrown, before your brief yet intense brawl is cut short by ice cold rain slicing through the air around you. Without Taesan’s hat, the sleet pummels your head and it hurts. Your puffer has no hood. Before you can let out an ‘ow,’ even, you find your oasis above you, a puffer. Taesan’s puffer. He managed to, in the short time it started sleeting and you noticed it, drop all of his stockpiled snowballs, pick up the convenience store’s bag, take off his puffer jacket, and cover your head with it, protecting you from the harsh, half-frozen rain. When you look at his face to your right, he looks totally angelic. The streetlight behind him makes him look like he has a halo from the light filtering through the edges of his hair. He’s smiling, despite all the teasing and irritation you put him through in the short time you’ve been out of your dorm.

“Yikes, that came fast.” He comments, looking around and noticing how the sleet pelts down around the two of you. “I’ll take you home, I think it’s our cue to wrap this up.” He suggests. His sweetness contrasts against the wistful feeling that unexpectedly forms when he mentions parting. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation or maybe it’s the chill getting to you, but you feel like you’re on cloud nine, it’s the most you’ve laughed since Jen told you the crazy goings-on between her highschool ex-girlfriend and one of her friends. Apparently, her ex-girlfriend is absolutely smitten for her friend and said friend completely ignores her at every turn. You laughed until your cheeks hurt that day. Your cheeks don’t hurt from laughing, necessarily, but it’s the same sort of freeing feeling. You don’t know what to make of that, but you’re damn sure you like the way he’s smiling at you.

“Whatever you say. Thanks for the roof.” You beamed, pointing up at the make-shift shelter he’s made for you.

“My pleasure, Miss Grump.” He says this with a posh accent that makes you laugh. You have no idea since when he’s started calling you Miss Grump, but there are worse names, probably.

“Don’t make me kick you.” You threaten, trying (and failing) to suppress the grin that tugs at your lips.

“Sorry, Madame Grump.” He corrects, still holding the cover over your head.

 “I’m not even being grumpy.” You warn him, not even trying to hide the smile that spreads across your face. “Come on, get moving.” You cue him to start the walk back to your dorm.

“Your wish is my command, Miss—” 

“Don’t you dare.” You threaten and bump your shoulder into his. The walk back to your dorm is short, it took you far longer to get to the convenience store because of… well… tangential events. Checking your phone, you finally learn the time. It’s fucking two in the morning. Great! You’ll get essentially no sleep, but that’s nothing a little caffeine can’t fix.

“I dare more than you think I do.” He purses his lips.

“Okay, I dare you to admit you moaned when you fell.” You challenge him with a smirk.

He groans, “I pick truth.”

“This isn’t truth or dare, you don’t get to pick. Plus, truth would be ‘did you moan when you fell.’” You can see your dorm from where you stand in front of the red brick building, it’s still brightly lit. Hopefully that means that Jen is still asleep and hasn’t woken up to turn the overhead off.

“You can’t subpoena me so I’m not playing this game.” He shrugs, stopping underneath the overhang above the glass door that marks the entrance to your building and the separation from Taesan. As he steps aside, taking his puffer with him and putting it back on, you’re suddenly and unfortunately aware of his body heat now that it’s gone.

“I’m less nervous.” He says with a smile that seems almost confidential, like a secret only you know. He’s undeniably easy on the eyes with his stupid hat and soaked gloves and hoodie. 

“Me too.” The words come out of your mouth softly. Somehow, they’re vulnerable words to say. “Goodnight, Taesan.” After your parting words, neither of you make a move to leave. His full name feels more meaningful than his nickname, somehow. You stand there, lit up by the LEDs of the hallways, staring at each other, and you’re not entirely sure why. The tension might be thick, it might not be, you can’t tell by the way you’re focused on his face. Well, it’s not exactly his face. It’s the way his hair frames his face, yes, and the way that his eyes scrunch when he smiles, even slightly, it’s also the way his egg hat looks and the way his hoodie is so damp because he was trying to keep you warm and dry. 

Then it’s all over. When the tension breaks, it’s not like it’s cut through. It’s more like it dissipates. It dissipates thanks to the man who barrels down the street adjacent to your bubble, blasting a Spanish ballad and singing his heart out. Soy capitán, soy capitán, soy capitán! blasts through the complex. You break eye contact with Taesan just to laugh at the oddity passing you. You watch him coast down the street on his green bike, singing, without a helmet, hands-free. Your mother would not approve. Taesan’s not laughing, but he’s beaming and staring at you as you crouch down because of your laughter. You try and convince yourself it’s not even that funny, but something about the era of the night just makes you heave with how hard you’re laughing.

“I mean,” recovering, you let out a sigh, finally releasing a breath that you don’t remember holding, “it is a college campus.”

“You can say that again.” His hands are on his hips, and he’s managed to pry his eyes away from you. The sleet’s stopped somewhat, but the ground is still icy from the snow and sleet and rain that have frozen and refrozen over the past few days. The same wistful silence settles between you two after the interruption.

“Maybe it’s a sign.” You laugh in disbelief. Now you’re sure you’ve laughed more than when Jen told you about her friend’s drama. Way more.

“A sign for what?” He questions, jocose and almost suspicious of your deduction.

“A sign you’ve violated like a million rules of common decency!” Another voice, one other than the singing man’s melody and Taesan’s and your chatter, is heard echoing throughout. “Han Taesan, I’m going to beat your ass!” The voice threatens angrily. At first, you don’t know where it’s coming from. At second, you don’t want to believe where it’s coming from. You slowly look up to your open dorm window and see Jen’s disheveled figure poking out with the single most serious scowl you’ve ever seen her wear. The only time that gets close to this nouveau expression is the time she decked a guy for… being a total freak for one of her friends, let’s say. Your body is confused on whether to panic, run, or just freeze. Waiting to act is still an action, and it’s the prognosis your body suggests. You freeze, looking from Taesan to the window, where Jen is notably absent.

You look at Taesan. 

You look at the window. 

You look at Taesan. 

You look at the hallway.

Taesan looks terrified, you look utterly and visibly confused, and for Jen… well, it looks like there's smoke coming out of her ears as she storms down the hallway towards the doors that open to reveal your two-person symposium. Jen slams open the door and, if it wasn’t specifically made not to slam, the impact of the slam would have reverberated until even Dr. Woo heard it across the campus in his (probably sound-proofed) office where he probably still is because, you know, he’s Dr. Woo.

“You motherfucker, what did you do to get her to go out without telling me! What are you hiding? Are you a criminal? Are you a smoker? Oh no, you’re just a piece of shit trying to get in her pants!” Jen steps in front of you, blocking everything but Taesan’s head from your view. From what you can see, Taesan hasn’t been sucker punched yet. His eyes are wide and he’s holding his hands up like he’s waiting for her to swing, and maybe he is. You know he doesn’t know her well enough to know that she wants to beat the shit out of him, but she did say explicitly that she was going to beat the shit out of him so he had some reason to suspect that that’s what was incoming.

“W-what? I don’t— I didn’t do any of that stuff!” He’s shaking his hands wildly and Jen still looks like she’s about to swing by the way she’s pushing a finger into his chest. Still too shocked to do, well, anything except watch.

You see her rear up in a way that’s all too familiar to you, and when you remember you can move, “Jen, wait! It’s–” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you see her closed fist collide with his cheekbone and the impact make him reel back, clutching the affected area with a mittened hand. He almost knocks his head into the pole supporting the overhang, and you can see he’s visibly out of it. Is this a good time to mention that Jen is freakishly good at karate? What Jen is, however, not amazing at is analyzing the situation. As she battles with the follow-through of the swing, she loses her footing on the icy ground, falling flat on her ass. Now, both parties accompanying you are on the icy ground and you’re the only one still standing.

You act in a delay. “Jen! He didn’t do anything, I swear!” You reach for her shoulders that are no longer there, trying to stop an action that’s already happened. You watch as Taesan crumples further into a fetal position and you stand there in shock.

“See!” She spits, snapping her head back to look up at you. “He’s not even trying to help me up!” Her eyebrows are furrowed and angry.

“Jen,” you almost can’t help but laugh, “you decked him, he doesn’t even know what planet he’s on.” You look from your best friend to your… Taesan, and wonder how you attend to both of their bullshit situations at once. “Okay, first of all, Jen, please don’t punch his ass again—”

“Yeah, I’ll punch him in the gut.” She snarls, cutting you off.

“No! There will be no punching.” You declare, trying to sound confident but you’re so bewildered it comes out more as a question. You turn your attention to Taesan, whose nose is bleeding ever so slightly. He’s holding his hat-clad head in his hands and is grimacing in pain. You mirror him, a grimace appearing on your own face as you look upon his pitiful condition. This is going to be so fun to explain. “I came out here because I told him he could call me if he was nervous for the presentation tomorrow and I’d talk to him about it and so we went to the convenience store and… I’m fine! He’s not just trying to get in my pants, he would’ve done that already if he wanted to.” You ramble, using logic that probably wouldn’t withstand in court but works well enough when you talk a million miles an hour to a less than law-savvy subject, that subject being Jen. The subject, Jen, looks scandalized by this information.

“Where did my innocent baby go?” She pouts, getting up to put her arms around you. “Where did my sweet, lightweight, baby with no love life go? She’s sneaking out to see boys?” 

“Jen, I’m a grown woman.” You tell her, incredibly blasé and stiff as she embraces you in a hug. From over her shoulder, you catch Taesan’s eye. When your eyes meet, he laughs and then winces. It probably wasn’t a good idea to welcome an uncontrollable movement when you have some sort of abrasion on your cheek and blood coming out of your nose. Jen pulls back to look at you and shakes her head, you can almost hear her saying they grow up so fast. Maybe this is the same kind of telepathy that goes down between her and her sisters. Maybe you get it. Jen, coming back to earth from her sappy, self-appointed caretaker meltdown, narrows her eyes and looks from you to Taesan, and then from you to Taesan, again.

She opens her mouth and lets out a puff of air as if to start speaking, but she only does so a few seconds later. “So… there was no reason for me to deck him?” She asks, raising an eyebrow in genuine confusion. You nod, solemnly. Her jaw drops and her eyebrows push together. She puts her tongue in her cheek, mind reeling. This is when she realizes she gave this poor man a bloody nose and probably a black eye for no damn reason. Suddenly, she fixes her gaze on you, “you’re the one I should be chewing out! Do you know how many staples of girl code you’ve violated?! You could have died!” She exclaims, clearly ready to give you a talking-to, way worse than when you spelled ‘Elliann’ as ‘Ellyanne.’ She’s like OSHA but for general female wellbeing.

You reach out to grab her hands that are moving dramatically to illustrate her point, “okay, you can chew me out after Taesan isn’t bleeding out.” She seems to relax like a combative patient injected with midazolam.

“I’m not bleeding out.” He huffs, but is still holding his nose bridge, so he’s still bleeding, at least, and that’s not exactly ideal. 

“You look like shit, though.” You tell him

“Thanks,” he groans, “can I get some tylenol, or something?” Yeah, he totally looks like a hurt puppy. It’s kind of cute, you guess.

“Yeah, we’ll get you patched up.” You assure him, breaking away from Jen to attend to Taesan.

“No ‘we.’ Only you. Don’t let her punch me again.” 

“We’re over the combat phase, it’s fine. Get up, do your legs still work?” You try to say your biting words as comfortingly as possible. It’s past two in the morning, you’re too over-tired to try to pick your words so they’ll feel better for the receiver. What’ll make Taesan feel better, physically, at least, is tylenol and making sure his nose isn’t broken.

“My legs don’t, my ass hurts like hell.” Jen complains, but helps in picking Taesan up anyway.

“It’s very hard to break a tailbone, a nose, on the other hand…” You raise your eyebrows but say no more. Taesan gets up just fine, but still clutches his nose. “Campus clinic’s probably closed, we have a first-aid kit, though.”

Jen issues a half-hearted-sounding yet fully meant apology in the form of a mutter of “sorry for punching you, man.” 

“You’re cool, man. Cool that you were looking out for her.” He gives her a small thumbs up. It’s a weird moment of friendship between these two. For having met barely a week ago and having spent five hours together tops, these two have a more tumultuous relationship than most twin siblings at the age of nine, which is saying something considering most have chased each other with a knife by the age of five and a half. Jen has gone from asking to be the maid of honor to decking the presumed groom and now having a hopefully more stable relationship with said groom. So much plot it’s not even ‘for the plot’ anymore, you’re just riding the wave of unexpected inciting events.

“The more the merrier.” You mutter as you sling Taesan’s arm over your shoulder. Why he abets this when the damage is to his face, who knows. The more the merrier indeed in your cramped dorm, trying to ignore how the cold compress on his bruise keeps melting even though it’s so cold and the fact that you have an injured and sleep-deprived boy on your hands.

GOT GOOD

You bite the inside of your cheek, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to express your dismay. You kind of bombed your presentation. 

Scrap that, you really bombed your presentation. 

As you step out of the lecture hall following the sea of your peers, you step aside to press your back into a free wall. It’s one of the moments where you need to just detach. Crossing your arms for stability, you melt into the wall. The overhead light that you can see even through your closed eyelids is obscured every so often by a moving body. This drowsiness is familiar.

Amid the frequent passings of students, the light is masked for longer than would be caused by someone in passing. You know who it is.

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad.” You open your eyes to a squint and see Taesan leaning against the wall next to you. Despite how you try to ignore it, you’re immediately drawn to the squashed berry purple color that blossoms on the inflamed skin under his left eye, giving way to a lighter almost green tint near his nose. Jen got him good. Your blinks are slow, the scant hours of sleep are getting to you. You slept through your alarm, foreboding you from even getting coffee before the presentation. Despite his injury, he’s smiling.

“I lost where I was like every other sentence.” You attempt to mirror his smile, but it doesn’t really work, leaving you with a smile that reaches your eyes but not your lips, somehow.

“It’s Dr. Woo, you’ll be fine. He doesn’t care nearly as much as you do. We got all of our information out. It doesn’t matter how graceful it was.” He lays out his reasons and you cock your head, weighing the possibility that he’s right.

“Are you like a vampire, or something? You don’t need sleep?”

“I’m used to it.” He shrugs. Maybe living with five as many people as you do makes you sleep way less; especially since it seems like Taesan is their chaperone despite the fact that Sungho and Riwoo are older than him, you’ve learned.

“You shouldn’t be. Sleep is good.” You close your eyes again, and a silence settles over you. You’ve created your own little bubble in the hallway, and it might not even include Taesan. Right now, it’s just you and your desperate need for rest. You are not the kind of person to pull an all-nighter.

“I told you you were going to crash.” He reminds you and you hum in response. “Look,” he gets your attention by putting a hand on your shoulder, “the boys are out, come back to my place and you can take a nap. I know that your room still smells like disinfectant.” A smile creeps across your face at this. It’s true: your room smells like the pungent iodine that you used to clean the minor abrasions on his cheekbone. You still have no idea why Jen has that much power in her.

“Lead the way.” 

“It’s way closer to this building than it is to your building, it’s barely any walk at all.” He assures you. Regardless, you have to speed walk to keep up with the pace.

“Do you have hot chocolate, or anything?” At your drawled request, he tsks. Pressing his lips together, you take that as a no.

“I’ll see what I can do. Woonhak owes me like nine favors.” He laughs a little at this, and you smile too. Unremarkably, it hasn’t become spring overnight, and so the wind is still nipping at your face. You were wise enough to wear your Taesan-provided gloves, though. Looking at Taesan’s face and the way the wind makes his face a little pink, you’re pretty sure you could find the whole color palette on his face. Except blue, maybe. You’ve got the other colors covered. Red for his cheeks, orange, yellow, green, and purple for his bruise. Huh, that bruise contributes a lot. “It’s just this way.” He says, guiding you with a pointed hand towards a complex highly similar to your own. Same red brick buildings and same overhang. The difference is that, you know from picking your roommate, this building is the apartment sector. Frankly, it’s incredible that Taesan and his roommates are all friends. You know other people who got apartments, or even quads, who aren’t so happy.

As you step into the entrance way, you feel the warm air hit your face. This building is much warmer than yours, maybe that’s a good thing. Walking up the stairs, Taesan is steady behind you. You wonder if he’s thinking about catching you like he had to the time you were drunk off your ass.

As soon as you enter the apartment dorm, your focus tunnel visions on the soft couch in the middle of the room. It looks like heaven as you step towards it. You were unfairly ripped from the comfort of your bed for that fuckass presentation and now you can return to your natural state, sleeping. You thank whatever power is out there because this is so incredibly opportune.

As soon as you shed your backpack and winter coat and collapse on the couch, you’re out like a light. No words from Taesan can wake you now, even if it is him professing his undying love for you. No, it’s up to your internal clock to make you up, lest you sleep forever.

Your internal clock does wake you up. You’re groggy, but it’s still light out, so you couldn’t have slept for so long. As you assess your situation, you notice two differences.

First, you’re warm.

A navy blue throw blanket has been carefully draped over you, and you’re pretty sure you didn’t do that yourself. You bite the inside of your cheek—happily, this time. It’s proof he does care, and maybe you’re letting the gesture get to your head. You do… not like Han Taesan, right?

Second, you’re alone in Taesan’s living room.

There are no signs of life, not from his roommates nor from the mountain himself. That’s more puzzling. You would have assumed he would have stayed for one reason or another, maybe he went out to get hot chocolate? He told you that he would have Woonhak do it.

Looking around the room, you take in the sights. There’s a modest TV with various video game consoles, there is a section of the room clearly designated for guitars, and it’s remarkably clean. Not too bad for five early 20-somethings and one 18 year old. It’s kind of impressive, actually. There isn’t any leftover food out and even the dishes in the sink have been rinsed, if not thoroughly washed. You pat down the area around you in search of your phone, mainly to check the time, but also to figure out where the hell Taesan went. Something about his absence hurts your heart in an uncomfortable way. You would have liked to see him when you woke up. Still… you do not like Han Taesan… do you? No, no. You don’t like him, that’s silly. He’s just your partner for a group project.

As you locate your phone, you hear the door open behind you and you swing your head around to see Taesan standing in the doorway with a hand behind his back and a bag in the hand that’s visible to you. Another bag, nice.

“Good morning.” He smiles at your state. The way he looks at you suggests your hair is out of order. You fail obviously as you try to subtly sort it out.

“I had a great nap. You have a good napping couch.” You bring a hand up to rub your right eye even though your mom says it causes astigmatism. It would suck to have contacts in right about now.

“Well,” he says, setting down the bag on the counter, “I have your hot chocolate.” You’re pretty sure your face lights up at this, it’s the perfect thing for this kind of dingy day. “And,” he continues, “I got it from a café near here; store-bought isn’t as good.” He takes a cardboard carrier out of the bag and presents his finds to you, two lidded cups.

“You sure know the way to my heart.” You mean that on a deeper level that you hope he doesn’t catch. “What’s behind your back?” You ask, pointing to the obvious hand still tucked behind him. 

He looks sheepish and brings the hand to his front, “I got these for you.” His cool act is far gone, he seems almost timid. In his left hand he grasps a bouquet of an assortment of colorful flowers. There are assorted yellows, blues, pinks, purples, and reds. It’s like a sunset wrapped in brown paper and tied in a pretty twine bow.

“Taesan!” You exclaim excitedly, jumping up from the couch to go collect your gift. “Why?” You poke. He’s quiet for a second, the question seems to echo throughout the room. A chorus of ‘why.’ You meet his eyes for just a second, but the shared glance makes your heart beat faster. He seems to bite his tongue, there’s a shining reflection of the kitchen light in his dark brown eyes. You don’t see them crinkle up, indicative of a straight face.

He swallows like his throat is thick, “I got them for you because I like you… I like you romantically.”

You’re not sure if your heart swells or drops.

From this one statement, you learn two things. You learn that Han Taesan likes you, and you learn that you like Han Taesan. You really like Han Taesan. You like the way he’s cold but kind and the way his bangs fall and his endless care for his roommates and his hardworking nature. 

You like Han Taesan.

You take the bouquet in your hands, analyzing the flowers. You notice they’re mostly tulips, but flanked by carnations, baby’s breath, and bluebells. A smile grows on your face as you look back up at him. He looks absolutely terrified. It’s not worth it to tease him here. He’s vulnerable, you should be too.

You begin to open your mouth, but before you can, he continues in an attempt at defense, “listen to me, please. I thought you were cute and smart even before the party and all of those incidents, but now that I know you I can’t not tell you. You’re witty and stubborn and playful and it’s so easy to talk to you. You were cute when you were drooling, I didn’t know that was possible. You make fun of me but I like it because you’re so kind. I… I like you.” He confesses, he’s talking fast and you think your heart might burst with excitement. Excitement isn’t the right word—euphoria? Joy? Happiness? Exhilaration? No word is quite right for how you feel about Taesan. “The tulips symbolize love.” He says under his breath and the flowers take on a whole new meaning. You feel like a tulip. Tulips symbolize love.

The smile that bursts across your face makes his eyebrows release all their tension immediately, “Taesan, I like you too. I really like you,” you tell him, “tulips symbolize love.” You look down at the bouquet and see the array of tulips that smile back at you.

“Can I kiss you? I’m not drunk, I swear.” He promises. The allusion to your first meeting makes you laugh. You met with an ask for a kiss, and now he confesses with an ask for a kiss.

“Yes.” You whisper, and he throws his arms around you, pressing his forehead to yours. You sway like that for a moment, you feel the cold of his jacket against your arms and the pressure of his hand on the small of your back. You look at him and in his eyes you see him. No walls, just you two. Just you and Taesan.

You wrap your arms around his neck, one hand still holding the bouquet and pull his lips to yours. Warmth blossoms in your chest—his kiss is soft and tender and he tastes like mint. Mint might be your new favorite flavor. His lips fit perfectly with yours. You feel the soft press of his fingers into your back, pulling you closer to him. Your lips part slightly and you’re out of breath before he even starts to pull away. His kiss is just like him, just when you think you know him all, he shows you a new surprise, something new. After stalling for just a second, he pulls you back to him and deepens the kiss. You could kiss this minty boy forever.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours again, fluttering his eyes open and shut.

“I wrote a song about this. A serenade.” He says breathlessly.

Even in the dead of winter, you think your heart melts all over again.

NOTES: Shoutout Hartford Whalers even tho they sports disbanded! SINGING MAN CAMEO! The singing man is a genuine character in my life. Living in the city center of a major city means I get LOTS of people doing weird shit like the emoji guy (who wears outfits only with bright fucking emojis, my friends have seen him too, he’s wacky), the tree guy (a man who always walks around with a fallen branch on his head, no idea why), and the supercar medical worker (woman in scrubs who drives down the streets with a loud ass car that looks like one of those fuckass shoes with big holes in them you know what im talking about the kidney shoes). I take a pic and keep them in a folder on my phone called “recurring characters.” I have never seen the singing man. He walks past my house every weekday at 11pm and I like to have my windows open and he sings loud Spanish ballads. I love him. Singing man my beloved. Sorry this is a slowburn, it was forced out of me i fear. is this a slowburn? methinks so.

[quack-quack-snacks]

Ok, for Ban x Reader request…

Smut, just pure smut.

As for what happens, Fem!Reader decides to try on the Boar Hat’s uniform and Ban cannot stop thinking about fucking her with that uniform on.

As for specific kinks: Ban having a giving and receiving praise kink, also a mild biting kink.

And possibly Ban referring to the reader as ‘doll’ as a term of endearment.

I like your funny words magic man 🪄

Pay Up Later

My Navigation and Masterlist

My Sweet Home Masterlist

Pairing(s): Ban x Fem!Reader Summary: Ban loves a woman in uniform. Warnings: Smut, porn with a little plot, praise kink, biting kink, cursing, uniform kink (?). Word Count: 3,394

“It's been so long since we’ve done something like this! We should have a girl’s day more often!” Diane exclaimed to you and Elizabeth as you all walked back to the tavern from the town. It was a quiet day when Elizabeth, Diane, and you decided to get away from the Boar Hat for a while and take a much-needed break. With all the fighting and chaos that’s been happening, it felt like you never got a chance to breathe anymore. 

“I agree! It's nice to get out every once in a while!” Elizabeth agreed and you smiled at the two girls. 

“If only we could do it more often, it seems like we never get a break anymore,” you complained, playfully throwing your head back while they laughed at your antics. 

Diane reached over to lace her arm through yours and pull you along, doing the same to Elizabeth on her other side. “Well, maybe we’ll just have to make it a tradition then!” She stated cheerfully. “I need whatever time I can get with you two while you’re not being hogged by the boys.”

Elizabeth blushed but you just looked at her, confused. “What do you mean by that?” You asked and she gave you a look like you were stupid. 

“You know exactly what I mean by that. Elizabeth,” she bumped her hip against the girl playfully which caused the girl to blush even more. “Keeps getting hogged by Meliodas whenever he’s around, always wanting her as close as possible because he likes her~” she drew out the end of her sentence playfully as Elizabeth brought both her hands up to cover her face. “And you are always being watched over by Ban. I swear, I never see you without him being somewhere nearby. Tell me,” she leaned close conspiratorially, dragging Elizabeth with her as they were still attached by their linked arms. “Are you two dating? What’s going on between the two of you?” 

Elizabeth brought her hands down, silently also curious about your answer and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you coughed awkwardly and looked away. 

“There’s nothing going on, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you refuted before seeing the Boar Hat appear over the hill you were climbing. “Oh look! We’re almost here, guess that means the questions are over! Darn, and I was really looking forward to answering them! Oh well!” You sarcastically told them and they laughed at the way you brushed them off. 

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Diane teased while poking your side lightly. 

The three of you laughed as you finally approached the entrance to the tavern and opened the door, the conversation changed from that of boys to one about the activities you all did earlier in the day. As soon as you all walked in, your eyes immediately locked on Ban. He was standing behind the counter, pouring leftover scraps into the food bowl of Hawks. The pig, still in his tiny form after the fight with the previous Holy Knight Grandmaster, Hendrickson, was sitting in the middle of the bowl, eating his heart away and his eyes shining like he was in heaven. Meliodas sat at the other side of the bar with his usual cup of Vanya Ale in his hands. 

The chime of the bell on the door caused the three’s attention to snap to the doorway you all were walking through. Ban’s eyes immediately found yours and he gave you a smirk. You blushed and looked away, Diane’s words ringing through your head as you mentally analyzed every single one of your interactions with the man. 

While you’d had a crush on the man for as long as you’d known him, you weren’t sure if he ever felt the same. He seemed softer with you than he did everyone else but you always thought it was just because you weren’t one of the sins. 

Then again, Elizabeth wasn’t a sin either and he never treated her the same way he treated you. 

“Hey guys! Welcome back!” Meliodas exclaimed with a smile as he stood up and walked towards the three of you. “How was your girls’ day?” 

“It was wonderful! There was this band that was playing in the street with dancers and everything! We also sto-“ Elizabeth’s words started to fade into the background while she explained what you did as you began to feel eyes glaring into the side of your head. Looking up, you saw the eyes belonging to the one and only Fox Sin. You shot him a smile when you made eye contact and he shot you a smirk back. Looking away when you felt the tap of an elbow against your side, you turned back to see Elizabeth heading up the stairs and Diane looking at you questioningly. 

“Are you going to come change with us?” She asked and you immediately nodded. With a smile and no other words spoken, she took your hand and started leading you up the stairs when you suddenly heard a familiar feminine scream. Chasing up the stairs to get to Elizabeth, you were shocked to find the room you shared with Diane in tatters. Ignoring that for the time being, Diane beat you to the chase as she asked if Elizabeth was okay. The girl nodded with wide eyes as she stared into the room. 

It was then you noticed the familiar large black and green hound tearing apart the clothes in your closet. 

“Oslo! Oslo!” You heard King call from upstairs before he came running down and saw you all. “H-hey Diane! Hey guys! Have you guys seen Oslo?”

Without a word, you all moved to the side so he could see his companion ripping apart your clothes. 

“Oslo, no! Bad hound!” He flew forward, grabbing onto the piece of clothing in the hound's mouth as he tried to stop him from damaging it anymore. 

Shaking your head, you sighed at the scene. A few clothes of Diane’s were ruined but the majority of the damage was done to the clothes in your closet. 

When King was finally able to drag Oslo out of your room, he rushed forward and started shouting his apologies. “I’m sorry! I don’t know how he got in there or why he would do that! Let me make it up to you!”

You laughed at his frantic words and just waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, King. Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal my ass,” You heard Ban say from behind you before his arm wrapped around your shoulders and his shoulders hunched down. “You need to make him pay up, Doll.”

The nickname made you pause but you shook your head, denying his suggestion and shaking off the heating of your cheeks at the same time. “No, really!”

“No, truly! I insist! I will make you brand-new clothes that will be even better than the ones you had previously!” King told you loudly with an adorable amount of determination. Smiling kindly, you rested a hand on his head since he was bowing down in an apology. 

“Okay, if that’s what you really want to do, then I won’t stop you. It’ll save me a shopping trip I guess,” you gave in to his wishes and he smiled at you awkwardly but his fists clenched in absolute resolve. Muttering another apology to you, he turned and started heading for his room on the top floor, dragging Oslo along with him by the hound’s ear. You sighed as you stepped into your room and examined the damage to your clothes. Everything was ruined. You were pretty sure there wasn’t a single piece of clothing in there that was wearable anymore. 

Diane walked up to stand next to you and winced at the sight. “Well that’s not good,” she mumbled before her eyes lit up with an idea. “I’ve got it!” She grabbed your arm and started pulling you down the stairs and into the pantry in the tavern’s kitchen. Letting go of you, she walked over to a large cupboard. When she opened it, you could see a multitude of the women's tavern uniforms in all different sizes hanging inside. “You can just borrow one of these for the time being until we get you your new clothes!” She exclaimed excitedly. “Now Elizabeth, you, and I can all match!”

A smile lit your face up from her over-exaggerated happiness at the idea and you reached inside the cupboard to grab your size of the outfit. “Sure, Diane. It’ll be exciting!”

Standing in front of the mirror, you looked at yourself in the outfit. While it was definitely not the type of outfit you would normally wear - with it being so revealing and the likelihood of your panties showing if you leaned forward even the slightest bit - you really liked how it looked. You could see why Elizabeth hardly wore the other clothes she had even on her days off of work. Diane was less consistent with her outfit choices. She often switched between her regular fighting leotard, the tavern uniform, and some other clothes she had in her closet. 

The uniform fit you like a glove. The single stocking - which you always found rather inconvenient and unnecessary but Meliodas always insisted on it - stuck to your thigh and surprisingly didn’t slip down once. The blouse circled your torso beautifully. The ruffles on the bottom and sleeves of the shirt were a nice touch along with the fabric that wrapped around your neck and hung in the front. While the skirt was a little too short for your liking, it still made you look good. You couldn’t help but admire yourself in the mirror as you wore it. You’d been getting ready to head down to do your normal ‘job’ of sitting at the counter and watching Ban work but you knew you were running late. 

You just couldn’t drag your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror. 

A knock interrupted your admiration and you walked over to the door to open it. It was both a surprise and not to see Ban standing outside your door, leaning against the door frame and towering over you. A low whistle escaped his mouth as he dragged his eyes across your body, admiring you just as you did a few minutes ago. 

“Damn. Looking good, Doll,” he complimented and heat rose to your cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Well I was coming to see where my favorite girl was but it looks like she was looking extra pretty up here instead of downstairs with me.”

He popped off the door frame and took a step towards you. Nervous, you took a step back and swallowed. His eyes followed to movement of your throat as he entered your room, closing the door behind him and securing the lock in place - all the while, never breaking his eyes on you. 

“Who knew my pretty doll was even prettier when she was all dressed up,” he said as he took more steps toward you. With your many steps back, it only took him a few to catch up to you. Your breath hitched when your back hit the wall and he leaned down, his arms trapping you in and leaving no escape.

Not that you want to escape.

“B-Ban?” You whispered as he looked at your lips. He put his face in the crook of your neck and moaned.

He fucking moaned.

“God, I love it when you say my name like that.” 

Gaining a sudden surge of confidence, you spoke again. “I can say it as many times as you want,” you told him after gaining a sudden surge of confidence. Leaning in so your lips grazed the shell of his ear, you whispered seductively, “Ban.”

The confident and more dominant nature you started to hold slipped through your fingers as he let his sharp teeth graze along the soft spot on your neck while his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you against him. You whimpered as you melted into his embrace and you could feel his smirk against your skin. 

“Pretty girl, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” He teased, but there was a more serious undertone in his voice as he asked and leaned back to look you in the eyes. 

You brought your arms up to wrap around his neck and pull him down. His forehead rested against yours as you looked at his lips to avoid his intense scarlet gaze. “Maybe not exactly,” you confessed and leaned forward so your lips brushed against his. “But I want it anyway.”

“Fuck,” he whispered before closing the gap between the two of you and kissing you. Your fingers laced through his hair and you pulled him closer. You gasped when you felt his finger circle your thighs and lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he straightened up to his full height and kissed you more comfortably. 

He took advantage of your momentary surprise and entered his tongue into your mouth. You moaned around it as the two of you went to war with your mouths, struggling for dominance. He leaned off the wall, bringing you with him as he quickly walked over to your bed and threw you down. You gave a slight yelp at the sudden drop and looked up at him. Your lips were swollen and your breathing was ragged from the intense kiss. Sitting up, you put a finger through the belt loop of his pants and pulled him closer, feeling confident enough to look him straight in the eyes. 

You saw the way his eyes darkened as he kneeled on the bed, crawling until his face lined up with yours. 

“God, I just want to fuck you in this outfit. I do love a woman in uniform,” he exclaimed and you could feel the heat in your core rising. He leaned his face into your neck again, although this time he didn’t only skim his teeth along the column of your neck, he bit down. You let out a moan that quieted to a whimper when he did. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood but it was hard enough for you to feel the sharp points of his canines. 

Oh, how you wished he would bite down just a little harder. 

“You want me to go harder?” He asked you from where his head was still buried in your neck. He started kissing and sucking at your skin, unbuttoning your top and pulling part of it off to reveal your shoulder. 

Taking a breath to calm your racing heart, you whimpered out a small, “Mhm.”

He smirked. “Good girl.”

He marked you all along your neck and shoulders, even going along the valley between your breasts and marking the flesh there. You had barely even noticed he continued to go further down your body until you felt his hot breath against your panties. Panicking at his possible reaction, you tried to squeeze your thighs shut but his hands held you open for his viewing pleasure. Sliding your panties down your legs tortuously slow, he tucked them into his pocket. 

“Wha-?” You protested but he shushed you, his hands squeezing the fat of your thighs and getting dangerously close to your heat. 

“I’ll have King make you some new ones or something,” he reassured you. 

You were about to protest more but the feeling of his lips caressing your inner thigh made all the thoughts in your head drift away. 

“Please,” you whispered to him after his continuous teasing. He constantly got closer to your core only to skip over it and switch to teasing and marking the other thigh. 

“You got it, pretty girl,” he relented and you let out a sigh of a moan when his lips finally met your clit. Bringing a hand down to his head, you weaved your fingers through his hair, bringing his face closer as you began to grind against his tongue. “Fuck, you taste so good, Doll. Could stay between these thighs forever,” he praised and you clenched around nothing. You let out a loud gasp when you felt his tongue enter you, his nose rubbing against your clit as he pumped his tongue in and out of your cunt. 

“Fu-uck,” you moaned brokenly. “Fuck, Ban. You feel so fucking good, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged and praised him. His finger squeezed your thighs harder and he moaned into you. 

It wasn’t long before you felt the knot tightening in your core and you warned him of what was to come. 

“Cum for me, Doll,” he encouraged, wrapping your legs around his head as he dug his tongue into you deeper, the long muscle hitting all the right spots inside of you to have you seeing stars. You did as told and came into his mouth. He stayed where he was for several minutes, lapping up your release as you came down from your high. “Shit, that was so hot.”

You blushed at his words and he chuckled, kissing your thighs before crawling back up to be hovering above your face. You grabbed the back of his neck and brought his lips onto your own in a slow, sensual kiss. It was so slow and distracting that you didn’t notice Ban pulling his pants down to his knees until suddenly he grabbed you by the waist and flipped your positions. He now leaned against the headboard of the bed while you hovered above his very above-average cock. He used a hand to hold it and drag the tip through your folds. He grinned and bit your lip when you moaned into his mouth. 

“You want me to fuck you, Doll?” He asked teasingly, barely slipping the tip of his dick through your folds before pulling out and focusing on circling your clit. 

“So badly,” you whimpered into his mouth and he groaned, the smirk on his face growing while precum started gathering on the tip of his dick, mixing with your release as he swirled them around. 

Without another word, he thrusted his hips up and buried his cock to the hilt in your heat. You moaned simultaneously at the feeling.

“So full~” you moaned out, leaning forward to capture his lips in another kiss.

“So tight,” he moaned out in return, allowing you to control the kiss while he controlled your hips to raise and fall along his dick. You could feel every vein, every twitch, every ridge of his cock inside you. It was almost too much but you couldn’t get enough of it. 

“Fuck, you’re so good for me, all for me. You’re mine, yeah?” He practically begged, whining in your ear now that he was finally inside of you. After months of pining, months of fucking his fist at the thought of you. Finally, finally, he had you in his grasp. “Say you’re mine, Doll.”

“I’m yours. Always been yours, Ban,” you confessed and stared deeply into his eyes. The two of you held eye contact as you both inched closer to your releases. The orgasms built inside you, the knot tightening and tightening. Ban moved his thumb so it pressed right against your clit and that was the final push you needed. You moaned, muffling it by kissing him as he continued to move your body for him. You whimpered at the sensitivity, but god, it felt so good. 

“You were fucking made for me. Just me. No one else’s. Just mine,” he growled out in your mouth and you could barely process his words, going dizzy with pleasure. With a few more pumps inside you, he came and slowly came to a stop. 

Falling forward onto his chest, he brought his arms up to encircle your waist and smooth his hands up and down your back. 

“Maybe we can make King pay up later, yeah?” He asked playfully, but you could hear the genuine question underneath. 

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a good idea,” he playfully told him in return and he smiled at you, kissing your forehead. 

The tavern may have been chefless but in that moment, neither of you really cared. 

[tra1nchi]

I wanna be 🫶🏻 ehe...

I've read most of your work and I'm inlove!! I just wanna ask if a part 2 would be okay about the "strict teacher gets fucked by his student" so yeah!! That's all byeee

— 🫶🏻 Anon

Link reference: https://www.tumblr.com/tra1nchi/749055042912419840/halloo-fucking-your-strict-teacher-so-he-can?source=share

It was scary reading my own stuff lol,,MINORS DNI!! top male reader,,Part 2,, begging,,Overstim

it was finally time,,he felt himself grow hard as he watches you go through the test,,taking it up with a smile,,coming home to grade your test as he strokes his cock,,biting his lip as he writes a large red A on your paper

Calling you after class to discuss your test results,,when you arrived he was sat on his desk,,holding up your test paper with the A,,His legs spread,,luped up and ready for you,,his cock drooling against the top half off his suit!!

His balls were full from not having cum for weeks!! Moaning like a little slut as he feels your cock finally enter him,zgroaning out fron the amount of praise that was spilling from your lips!! His legs wrapping around your waist,,his hand crumbling your paper slightly,,

"please! let me cum! I need it!" He pants out,,his hands holding onto your shoulders,,moving down quickly to your hips to help you thrust into him,,his eyes rolling back as he moans loudly,,as you hit his prostate so perfectly,,

When you finally whisper in his ear that he could cum,,he squeals,,his cum hitting his shirt,,his thighs trembling as he finally got to cum after weeks and weeks of holding it back!!

Holding onto his desk as he tries to catch his breath but his eyes widen feeling you starting to pound back into him,,the desk creaking under his weight as you comtuine to fuck into him!!

"More! I want more!" He whines,,hiding his face in your shoulder,,letting go off your papers as his eyes tear up from how well your cock felt in his tight walls,,biting down on your shoulder to tru to hold back his slutty moans!!

[takes1]

final part. one night stand aftermath with needy!tsukishima

sorry for the wait :0 this is a looong one. last installment! thanks for supporting ya'll. if you want more tsukki, just let me know

warnings. nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / rough sex / counter sex / porn with plot / flirting / one night stand aftermath / trust issues!reader / needy!tsukki / timeskip!tsukki / apartment setting / communication / a deal being made / 3.1k words

links. my masterlist. [part one, part two.] more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN.

Your breath grew shallow under the weight of his hand on your upper thigh.

It was funny, your confident, split-second choice not to wear anything under your skirt this evening suddenly all you could think about.

Tiny glances. To and from the glint of his glasses in the sunset, the dashes on the road zipping by as he took you back to his place, the tendons working on the top of his hand as he squeezed your supple flesh, hungry- though his eyes gave no indication.

His car was not impressive, but it was exceptionally clean and maintained well. It helped more than anything else, more than any of his mannerisms in particular, to put you at ease.

The first and last words you had exchanged was about the music about six minutes ago. It was kept at a low enough volume to talk over, but no such conversation got off the ground. So, it was quiet and you sat alert, tummy in knots (some good, some bad) with clammy palms and a racing heart.

This state of uncertainty didn't get much better as you made your way upstairs into his apartment.

Where was the kind-of-sweet guy working part-time at the museum? Every time you met him again, it was like his personality had done a complete 180 and you needed to relearn how to talk to him.

You both stood a moment in the doorway, slipping off your shoes. He grew about four inches taller and immeasurably more imposing. You caught a tiny smirk on his jaw.

"Why wear heels?" He asked, toneless.

You squinted across the entryway, careful to not be accusatory nor provide any reference of height to boost his ego, "Because they're cute."

When you decided he was attractive that Friday night, his height was secondary.

Tsukishima lingered for a moment, a faint smile on his mouth, all wrapped up in something you said or how you said it. He shook his head and walked towards the kitchen without inviting you.

Yeah, his height was trivial compared to the complexity behind his eyes.

Again, you were left wondering what to do- you followed, of course. But it was out of hesitant assumption and not because he made it easy.

His head turned away when you entered.

You didn't have time to guess if he was waiting or not before he asked, "Would you like anything?"

It was vague, but since this was the kitchen, you settled on water.

The way he sank and slid, slow and tedious from his spot to grab you a glass made you hold yourself in doubt. But, he was smiling.

"What's so funny?" You had to ask.

Worry was apparent on your brow. He couldn't see it turned around.

"You still don't trust me, do you?"

You couldn't clean up the shock on your face before he saw it. It was exactly what he was looking for, apparently. He still thought that was funny.

You struggled to craft a response that was both articulate and true, "I guess I don't. I don't know you."

It lingered in the air for a few seconds. In fact, those seconds felt so long that you began to question your choice to come here. You thought to exactly where you put your shoes.

He looked contemplative. He crossed his arms, but not to close himself off. "But we still fucked."

You laughed at him, at the absurdity.

"I know."

You repeated, shaking your head, "I- I know. What, are you trying to guilt trip me over leaving? I know I hurt your feelings, but I don't owe you anything."

The island separating you felt bigger.

He blew a breath, brow raised. You regretted saying it that way. He just made you nervous.

But he laughed again, "Jesus, uh..." He picked up your glass and closed the distance, arm up as a little surrender to your words, "I guess you're not wrong."

He settled next to you, side flush against you when he handed you the glass.

You stared at it, tapping, and considered your options. You opened your mouth and took a breath to apologize.

"Don't say sorry," He stated. He met your eyes for a moment, then shook his head with a little smile, "I like that."

Heat crawled up your neck and inspired you to down all the water in your hands. You set the empty glass aside and wiped your mouth with your forearm. He thought it was cute, but kept it to himself.

The facts were as out there as they were going to get for you; he didn't do one night stands, he was convinced he had met a 'nice girl' and took you home, got his feelings hurt when you left, he probably thought it was fate that you met at the museum, but... now, what did he want?

"I don't trust you either," He admitted, moving slow to pin you between his arms, against the counter.

His eyes gave you no indication of what he meant by that. He looked mean. Like he could really hurt you, or your feelings at a minimum.

A flash of apprehension spread across your face. You looked to the left and right, then back at him, who found your little panic charming.

His indescribable intensity was why, when he closed the distance to kiss you, you paused.

He sighed against you for a second, then slowly straightened out. It took you a second because you were dumbfounded by how out of place his sudden affection felt, but thought it preferable to his ominous and vague nature.

At least when he was kissing you, you didn't have to guess.

Before he could take your hesitation to heart, you stretched up, hands clasped on his shoulders, in his hair, to return it tenfold.

His tongue was familiar and his lips were comforting. He leaned into you, trapping you against the counter, but it steadied you both.

God, why didn't he start out with this?

A soft moan shared between your lips sent him spiralling- his hand clutched your waist, under your flimsy little shirt, and his thumb rubbed against your tummy, rendering you a little weak in the knees.

His body felt perfect against yours. No room for second guessing.

He parted for a moment, and you caught the strangest look in his eyes. An intensity that making out shouldn't have warranted- a pain that was beyond an overdue erection.

"I...ah, I can't-," You gasped between his extra kisses, "Figure you out-!" Your hand flew to support yourself when he lifted you off of your feet from your hips.

You locked your legs around his waist, and nearly missed when you grabbed for his shoulders. It didn't matter much, but it startled you. In your panicked searching, you couldn't even find the brown in his eyes.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth at the feeling of you through his pants. That little no-underwear detail didn't go ignored earlier.

"Mmnyou don't have to," He muttered dismissively.

There was no chance to question further before he took your lips hostage once more, his hand firm against the back of your head.

Though logically, his evasiveness was concerning, it did nothing short of send an addictive current straight down your spine. Thinking grew tough, quickly.

His tongue was easier to deal with than your doubts. After all, you were always just a hook-up, anyway.

A squeak caught in your throat at the way he pushed you into the cold counter, the way he loomed over and blocked out the overhead light except for the tips of his golden hair, the way he made sure you didn't bump your head on the way down.

It was difficult returning his rough kisses. For the most part, you focused on just taking them instead, but that became nearly impossible when he started to roll his hips into yours.

Perfect, warm waves crashed over you and kept your legs heavy and weak. It was all you could do to keep up with him.

"F-uck," A choked sigh against the shell of your ear made you twitch, "I'm not gonna last for shit."

You giggled at his soft, disappointed admission. He put his face in the curve of your neck and wrapped his other arm around you. It was tight. Secure, as you rolled your hips over the outline of his cock.

"We'll go a few rounds tonight, yeah?" Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to sound.

A long inhale, taken from in your hair you couldn't help but notice, and he gave an approving hum against your neck in a long, tingly kiss.

He freed an arm to hold your wrists above your head, the other tracing up your shirt to tease your chest.

That little pout you gave him earned you a quick, rough kiss into more possessive ones all along the side of your neck- it paired well with the cruel pinching under your shirt and his heavy burden between your legs.

Soon, you were panting, dizzy and sweaty with just one thought in your head.

"You're-- ah-h, optimistic," He was just short of asking.

His little moan made your hips automatically buck- you couldn't wait around to take him again. His grip, once you expressed the desire to free yourself, was laughably light.

The metallic sounds of his belt coming undone and his zipper lowering percussed your sultry, sarcastic tone well, "Stop trying to figure me out."

Shuddery breath caught in his throat as you pulled him out. It hadn't been too long since the last time, objectively speaking, but the feeling of his warm cock in your hands was one you desperately missed.

It slowly started to feel more right after that.

You didn't have a grasp on who he was, what he wanted, what he was thinking- but when he pulls back to at least press a slow, longing kiss to your soaked pussy under your skirt, it feels right.

It feels simple. Something you were more comfortable with, more used to. Certainly an easier feeling to navigate than this serpentine man, holding you with devoted fingers, but staring you down like you had wronged him.

He got carried away, mouth sticky and hot around your aching clit, big hands shoved up your shirt to scour every inch of you he hadn't remembered well enough the first time. Now he'd never forget it.

"Mm-! Ok-ay, okay, please--," Your whine, your squirming, was tended to immediately.

His hand slid and covered so much of your neck, jaw- the whole side of your face, in fact, that you felt your skin burning underneath it. He smothered you in a wet, sloppy kiss.

When he pushed into you, you couldn't help but think of the first time.

"Oh-h," You seethed at his size, only finding that it made him grip you harder, like he was holding you together, scared you might break apart.

Your squeak at the sensation was higher, your eyes wider, as you found his gaze low and almost plaintive.

It was different from that night. You were both a little drunk, but still. He was excited, confident, more twitchy. Faster, in a lot of ways. It came across as rushed to you and it helped justify leaving when you did. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy the passion, or the absurdness of being carried up the stairs like that, but you figured he was a one-trick pony. Like most guys.

Now you felt like you were the one rushing things. He held you still by the fat of your hips when you tried to get some friction.

His kisses were softer. Deliberate and savored. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

He was perfect, beating slow and smooth between your thighs, your bodies intertwined like you wanted, but it left something to be desired. You wanted his expression to be that of lust, not whatever this was.

"What's- ah-h--, what's'wrong?" You whispered against his lips.

He pulled away to look at you, glancing around your features with that same pitiful look. Where was the passion? His charming, kinda mean, -but impressive, nonetheless- one liners?

"Do you want me?" Was a whisper right back, the mix of warmth and minty coolness in his breath a tingly shock across your face.

He didn't look in your eyes for very long once he realized the answer was not quite ready for him.

Scanning your body instead, he found many worthy things to distract himself with. Chief among them was in the form of making you take even longer to give him a response.

A gentle, slippery prodding around your clit made you gasp.

"Mm-! God," You whined, eyes rolled back as you fought to understand what he meant by that, "I want- ah-!..."

He was biting the inside of his lip with a quiet chuckle, memorizing your pretty frame twisting, writhing underneath him as you struggled to take him and get played with at the same time. Like a tired old art critic, waiting to understand the meaning of a masterpiece.

"I want you-," You sighed, luring his attention to your face again, "I- I want you to- tell me-,"

He finally laid off for a second, his hands instead grabbing at your hips to bring you further down on his cock. Your neck looked a little too plain, now that he was thinking about it. If you left, he wanted you to leave with something of his. He started working deep marks on your throat.

Your low, approving moan encouraged him.

You sighed, honest and plain, letting your nails scratch through his fluffy hair, "Tell me- you won't hurt me."

"I couldn't hurt'you," He quickly muttered against your bruising skin.

You were almost, not quite but almost, as fast. "Make me a deal, then."

He liked the sound of that. It was more practical than a promise. More real, something you could both risk for a perceived reward each. You didn't know it yet, but you really knew how to appeal to him.

His long fingers stretched over your thighs, lifting them to tease you a little from a different angle. Part of him wished he had waited to take you upstairs. You couldn't do much on the counter.

"I- ah, won't leave," You seethed as he stretched you out like that, brow furrowed at the addictive intensity, "As long as you don't hurt me."

The way he held your words in his head before he responded was unexpectedly attractive. Contemplative, he traded one of your thighs for your needy clit again and grinned at how you tightened around him.

"Deal," He leaned up to kiss you, like a handshake, of sorts.

If he kept this up, you wouldn't be able to last very long. You loved how he took care of you himself, and didn't leave you to figure out your own pleasure.

He clearly wanted to tick every box, make sure you noticed it, too, so that you could be grateful to him.

You were both smiling more after your little agreement.

Before you could get too lost in it, there was some low thudding just above you.

Everything stopped for a scary moment.

You instantly looked at him when you didn't understand the sound right away, for some sort of reassurance it was just the apartment settling, or a cat upstairs. His brow was still furrowed, concerned as he looked up, his eyes tracking the sound in the ceiling.

"What the hell is that?" You whispered, a little harsh, but justified.

His face fell seconds after your question was left hanging, unanswered. He looked defeated.

"My-," He sighed, grimacing as you adjusted under him, "My roommate, I... forgot he was here."

It seemed so stupid for a guy you pegged as so intelligent. The raw reaction in his eyes made it clear that fucking you right here wasn't deliberate.

Your body relaxed again. You were wholeheartedly glad it wasn't a criminal or a ghost. It made way for confusion as he started to explain that his roommate doesn't usually come out of his room at this time, but that you should both probably head upstairs anyway.

Though it pissed you off on the surface, it doubled down and validated the realization that he didn't have everything so figured out. Taking you on the counter wasn't something he sketched out and made a reality- he just wanted you that badly.

He tried to pull out, but you locked your legs around him so he couldn't move. His jaw worked, his eyes searching yours, his brows upturned. God, he looked like he'd fall apart like that.

Your chest tightened with shock and the raw, tingly pride that came with feeling special.

Your fingers laced around his neck; he didn't offer up any resistance as you pulled him in close.

Warm breath spilled across the side of his face. He couldn't help but lean into it.

"Well, don'tstop now," Egged him on; echoed in smaller, more desperate pleas the closer he fucked you to completion. When he was just beginning to think he could get any more obsessed with you.

His lids lowered at your words, his eyes rolling back in the sockets as he put the weight of his head in the nook of your collarbone.

Though he seemed to soften in the face, his thrusts got stronger. It felt like he was filling you up more and more, leaving you gasping and clawing at his wide shoulders.

"Mm-n-Ah! Fuck-!" You whined, with no regard for his roommate, while he shoved you off the edge.

Your orgasm was well-deserved- the delay, the conversation, made it that much more intense. You felt like you could actually start to trust this guy, so you let him have the best of you.

When he came, warm and sticky all over your tummy, you didn't even think about how your shirt and skirt were still half-on, meaning he had effectively ruined all the clothes you brought with you. Normally you'd be pissed off.

But you just wanted to watch him cum, too.

His little whiny noises he thought he had covered up were loud, his gasps and little curses flattering, leaving your head buzzing.

His body became heavier for a minute, now that he was tired, before he stood back up and pulled you with him.

Everything was quiet again, as you both looked to the ceiling, then at each other, and waited. No sound.

"Sorry," He mumbled, clumsy, reaching for his glasses so he could see how bad he ruined your outfit.

Now you took the time to notice the difference in how his glasses made him look; a little nerdier, a little cuter.

You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and put your forehead to his chin.

"I'll just steal some of your clothes, if that's okay with you."

♕VIP♕

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[rimqueen]

hello i’m here..

i would love if u wrote something about this. there is a very particular cruelty to reinforcing trauma and somehow making something already horrific worse cause it’s guided and patronising… & cause of that i need it really bad..

HELLO HANNAH THIS TOOK SO FUCKING LONG AND IM SO SO RUSTY W WRITING!!! but ily.. thank u for sending me this ily UGH!! tw for past rape and incest and references to underage abuse - post in question btw!! link is old bc I changed my user

Jimmy picks you up on a street corner, leering out the window of his pick-up truck like you’re a two-dollar whore.

“Oh.” You press your cheek into your raised shoulder. Coy and playful. Like he’s flirting with you. Jimmy would like to make it clear that he is doing anything but that, he’s harassing you. He is ogling you. You are a slutty piece of meat. “I’m not for sale mister.”

“Why you dressed like that then?”

He takes a good look at your face. You’re young—Younger than he has ever looked. Eyes that swallow up your whole entire face, fringed by feathery lashes, that sweet little girl pout.

In the sunlight he sees you in fresco.

When he takes you home he sees you for who you are. This sad little girl with a daddy-shaped hole in her heart.

It makes him like you even more.

You’re splayed flat on his mattress, blinking up at him with big, sad eyes. You know, those kind of eyes. The eyes that girls who end up on the side of milk cartons have. The eyes that foster children and teenage girls on suicide watch have.

“C’mon.” Jimmy cocks his head to the side, he’s got you all figured out. “What’s going on at home?” He squeezes your cheeks until your lips are forced into a pink pout.

“Whath d’yu meanth?” It comes out muffled but he understands well enough.

“I mean, sweetheart, what is it about me—“ Jimmy’s free hand works on unbuckling his belt, you flinch with each clink. Oh, poor thing. He wonders if daddy used it on your tits or cunt. “—That reminds you of daddy?” He lets go of your face to watch it scrunch up in protest and then fall a moment later.

Shyly, quietly, peeking at him through your lashes—“You smell like him.”

“Oh, do I?” Jimmy bumps your nose with his, your eyes are so big there are barely any whites. Your heart is beating so fast he feels it beneath your skin.

“You do…” You trace your fingers along the bridge of his nose. “And you have his nose.” Jimmy’s nose is a pretty regular fucking nose, a little crooked from punches thrown his way.

He hums with this nasty smile on his face, giving you a once over before he asks the nitty-gritty questions. “Where did daddy touch you?”

When you don’t respond, blinking at him stupidly like you are oh-so shocked, Jimmy sighs and slips a hand up your dress. He pushes your thong to the side, plucking your clit so hard you whimper. “Did daddy touch you here?”

You stare at him, bottom lip trembling, unable to move.

“No?” He moves on, hand travelling further up your dress to one of your nice tits. “Was it here? Did daddy touch you like this?” He asks, giving it a firm squeeze, like he’s checking a fruit ripeness.

You are still fucking looking at him with those big, sad eyes. It’s like you want him to feel bad for you. But Jimmy does not care if you have been touched here, there or everywhere.

Jimmy pushes his fingers into your mouth. You don’t bite down because you have done this before. He wets your puffy asshole. “I guess daddy liked to touch you here, huh?” One finger makes it in and you whine deep in the back of your throat. “Don’t blame the guy.”

[the-moon-files]

Finding male/masculine reader x lu is rare, so I really appreciate your writings! :) They're very silly and fun /pos

Can I request you do a list of headcanons for a transmasc reader who doesn't pass very well and struggles with dysphoria?? Maybe the reader didn't say anything about it till one of the Link's overheard one of the readers' ramblings to themselves or a conversation?

Take your time, and there is no need if you don't want to. It is a little personal, but it would mean the WORLD to me if you ever could. I'd be interested to see how Wild would take it, as he's probably the most androgynous out of all of them, or how the old man Time would take it, as he'd probably be such a 'dad trying his best' :')

sorry again this ask got dusty!! i am slow 😞

(dont even have to explain why i choose this gif, the girls that get it, get it, and the ones that dont, dont. /ref)

Moon: Trans Masc! Male! Reader (he/him, you/your)

Orbit: who knows atp, headcanons? scenario? sure

Stars: mention of all Links, specifically Wild (BOTW Link), (and Wars a little?? sorry idk where he came out of??)

Comets & Meteors: CWs: trans dysphoria, body image, insecurity, general angst related to being trans, & TWs: gender dysphoria (ftm), graphic description and comments on "your" anxiety, insecurity, low self esteem surrounding transness.

Please take care of yourselves, do not read if these are potential triggers for you. There will always be other trans masc reader posts later! :)

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

You didnt say anything about it when you met the heroes of the legend of Zelda in person

you had sort of danced around each other as you both fell thru portals into the same Hyrules over and over until Legend finally accused you of being a spy and then you had a nervous blowout of how you kinda knew them but also not

needless to say youve been kidnapped (”We are Not kidnapping him if he doesn’t want to come with us, we’re trying to keep him safe!” - Wars “…yeah. By kidnapping him.” - Four LMAO) jk but there was some interest in you by the shadow (and hylia to some degre with the portals) so they wanted you to tag along just in case

But even after weeks of taking turns helping Wild prep and cook, sharpen weapons, sew holes, and scout potential sleep areas, cracking jokes around the campfire, you never talked about your pronouns, or being trans, only an offhand nod at a merchants clarifying “yes.. ma’am? sir? yes sir!” that luckily spread amongst the group after the Link with you started referring to you with he/him

(you were too scared, what would they think? you normally wouldve told anyone else to fuck off, moved on, but you really cared about these stupid blondes... they were so very: the epitome of a “hero”, traditionally masculine, physically strong, swords and shields and brotherly comradery, each a leader in their own right and now an unstoppable team of power, the sheer amount of fanart back in your own world you used to admire had nothing on these real men… and you? you weren’t even a real boy. clearly too round in places they were angled, too feminine even on your best days, and everyone knew it. you knew it. sometimes, you wondered if the he/him pronouns from them were out of pity, even when you knew they weren’t like that. your mind went to such awful places laying and feeling too much of your body in your bedroll in the night…)

you kept your newly bought traveling cloak on constantly, insisted on baggy ill-fitting pants and tunics, even when Wars or Time would frown in gentle confusion, offering to buy you more and better fitting clothes, you’d always politely decline.

most of them never noticed you cringe and clench your jaw when a waiter would say something like “yes sirs, oh sorry, and lady!”

itd set you back for days, clinging to the back of the group, hood up even in warmer areas, until Wind would insist on staying back with you and cheering you up [ even if he could never get out of you why you would get so defeated looking :( ]

the way you would wait until there was no one around so you could either go into the mens restroom without worrying about possible protests or wide eyed looks (or into the womens on a bad day..)

it struck them as odd, most of the heroes weren’t so oblivious they couldn’t see you laughing and jovially joining in with their antics then hunching in on yourself after a dinner at an inn or a restroom break or even outright pulling away with this hastily concealed heartbroken look on your face when Wars was acting more “gentlemenly” towards you

(unbeknownst to you, he was only doing it to you because he knew you weren’t a “link/hero” and wanted you to feel more cared for, looked out for, but not because of gender at all)

(the small cultural differences between hylian and humans at it again,, sigh rip wars making his first boy crush sad lol)

it was always a persistent and strange mystery to the boys, something that worried them more and more as they began to get to know you more and more,

this sadness and defeat that would seemingly randomly take you down, unable to really get up from it, only push it to the side after too many of Twi’s poor jokes and Wind’s dramatic groaning,

the poor heroes unable to stop it before it happened again (Legend thought it was some kind of PTSD triggers they couldnt spot at one point)

It wasnt until Wild finally, luckily overheard a conversation he wasnt meant to hear, that the pieces clicked together

youd seemingly run into a hylian man who had just been on stage as a dancer for some festival that was going on in this town, and for the first time in weeks, he saw your shoulders drop in relief, not defeat this time

he,,, may have been guilty of stealth crouching his way to a bundle of bushes closer to better hear the conversation (definitely not because he was desperate to help you, to see how the hell some random guy managed to get you to relax and look so relieved when he and the others had been trying for nearly 3 months now)

youd laughed like a weight was finally off your chest as the two of you talking about something about binding? and actually enjoying some feminine things but too afraid to do some of them for fear of... not being seen as a man even more?? what were you-?? oh. Oh.

Oh, Princey.

(a cute, originally kinda mocking, nickname Legend had started about you when u complained abt trying to sleep raw on the forest floor in just an unpadded bedroll, one that Wild would now be employing exclusively where he would’ve just said your name before)

Wild’s heart ached, the understanding so quickly digging such a deep hole in his beating heart he couldn’t think about anything else but you the rest of the day

Say goodbye to the back of the group position you’ve been holding onto, and hello to an entire wardrobe stored in Wild’s tablet because he’s buying every last stylish menswear tunic, pants, boots, belts, hats, ties, fucking cufflinks (you didnt even know any Hyrule had cufflinks?? well now you do babyyy 👉 👉 - Wild, at some point)

mf even gets matching fits, he see smth he would wear? he’s buying you the same thing or the same thing but in your favorite color

longhaired androgenous blonde elf doesnt say shit abt him overhearing ur convo with the first trans masc hylian youd met, only champions (unintentional pun tbh) the crusade of making sure you feel included as another guy in the group with the other links

(secretly tells Wars to clarify his want to just look out for you care for you, knowingly as one man to another, not gay at all rather than as a knight to specifically a lady or something dumb)

the way you suspected smth had changed but only rlly caught on when you all got invited to some big fancy ball in Wars hyrule, scrambling in the castle for a few days to find an outfit (wild insisted on some sort of fancy medival but distinctly hylian suit which u were reluctant but eventually gave into)

(Kinda like this but ur favorite colors that u think look good on you)

and when the Zelda announced it was time for them to choose their partner and be the first to dance, Wild immediately walked past all the giggling and excited whispers of the ladies around them and tugged at your hand with a bright smile until you sputterd and stumbled your way to the center of the ballroom, the slightly stunned looks of the women and even men falling away as you feel your face get hot,

no dress swings out behind either of you, only the sway of the elegant coats you’re both wearing draped over your shoulders, taking turns leading each other, no click of heels only the slight taps of both of your loafers, violins swelling until you end up in the center of room, the audience erupting into applause as all you can do it stare into Wild’s bright blue eyes in shock, his grin boyish and wide with happiness

You stay taking turns dancing with each of the links as the entire ballroom now officially dances into the night, pulling Wild into your first full hug you’ve given any of them the entire time you’ve been with them as you all are sleepily filing back to your given fancy rooms in the castle

(if Wild brags about it in the morning to jealous sleepy glares of the others in the morning, well thats between the other versions of him and himself, no need to tell Princey about it)

☆

thought abt adding “you avoid hugs, or only do side hugs to avoid chest touching, much to the desperation of every single Link in the camp, esp as they can be as sloppy with physical touch as a male sports team lol”

but didnt wanna find a point to fit it in anywhere bc it was kinda flowing so here it goes instead,

AH- also!! sorry i forgot abt Time in here :( if it helps, i honestly cant think of anything other than him clapping you way too hard on the shoulder as he says gender is a construct of hylians and the trees dont care about that sort of thing or smth fucking cryptic as shit, bc if u look it up he’s actually kinda gender ambiguous i think in the manga when he was a kid in the forest himself i think? youll have to see if theres a tumblr post abt it somewhere, i swear there was.. so even if hes that sort of brand of nonbinary nonunderstanding, hes very supportive and would be a very shiny and hard (whoops he forgot abt the armor sorry) shoulder to cry on if you ever need it (or for him to scare the hell out of someone who didnt get the pronouns right)

hope yall enjoyed!! shellyshoo sorry again but letting ur wonderful ask get dusty! lmk if i did a half decent job

(god i hope so bc i cant be doing my people dirty like this lol)\

Peace out,

🌙 📁

[sophie-frm-mars]

So I'm with a horrible GP gig economy app service where instead of one regular doctor I see every time I get a gachapon doctor from the doctor machine which works great except that it never does ever. It was pretty cool for a minute at the start of transition when I found out there was a tranny doctor with the service and I could book appointments with her, and it's been pretty cool generally getting next day appointments because they can just give you whoever, as long as the thing I need a doctor for is straightforward, but reader, let me let you in on a little secret about getting doctors to give you the healthcare you're entitled to when you're trans: fuck you ;)

Transplus, the gender clinic service I'm with, sent a letter in January to my GP to explain that because I'm on HRT I'm legally entitled to gamete storage via the NHS and to sort it out for me and Über for Doctors finally texted me this week and sent me a link to book an appointment with 3 available options, the latest of which was 6.45am, so I woke up at 6.30 and waited until 7 when I finally got a call

First I picked up and said hello and there was the sound of a beaver making a home for a beaver family of 4, then it stopped and she said hello can I speak to Sophia McAllister and I said yes hello that's me but the sound immediately started again we said "hello?" to each other a few more times and finally she said "how can I help you today?"

I said "I'm a trans woman and I'm trying to access gamete storage"

So she asks me "are you a woman who is becoming a man?" And I have to tell her no the other way around which makes her deadass ask "so what is being stored when you are getting gamete storage?" Like this GP has become a confused child in sex education class as soon as she has her first trans patient. As an aside here once it is this obvious your GP doesn't know that they're doing at all, they could at least just be clear about that, adopt a "we're in this together" attitude to your shared cluelessness, and it's infinitely worse when they try to maintain the authority

So then she asks me if I'm trying to donate sperm and I explain that I'm trying to store it so that l can have children in future, and she tries to tell me it should be part of transplus and here's the peachy part to that is I fucking agree it should be all part of one single trans healthcare service. Absolutely it should all be one single smooth integrated service but instead every single part of trans healthcare is scattered to the winds for you to collect like mystical puzzle shards. To get a vagina you have to go to the gender clinic, get referred to two different doctors who aren't at the clinic to give their opinions that you need a pussy, get referred back to the clinic who then give those endorsements to your surgeon, get a meeting with your surgeon where they assess your genitals at which point they'll tell you you need electrolysis to remove hair from the area, so then you go back to the clinic to get referred to the GDNRSS which is a government fund which has all the money which then allocates you the money so you have to go to the electrolysis clinic and book with them so that the money will be sent to them then you get electrolysis and then you go back to the clinic so they can tell the surgeon you're ready so the surgeon can tell the clinic to tell the money people to pay the surgeon who is, by the way, a private surgeon the whole time and always was, so you can finally have surgery. So yes, I agree that gamete storage should be part of trans plus. It should all be one single integrated thing, you should go to the gender factory and they should have everyone who makes trannies all there and you should walk out the other end with your fucking healthcare, but that's not how it works at all

So the GP wonders out loud if I should be "referred to psychosexual or" and I simply don't want to know what she means by that because I'm just trying to freeze my cum tbh

So I tell her again about the letter that transplus sent, and she reads it for what sounds like the first time and then she says that she doesn't know at all where we go from here, she's going to talk to the team(???) and get back to me(???) but it's been 3 months since transplus sent the letter in the first place

I'm just going back to trying hard not to think about any of my healthcare because if I do the waiting and the bullshit is going to drive me insane

[chokchokk]

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽, 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 | song mingi x fem!reader

an ao3 requested husband!mingi one-shot

"Are you trying to challenge me?"

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : You come home stressed, feeling like the world wants only the worst from you. Good thing that your husband wants the best, right? Right...

"Baby, I would never do such a thing."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff, smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 7.3k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : established relationship, girlboss office worker!reader, stay at home husband!mingi, praise kink, hand kink, size kink, service top!mingi, use of the pet-name “baby”, starts rougher but then gets really soft and gentle, cunnilingus, fingering, over-stimulation, passionate sex; reader and mingi are in their late 20s/early 30s, reader is a bit bratty but mingi is a brat as well, it pains writer mingi is not a sub in this FUCK, he puts reader in place just a tiny bit, but the dynamics are pretty even, reader and mingi love each other deeply

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : i wanted to make mingi wear a tanktop but when i digged for it THERE WAS NOTHING???? we never got tanktop!mingi selcas???? how do yall not die of hunger, no, THIRST?

anyhow. this was an ao3 request!!! i had lots of loving fun with it and i hope you do as well babes and bbies xoxo

masterlist link | join my taglist

Did you know married employees are respected more?

Well, that’s what statistics say, but you certainly have never had this observation be proven true. It’s been almost a year since the first time you’ve worn your ring at your work-place, but you still get weird looks for having settled down “too early in the relationship” at such a “young age”, as if they knew anything about your private life— so no, you don’t. You wouldn’t know anything about being respected more as a married employee, even if you’re a few working hours away from being promoted to General Manager.

You throw your keys into their respective tray and hold your nose-bridge, when you enter your house with the sound of your shoes immediately falling to the floor after you shake them off in frustration. Yes, you may have earned your money, but at what cost? To hear old people pick you out because “such a fragile thing can’t possibly handle life”, despite being their lead director, have their hairy fingers pointed towards you since “someone like Y/N needs extra checking” despite you never having missed a dead-line, and to be eyed by them while you’re just trying to get your papers— oh, fucking hell; that is, by definition, not respect, that is horror, and one more reason to finally just quit your job and—

“Baby, you’re home!”

You take deep breath.

“Here I am.”

“Allow me,” your husband hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his torso close to your back; he’s rubbing himself against you with the excuse that he’s helping you get that fucking bag from your hands, and you let out an exhale once the weight is removed from your grip and lands on the floor. He is masterfully not referring to the fact that you came a full hour later than the initial time you have texted him you would arrive, and rather focusing on the how your shoulders feel more tense than usual, massaging his strong thumbs into them.

“Thank you,” you sigh and lean the back of your head against his breast, for he’s towering over you like a guardian pressing gentle kisses onto your hair, making him one comfortable, cushioned wall. You feel a bit guilty for not having asked how his day went, but for all you know, he’s having a blast arranging his new studio that he wants to use in the future to produce with other music artists, but most importantly, help you earn money.

Your stay-at-home husband, Song Mingi. The man who makes it— the time, the work, the stress— all worth it.

“How do you feel, baby?”, he murmurs, kissing your temple while he’s at it. He brushed his teeth not too long ago, you can smell the remains of mint toothpaste at his lip. Is he being obvious? Yes, maybe. You're not complaining though. “Rough day?”

“Yeah,” you exhale and let yourself be touched by your husband, though it doesn’t make you as calm as it should in your heart. You’re not craving for any soft vicinity here, you want to smash something to the ground and stomp on it; you’ve spend the whole day surrounded by the loudest, noisy, dim-witted idiots who are certainly preying on your downfall if they don’t fucking—

“Tell me all about it, baby,” Mingi murmurs, his vocal chords vibrating against the back of your head, as he rests his chin on top of it. “I’m listening.”

Sometimes you ask yourself whether you would still be receiving the same comments, if your co-workers knew who Mingi was. Not because he’s some famous man to be afraid of, but because he is taller than all of them, has got a louder voice and could knock those douchebags out with his muscly arms— okay, maybe they should be afraid. Very afraid.

“No, it’s okay,” you breathe and turn around to get your arms around your husband’s waist and press your face into his collarbones that you didn’t realize were revealed. "Button up,” you murmur, almost annoyed that you can inhale Mingi’s comforting scent through the cleavage as well as you can. You wanted to stay angry for just a little bit longer, but your husband makes it nearly impossible. Not to say it doesn’t make feel you any less hot though.

“What do you mean?", Mingi pouts, "Is it not good? I showered! Just for you, baby.”

You chuckle and your lips graze his freshly-washed, freshly-lotioned baby-smooth skin. “No… It’s too good…”

Mingi gets his hands into your hair and rubs his finger tips across your scalp.

“What were you stressed about, baby?”, Mingi continues to ask you, applying a bit of pressure to his touch, his hand feeling like it’s ripping off the upper layer of your head in the best way possible.

“My co-workers hate me,” you murmur, teeth gritted. Your breast begins to slightly enflame at the thought of your co-workers’ faces, but your husband doesn’t seem to mind your tone as much, allowing your mind to roam freely.

“Hate you?”

“They, like, hate my existence.”

“What would they hate you for, baby?”, he asks, working his long fingers down to the lower side of your head, reaching for your neck to scratch it. His hand is well big enough to do all of it at the same time.

Preparing to answer his question, you inhale and exhale deeply, smelling the clothing and leaving it warm.

“They hate that… I’m already settled down at my age.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And that I am as confident about it and— and as hard-working as I am…”

Mingi chuckles and strokes your hair one time to get your hair in its right place after having mushed it. His touch expands warmly on your scalp and it spreads like a soothing wave of comfort.

“They hate that,” you inhale, and then —with revelation— exhale, “I’m such a strong, successful woman.”

“There you go. My strong,” Mingi murmurs, and he’s letting his hands glide down your back, “successful,” further down your ass, “wife.” Squeeze.

“Oh,” you chuckle, fully aware that nothing is on your husband’s mind rather than to persuade you to get into bed with him. Cleaning his teeth, showering, putting on fresh clothes— Did he even shave his beard by himself? Wow.

After almost a year of marriage, some clues become very self-explanatory.

His amazing hands work their amazing ways on your ass, and as it goes for Mingi, he always prides himself that he can make you melt under his touch, especially when you come home from work late on days like these.

“You should just let your anger out on them next time,” Mingi smiles, cupping your ass with the big surface of his hand and you can feel how he’s trying to figure out whether he can raise you up like this— spoiler: he can— and continues to encourage you. “Or on me.”

Were you implying your co-workers should be scared of Mingi? Yes, but also no. For someone your size, despite seemingly being ever-so tiny in your husband’s embrace, to make it so big in such a short time is astounding; ground-breaking, even. You may or may not know, but Mingi finds you are one cold-blooded woman whose blood only boils when she’s being provoked, and if there is one thing your husband wants you to prove to your co-workers, it’s that you won’t think twice once you’ve got the title of being their supervisor.

Too harsh? Maybe. But that’s something you can consider when they’re begging you to accept their apologies, no?

“Don’t edge me on, or I might actually turn into the Hulk or something,” you laugh hoarsely and raise your head up to him. Mingi looks down immediately and grins, continuously groping his hands into your butt.

“You can’t scare me,” he lulls and kisses your forehead, “because you’ll always be my little baby, Y/N.”

“Ohh, shut it,” you sneer and can’t deny that Mingi is the only one who can make you feel this small, “I wouldn’t be too sure I can’t scare you.”

“Do try, please,” Mingi insists with a cheeky smirk and gung-ho, you’re raised from the floor, being carried to the bedroom. Was that a challenge you heard?

“Be rough all you want tonight, alright? I don’t think your stress is gonna get away our traditional way today.”

“Really? ‘Traditional’?”, you huff and raise an eyebrow, Mingi kissing your cheek, as he opens the door to your bedroom.

“It’s almost our anniversary, let’s try something new, baby. I'll do anything you want. Don't care about me. I'll just be... you know. I don't know.”

“What? Is my husband getting bored of being in charge?”, you gasp theatrically, easing your hands into his shoulders, “Does hubby want me to order him around?”

“Let’s get rid of the terminology,” Mingi mutters, a bit sheepish, not wanting to admit that he read the term ‘service top’ somewhere in the deepest corners of the internet earlier this evening and had to ask you when you came home. You coming home an hour later just made him travel further the needy path, imagining how good he could make love to you, when his "own pleasure isn't the focus" (that's a quote from the website.)

“I just want my wonderful wife,” Mingi sighs, as he lets himself fall on the mattress backwards, with you landing on his hard-on, knees propped next to his hips, “And relieve you from all your stress.”

You’re still in your office attire, got your tie on tight around your neck, everything that screams ‘not ready for bed’, but Mingi doesn’t seem to care for your sheets to become dirty. In fact, he apparently wants you to be the dirtiest you’ve ever been, huh?

His long, slender fingers hold you by your jaw, as your husband roughly presses his lips into yours, immediately opening up his mouth to get a second taste with his tongue. While he tastes like mint toothpaste, you taste like bittersweet coffee, diligence and dedication; you are dancing heavenly on Mingi’s tastebuds, and his tongue laps over yours eagerly to not let any drop of your essence go to waste. He’s making you feel wanted, no, he wants you, and as Mingi takes your blazer off, your own desire to have him grows bigger with each passing second.

Your legs feel a bit tight due to the fabrics of your suit, but it doesn’t prevent you from grinding yourself into him, pants interrupting your greedy kiss. “Let’s get this off,” Mingi murmurs into your lips, hooking his finger into your tie, loosening it up, pulling it until he can wriggle your head through.

“Let’s get all of this off,” you reciprocate and his hands are on your waist, as Mingi watches you flawlessly open up the buttons of your blouse, tongue running over his lower lip. “Your co-workers don’t know you,” he chuckles, admiring you sitting on top of him with a look in your eyes that he could feast on for days, “But they should know that you are, fuck, breath-taking.”

You move your hips over his crotch, enjoying hearing your husband gutter out his thoughts.

“You are eye-candy in that, baby,” Mingi heaves, “I’m getting kinda jealous of your co-workers here.”

Cheeky, you let the blouse droop over your shoulders, revealing your lacy bra. Saying that you’re eye-candy doesn’t put it into words, Mingi thinks, and gulps at the sight of you stroking over your own torso and your breast that is just being so perfectly pushed by your lingerie, and— though it barely needs any convincing for him to swathe his tongue around your pretty nipples and get even more prettier sounds out of you— your slight gesture gets your husband’s head fuming with the things he wants to do to you to make you crumble and eat it all up deliciously, not leave anything behind.

“I bet they don’t get to see this though,” he grins and with a quick, studied flick of his fingers, the tightness around your torso is released and your tits are out for Mingi stare into. “Only I get to see this, don’t I?"

You nod and sigh, when he traces the red indents from your underwear with his thumbs and wets his lips; but before you think he's being too gentle, Mingi doesn't let you speak out the words 'yes, only you do' and interrupts you with his mouth, his hands holding you by your waist.

"Mingi," you pant. He has pushed you over on your back to the mattress without warning, caging you in with his frame. "Sorry, baby," he grins, pulls off his tank-top, throws it on the floor, quickly— he's got things to do here!— and then zips open your pants, kissing you from your cheek down to your collarbones, covering your body with his fresh breath. "Works better this way."

Mingi hooks his fingers into your trousers and pulls it off until your panties are revealed to him, but before he's able to wriggle it down to your calves and finally have it off your body, he's having a moment to look at his wife laying in front of him; your glowing eyes are glancing up, waiting, no, teasing, urging him on to do what Mingi has been planning to do since the first time he asked you when you would arrive back home.

"Please don't mention 'work'," you hiss, pushing your tongue against the inner space of your mouth.

He knows. He has never been there at your work-place, and he never asks you more about it than he should, because Mingi does think that his distraction works way better than to rant for hours, and he sees it, feels it— your anger, your frustration, your stress— but does he... well, how should he say this... care for it?

No.

"Why not?", is what Mingi whispers into your skin to make you roll your eyes and border him in with your thighs, the pants that aren't off yet keeping him between your legs. Fuck, you're so hot when you're stressed.

Okay, wait, wait, wait— hear him out.

First, please forgive him. You really have to. Mingi would never say this out loud, not under any circumstance that doesn't include you directly asking for it, but shit, look at yourself right now. Enveloped by your open blouse, your perfect breasts hanging out of it like a window luring him to peek like the shameful man he is, your facial expression judging him for his fawning— you are a goddess in his eyes, Y/N. And gods get angry. And then, when they're angry, they're the most powerful they ever are.

So there you go; Mingi, even though he's a husband that has never, ever throughout your marriage or your relationship, made you angrier for more than 24 hours, kinda enjoys it when you come home stressed, gritting your teeth, panting, groaning— talking to him with umph. The stress makes you riled up, makes you breathe fire, shoot flames out of your eyes that seduce him to be even more ignited, just for you.

"Are you trying to challenge me?", you huff and Mingi makes himself comfortable, placing his elbows around the sides of your body, anchoring himself on your lower abdomen with his forearm.

"Baby," he grins, kissing the inner sides of your thighs, "I would never do such a thing."

Except he is. When you get— and your husband thinks he's a genius to think of this— 'worked up', you become demanding, slightly sassy, playful, and there is nothing Mingi loves more than his wife to tell him exactly what she wants, because he knows he can be a bit dense sometimes. He tries his best, always, to do things according to your liking, but usually, you just let him do his thing since sometimes you need nothing more than his presence.

"I would never tease you like that, my," he pesters, "baby." With his lips stuck at the last inch before he's able to get it near your clothed cunt, you scoff, pressing your thighs together to squeeze his face.

"You better fucking not tease me tonight," you warn him and Mingi bites his lip, feeling his already-very-hard cock twitch inside his joggers at the cause of your tone.

"I love you too much," your husband answers and moves his head around, his pointy nose grazing against your covered clit. Like an automatic reaction, you gulp and throw your face to the side, your hand intertwining with Mingi's long fingers that are resting at the seam of your panties.

"Oh, please," you taunt, “dare to give me your worst performance,” and you think you're safe, since his hands are occupied with yours, but when you are in bed with him, and proceed to tease Mingi like this, then you are never safe with your husband.

(Except the part that you are safe, and safe with the thought Mingi is indeed going to relieve you.) Pressing his tongue against the fabric, Mingi curves it into the band, pushing it with ease, without any type of struggle to— and you should've seen this coming— plunge his tongue into your folds. "Fuck, Mingi," you breathe and he's chuckling against your wet cunt, as he laps his wet muscle over your slickness to gather what has been collecting in your underwear, slow and sensually, though his heavy breathing tells you that he's going to feast on it in no time.

He ‘loves you’, you know that, but ‘too much'? — Can there ever be too much?

"Ohh, fuck, that's good, right fucking there," you groan, gripping into Mingi's hand. With your feedback, Mingi continues to purl over your clit, sucking the fluid so it can spread on his tongue and melt in his mouth.

No. There could never be too much.

You taste so delicious, and it goes without saying that Mingi finds it fascinating that you look even better from this angle; he can see every lash of yours flutter with the slow flicking of his tongue, adding speed as he goes. “Yes,” you whimper, “‘feels so good.”

His heart and mouth are cooperating wonderfully, as his lips are spelling words of awe into your labia; He’s pronouncing how good it feels so good to be your husband, how good it feels to do good— and oh, it is so good to be yours, Y/N. You can’t even believe. The sounds you let out tingle all of his senses and he’s definitely going to have to hurry with his studio, if he wants to eternalise them.

Mingi holds the eye-contact to not miss any of your expressions, laving at your cunt with bizarre flexibility that makes you twist here and there, but his forearm is pressing you down to keep you on your back. "Squirmy," he grins, babying you while you are unable to open move your legs, since your own set of trousers is keeping them closed together, "am I doing you that well?”

Panting because of how constrained you are despite wanting to move around so much, you throw your head down on the soft mattress. "Uh-huh," you exhale, feeling his tongue circle around your clit and tease itself into your entrance, "so well."

Mingi's head is spinning. He wants to make you cum so fast, but he also wants you to beg for your orgasm until your voice is hoarse from the moaning, just so he can see your ribcage move up and down the bed one more time, no, please so many times, and maybe he could get his fingers in so he can— fuck, didn't he plan this out?

He makes it look easy, but in your husband’s mind, he's puzzling and figuring out the ways to pleasure you the best way he can. Mingi heaves and laughs, noticing how he's been cutting himself short of breath, too excited to be pleasuring you. "You’re so beautiful, baby," he says, voice having become raspy and an octave lower than usual; it appears to you that he's drunk on your taste, "you're making me insane with that view."

You inhale through your mouth with your lip-corners pointing upwards, a bit shy with your husband's praise, but you have no other way around than to listen to Mingi's dreamy words. "Unnh-huh," you react, but once your husband is laving at your cunt again, talking amidst of it, you are becoming a mindlessly noisy mess.

"My pretty baby," Mingi murmurs, and as he does so, his mouth is flocking in your slick, tickling your clit repeatedly, "my prettiest, loveliest baby, so whiny for me, fuck."

"More, Mingi," you grunt, feeling like the blouse is keeping you tight, so you push yourself up and get it off your arms— Mingi uses his chance to pull your panties over your knees— and after that, the male digs deeper into your crevice, thighs pressing him in which makes him gasp for dear air, "please."

Your pleads are meaningful to him, make his heart jump, make his head click like he's a dog being asked to obey, and okay, Mingi doesn't think he wants to be a pet, let alone an animal, but— you know what? Your pleads not only show what a considerate wife you are, it also makes Mingi know how much you want him, and that’s the best feeling in the entire world, and he would do everything to chase your pleasure and praise.

“Oh, I got all night, baby,” your husband chuckles, he’s grinding himself against the bed, huffing and panting, tongue delving deep into you on your command.

He drags the intertwined hands of yours down the tiny bit it needs for his thumb to meet your clit, and as Mingi rubs extensively over it, your knuckles go white from how strongly you grip into his fingers.

Oh god, this is exactly what you wanted. His tongue, his lips, his hands, oh, his hands— his fingers; those ridiculously long fingers that cover your whole pelvic bone when extended— slender and rapid, frantically incautious over your cunt, so eager to push you over the edge, pull you back up and throw you over again and again; you love how they look against your body, on your head, on your neck, on your cunt, everywhere they travel during your desirous journeys.

"Aren't I so scarily good?", Mingi huffs, nervy and immodest, talking to get himself to breathe, clearly confident that you are feeling the best you've felt the whole day given the way your muscle was contracting around his tongue, when it was still in you; unfortunately you're unable to answer him with words, just letting out another gutsy "unnnh" as feedback.

"I know, oh, I know," he grins, his thumb rubbing over your clit like he's racing with your stuttered breath, but ultimately, he’s making you feel quite empty with the lack of his mouth at your cunt, and he’s making you feel that way on purpose, "I'm the best, I can do you the best—"

"Mingi! Your Tongue! Please."

After his pant, his mischievous little chuckle, you understand it, understand it all clearly: your naughty Mingi loves to be ordered around by his wife. Loves being ordered around knowing that, once his tongue is inside you, you'll do absolutely nothing to hold him back, and it does make you want to fuck him even more, doesn’t it? You love your husband, you feel so young with him, so undisturbedly yourself— and how loved you feel, too.

Humming a fond "I got you, baby", Mingi shuffles himself together one last time, your thighs sitting perfectly on his shoulders, and there he goes, driving his tongue into you, even more ecstatic than before; now, that you even begged him to, it's like your husband has taken enough of a back to duplicate the amount of vigor, exponentially getting faster and more impassioned. "Oh, fuck," you breathe out and with Mingi's tongue rubbing your inner walls wild and avidly, his thumb sprinting across your sensitive clit, you are heading straight to your first orgasm.

"Just like that," you whine, knowing very well that it gets your husband riled up well across his usual efforts, and you continue with it just to chase your high, "just like that, baby, just like—"

Hey now, did you just call him 'baby'? And how sneakily you did it, too! You know how crazy it gets him, you tease. Your husband’s tongue raves against your sweet spots and your slick gets combined with his saliva, his thumb using the moisture as lube to not miss any of the chances to make you squirm and spasm on his touches, but Mingi’s cock, his poor cock, twitches in the short moment his sweet, desirous pet-name is exhaled out of your pretty mouth he’s definitely going to need to kiss a thousand times until he can only taste the word “baby” on his lips.

His own pelvis is grinded deep into the mattress, and pearls of sweat form on both your foreheads, your eyes rolling to where you can’t see Mingi concentrating on your face, when it cums with a movement of your pelvis bucking up.

“… That!”, you moan, and Mingi pants, shovelling your come into his mouth, slurping it up so long until you physically have to wring with him to get his tongue off your pussy, but the trousers at your calves make it impossible. It’s Mingi’s choice here. And he’s not letting go.

“Ba—,” you squirm, rocking your body from side to side, “—by, please! Fuck!”

“Call me ‘baby’ one more time, just for me,” he lisps, laving his tongue against your throbbing, pulsating clit, all the while you try yank your ass down, overwhelmed by your prolonged pleasure.

“Baby! Baby, baby, baby—“, you whimper, and Mingi kisses your inner thigh, when he finally stops, satisfied by your calling. With one last peck on your clit, he lets go off your hands and slips out your chokehold, pulling off your pants by hooking his fingers in and sliding them off your feet. “Aww, look at you,” he beams, grinning, going through his hair and stroking his swollen lip, “all blushed away, reminds me of the older days, baby.”

“You are the worst,” you sob, and lay lax on the bed, legs once in for all extending and relaxing. Strangely enough, your head feels light, and your body that was straining and trying to get Mingi off of it, is now feeling warm and calming down from the high.

“Aw, you think so?” Mingi smiles, kissing up your leg, your hip-bone, pressing his lips on your abdomen, your tummy, your ribs, marking all of your body with his love-soaked mouth. "I adore you so much."

Having wrung with your husband, you got rid of some of the fighting needs, but— as you’re being smothered by him and his sweet antics— you sigh into the gentle, feathery contact with your skin, and play molten with his soft hair.

You remind yourself of his words, ‘don’t care about me’, but your husband would be a fool to assume that his wife doesn’t want to give him anything back. “Mingi,” you murmur— noticing that you’ve been closing your eyes due to the relaxation you are experiencing, and he immediately answers an attentive “yes, baby?” back, as he repeatedly kisses your jaw.

“Do you really want me to order you around?”, you hum.

“Haha, no, baby,” he chuckles, “it's just…”

Mingi harrumphes in his thoughts, wrapping his arms around your waist, laying his head on top of your tummy and looking up to you— whispering, "I want to do what's best for you. Especially on days like these."

Your heart throbs at the sight of your husband's hair being dishevelled, his already plump lips seemingly looking more peachy, rosy, kissable after he's eaten you out with more than greed and thirst; something that’s more valuable to a healthy marriage than the phrase ‘good sex, no ex’— Love. And the sweetest love there could ever be.

"You would do that for me, baby?", you ask him, your voice coming out sighed.

"Yes, of course," he insists, kissing you down your sternum, your ribcage moving up and down in a slow rhythm. “Baby, you work so much for us… I feel like this is something I can do for you in return, you know?”

“But what if I don’t make you cum?”

"Huh?"

Mingi stops kissing you and glances upwards. You grin. You wanted to catch him off-guard a little bit. (Though you don't know whether that's surprise in the white of his eyes or something like... intrigue.)

“… Uh,” he gutters, thinking about his words very carefully, but ultimately failing to find something good to say.

You smirk and go through his hair, gently grabbing a handful of it. “I think you’d find it hot."

"Really?", he asks, nervously huffing.

"Mingi, didn’t I edge you all during our early twenties?”

“Baby, don’t—“

“What? Well, I thought it was hot. I remember it being really hot.”

“Those were trying times.”

“We did try a lot of things during college.”

Reminiscing and visiting your rather youthful, spry days, Mingi pushes his head deeper into your hand and smiles, having calmed down from the rather exciting idea that you would suggest something so risqué to him. How long has it been? More than ten years, wow.

"Look at us now, baby," Mingi murmurs, sub-consciously wandering up the silhouette of your body with the backside of his hands, making you rather ticklish, but in a way that goosebumps find themselves on your skin, your breath feeling lighter with each stroke of his finger-tips, "Look at you." He inhales, and then exhales, your thumb resting at his ear, "You are trying to kill me, baby..."

"Ohh, Mingi, I'm not!", you giggle, and you may not know what your husband is talking about, but through his lenses— though you would be right to assume that these lenses are painted a deep, deep red— he's seeing his wife be tempered, moderate, relaxed. If he finds you so hot when you're fuming, Mingi finds you enthralling, when your eyes are barely open, the slightest of smile decorating your lips, and an even more hidden pink daubed on your cheeks... You're his wife, Mingi repeats to himself, and his heart grows double its size because of it.

"I love you," he murmurs, and for the moment, he doesn't even know he said that out loud, “I love you so much”, and means it more the second time.

And there you lay, on the mattress, your husband beginning to kiss you again, his hands cupping your head, your fingers interlaced in his hair. "I love you too," you whisper, and as Mingi grabs you by your back, inviting you to get your body up, you're right in the zone again.

Soft, smitten contact— it’s your lips this time to cover Mingi’s neck with kisses, down to his shoulders, his collarbones, your knee working against his crotch, arms swung behind his head.

“I want to take care of you, baby,” Mingi whispers, his thumb caressing your jawbone, as you peck away the sweat on his skin, he will need another shower. “I want to make love to you.”

You smile in awe of your husband lulling the loveliest of words into your ear, soft rustling from your sheets accompanying his voice. The room you decorated together, the home you fill, and even sooner, you'll start a family— with Mingi as a father to be proud of. Who has done so much to keep you happy.

"But sometimes I think—”

“No, baby,” you interrupt him, his voice was dropping and you know you are preventing Mingi from talking bad about himself. He feels guilty, though you've told him uncountable times that you don't feel like you're the only one under this roof.

"But—"

“Baby, no.”

"Okay... I guess I just love you, then." Mingi chuckles, when your fingernails trail down his breast, drawing a line along his muscle definition, “what did you think I was gonna say?”

“Something that’s gonna take me off my mood,” you hum, hooking yourself at his joggers. Mingi sighs, loudly, not yet relieved, but still at peace somehow.

“Make love to me, Mingi.”

A slight gasp leaves his mouth. Oh…

“Y/N… You can’t say things like that.”

With a smirk, your hand disappears in his joggers, and then in his boxers; his thick, throbbing, struggling cock slicking in your grip, as you wrap your fingers around it.

“I can, baby, and I will,” you sneer, “I thought you wanted the best for me?”

He grits his teeth, but Mingi smiles, finding himself at your service. “Am I the best?”, he asks you, leaning forwards to rest his head against your shoulder, pushing you down again.

“You’re the absolute best, Mingi.”

You slowly glide your hand up and down his length nibbling at his ear, exhaling, seducing him. “You’re the best husband,” you purr, “with the most handsome face,” kissing his temple, “and”, with your other finger hooked at the waist band of his joggers, you reveal “the best cock.”

Mingi is touched. A bit embarrassed, yes, it’s been a while since he’s heard you talk like this, but to hear from the best wife that he is deemed the best husband is the highest compliment he could have gotten. What, his face still charms you? His cock is still alluring to you? Don’t judge him, but even after ten years he will be moved by your words.

Moved.

“Come on, Mingi,” you coo, feeling your cunt pulsate between your legs, his cock twitch between your fingers; your husband gulps and, with your command, roams against your body, "let's get you to work."

Maybe he's really revisiting things from the past, after all the talk about your college endeavours, because you definitely recognise his canine teeth ever-so slightly sunken into your shoulder, as Mingi grabs you by your thighs and spreads your legs gently. Your body remembers, and his cock surely does as well, glistening in pre-cum as it is positioned at your cunt. "God, baby," Mingi grunts, and you lick over your lips in anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he pouts, and in an almost reverent tone, Mingi brushes away a sweaty strand of hair from your face, “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

“Not even your mom?”, you giggle, and while you think of your mother in law with utmost respect, your husband smiles, unfazed; “She’ll agree.”

And with that, Mingi is inside you, all of his length gliding into you with utmost caution; he’s driving in his pelvis unhurriedly, slow and deliberate, just so you can feel every inch of you inside expand for his girth, stretch for his entrance. "Fuck," you gutter and grab Mingi by his hair, pulling him close to you just as he begins to move, your moan coming out muffled against his lip.

"Never growing tired of it, are you?", Mingi grins into the kiss, and he's right, he's so, totally right, but your face is strained together in ecstasy, lascivious— aphrodisical to your husband. He's throbbing and he can feel how warm his own cock is, as Mingi pulls himself out of your tightness in his entirety and then, "fuck," pushes himself right back in inside you to experience it all again.

"I could never grow tired of my hubby," you chuckle and fuck, feel him, physically feel how he's getting excited about your words, something so enrapturingly hot boiling inside him; but while your personal heat ends up being your devilish little voice encouraging you to tease him, Mingi's does nothing more than to whisper him the most delicate ways of loving.

If he sucks on the spot right here at your pretty, graceful collarbone, will you sigh out an even more graceful breath? (Yes!) If he slides his tongue across your neck, just until your sensitive jaw, will you pull his hair with some type of feistiness? (Oh, god yes!) If Mingi, looking at you with sunken eyes, catches you off-guard and pistons his pelvis in at this exact moment, will you— "Fuck, baby!"

Oh, he didn't even need a voice for that one. Your husband slithers his arms under your armpits, one hand holding you by your back, the other resting on top of your head, so you don't hit the bedframe and hurt yourself, as it falls to the back with his thrust.

"Want me to say sorry?", he hums, again slowly driving himself out, knowing very well that once Mingi changes the direction, he will hit your sweet-spot again, and you shake your head rather weakly, drunken on the feeling of him filling you out.

"Good," Mingi confirms your answer, peppering kisses all around your forehead, as he quickens up his pace, breathing throughout it all. "Y/N," he sighs, you sighing with him for all the same reasons, "you feel so good."

You get used to the rhythm and let loose of the sheets, lightly scratching his skin at his waist. "You feel so good, baby," Mingi repeats himself and his eyebrows are pushed together, his grunts vibrating down your cunt. "Do you feel good, baby?"

Nodding, whispering a wispy string of a lot of 'yes'es, Mingi flashes his eye-smile and digs his face deep into the nook of your neck. He doesn't say it, because he's too busy panting, moaning, breathing out to his own thrusts, but your husband is overjoyed. You feel so tiny under his body— and maybe it's because you are, and yet the place you have reserved in his even bigger heart— which even in this moment, is beating for you and nobody else— is inexplainably huge. He wants to be yours as much as he wants you to be him, be with him, have all his life painted in your pretty colours until his canvas drivels over.

His cock is slipping in and out of you at fast speed now, your whiny moans encouraging Mingi to hold this angle since you're not stopping with it; "Are you close?", he asks and gets one arm of his out to rest his hand on the bedframe, towering over you, hair falling in front of his eyes.

"Yes, I'm close," you answer and search for another kiss, raising your hand to his cheek, Mingi immediately plunging his face into yours. He's close too, has been for a while now, but he had to get your confirmation that he was finally able to release himself into you— and then, when you nibble at his lip while a heavenly note of a moan leaves your opened mouth, Mingi's pelvis moves by itself.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," he cusses, having to install one hand at your hips so he doesn't rock you around too much, voice becoming high and needy, greed messing with the practiced way he thrusts into you, becoming sloppy and all the while passionate, chasing the speed it takes to make you feel the best and even better. His other hand slides onto your clit, and it does so by muscle memory, knowing exactly where to rub so you clench around him, scream out his name.

"I love you so much, baby, I want you so bad, and I'm— fuck," he heaves, his voice catching up with his movement, "I'm going to love you until we grow old, baby, I want to be with you until the end of our days— I," and Mingi is rambling his free mind here, his whole body, mind and soul at your service, "I want you to have me forever, Y/N."

"Mingi," you whine, and his cock doesn't stop hitting your soft-spot, your clit tingling from his thumb, making you dopey, skipping you through time, to a future where you lay with Mingi in bed at the same late hour, both heads fuming from work, trying to your steam off together now, worried that your kids will hear your words, grunting silently into each other's ears, the words being, "I'm gonna cum!"

Oh, what good days await you two, and how straight you're heading for it, too— with Mingi's breathing being cut short, coming out stuttered from how fast he's ramming himself into you, not too rough, but fluidly and ceaselessly until you are gasping for air, feeling the string be stretched further and further, pulled for release, spiralled by your husband's vigor and his panting; "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum so fucking bad, fuck!"

Mingi soaks sweatily in your words, his hair chaotic, his abs glistening from the heat of it all— you yank your hand out his mouth, your lower body curling up— "Fuck, baby!"

And with your tightened cunt Mingi lets out a deep, whole-hearted grumble, falling flat on your body, as he spasms; his hot, thick semen shot seeps through along the tip of his cock out your cunt, needing to be fucked right back into you so it doesn’t get lost on your sheets— you seeing absolute bliss, as he pistons into you one last time, eyes focused on your husband.

“Baby,” Mingi pants, and with your gazes meeting, his lips rush over to your cheek, pecking you one, two, three times— and then, on your lips one, two— no, holding one long kiss with you, his plump, rosy softness making your body melt into the mattress, as it falls deeper in slumber. “I love you,” he whispers into your kiss, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “my baby.”

He pulls out, infamously slow, making you heave on his length even after you both finished. “Mingi,” you exhale, feeling your eyelids close by themselves, your husband slightly chuckling.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, caressing your waist and cheek, “you need anything?”

“Oh, Mingi,” you laugh; Mingi can't help himself, can he? Will always ask for your wishes, wishing to grant them, like he's some wizard, a magician, a devoted believer of your enjoyment and happiness— "You did all you could have done, baby."

"Really?"

"Come on, Mingi, you big baby, c'mere."

He huffs, a bit sulky maybe, your silly husband, getting the blanket from the bed to throw it over his shoulder and wham, over you— cuddling you in, for now ignoring that the both of you need a hot, steamy shower, just breathing in and out your presence, your sweet, dulcet presence, which caramelizes in his warmth, against his body, melting.

"Thank you for being there for me, baby," you smile, voice dampened by the blanket, but Mingi understands you just well enough.

You don't need to thank him. Mingi knows you know that. He's obsessed with you, and though you could try and say you're just as obsessed, your husband will try everything to your favour to prove otherwise.

As Mingi throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his breast, making you listen to his heartbeat, beating just for you, you hear him whisper all kinds of affirmations. 'I'll never leave your side, I'll never make you feel lonely, I'll be yours forever.”

A career? A family? A happy life?

It's all waiting for you, patiently, each day and night you leave and come back home— in office clothes and a chaotic mind— watching, admiring, hoping to get the weight of responsibility off your shoulders, get you a taste of freedom, a taste of the fruits of your labour.

"Are you asleep?", he asks and you groan silently, pressing your face deeper down his armpit. "Baby..."

Mingi chuckles. You need this sleep, totally, but you also need to be cleaned up, which gives him the challenge to grab you by your leg the most gentle way he can, lift you up— and, when you lie in his embrace, head snuggled into his breast— he’s careful to not wake you up with the sounds of water splashing down his hand, as he soaps you in.

It’s difficult, this is difficult, it will all be so difficult— but Mingi, being your husband, your soul-mate, your everything, he’s putting his all on it to make it work.

(Work you up, make you work for it; until your voice is hoarse, until your body shakes, until your head is light and you can do it, all over again, the next day, evening and night.

“Happy wife, happy life!”

(Maybe Mingi embraces his new role as the father of your children too much.))

[legendofmorons]

Dude dude dude happy anniversary!!!!

Also, Legend and they were roommates????

Thank you! I love the roommates trope.

Blackhole fantasy

Yes, that title is a reference to a crane wives song.

Have some cute legend x reader and they were roommates! (They make it everyone else's problem.)

You're halfway through making dinner when you hear the door open, followed by several unfamiliar footsteps and voices.

Your shoulders hitch as you take a steadying breath.

You take your chef's knife, gripping it tightly as you creep to the kitchen archway.

You peek around and narrow your gaze at the group of strange, heavily armed men.

If you could sneak by them to get to your roommate's weapon stash...

You take a step through the arche way only for the floor to creak and give you away.

You immediately hold the knife up as the whole group turns.

"What are you doing in my house?" You ask with far more confidence than you feel.

Realistically if this gets physical you are at a disadvantage.

"Who are you?" Asks the youngest.

A familiar figure pushes through the group until Link stands before you in his usual adventure outfit. He gives you a smirk. "No welcome home?"

You let out a laugh of relief, "Maybe if I saw you before the heavily armed friends you brought I'd have a better welcome home for you than a knife and suspicion."

Link laughs at that.

He crosses the space between you until he stands right before you. His face softens, eyes flickering over your form as he searches for any possible injuries.

"I'm glad you have the sense to not trust just anyone." He says, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes. "Why woukd I? Between you and Ravio there's people with bad intention knocking on the door twice a week."

He laughs again, "It's good to see you. You weren't here last time we visited."

"Rav told me about it." You smile, "How long are you staying?"

"No clue."

"I'll feed you and your friends, but you're on vegetable duty as payment."

He scoffs, "Why?"

"Because I already got my finger yesterday and I don't want to." You say easily.

"I can help!" Offers the man with the long hair.

You shake your head, "No need. Link is going to help as payment for making me do more work."

Link groans, but the quirk of his lips betrays him. "Fine."

You lead Link back into the kitchen before directing him on the vegetables to wash and cut for you.

He does, of course. He always does. You rarely ask him for anything hard. He washes and peels and cuts the vegetables while answer your questions about his latest adverture.

For a moment you can pretend this is more than just a roommate and friend arrangement. For a moment you can pretend it's sappy domestic bliss.

What would Link do if you turned around and told him how you feel right now? Would he return the sentiment? Would he kick you out?

What if it all fell apart?

Fuck, even in your fantasies you can't believe you'll get that domestic bliss.

Maybe you're even a little afraid.

Stupid feelings.

-------

"This is torture." Wind groans, on day three of watching you and Legend dance around each other like it's a ballet.

"This isn't torture, sailor." Warriors sighs.

"Feels like it." Wild pouts from his spot on the couch.

"It's not so bad." Sky smiles, "They just need time."

"They need a push." Warriors tolls his eyes.

"Into a closet?" Four offers sweetly.

"Absolutely not." Time says immediately.

Wind groans loudly. "You're such a dick."

"Language." Time sighs.

There's a shriek of laughter as you run into the house from the apple orchard with Legend on your heels.

"I'm going to tell them." Hyrule says immediately.

"Do not." Sky hisses.

You run to the kitchen with a grin, skidding to a stop.

Legend catches you when you over balance, "Easy, sweets."

"Time." Twilight groans.

You stare up into his eyes, and you decide to finally take that jump, heart beating fast as you stare up at him. Your eyes are wide as you allow yourself to act on the fantasy of love.

Legend furrows his brow when you reach out to cup his jaw. "What are yo-mph!"

You kiss him soft, gentle, and when he dosen’t reciprocate ypu pull back. Shame floods your mind -

"Get back here, I didn't get to kiss you." Legend breathes out.

Your eyes widen, "Link?"

The others watch with various groans as Legend leans in to kiss you.

"Roommates, my ass." Wind huffs.