#i wanted to have him here with everyone too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sleepyhoon · 1 day ago

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i see you (always, forever). - l.hs

synopsis. following your ex boyfriend’s sudden disappearance, lee heeseung seemingly enters your life at the perfect time.

pairing. stalker bf!heeseung x fem reader

genre. dark romance, smut, light humor.

word count. 6.1k+

warnings. swearing, obsessive behavior, stalking, brief mention of drink spiking (doesn’t actually happen), mention of alcohol consumption, person held in captivity, mention of past infidelity, extremely brief mention of childbirth, smut [ consensual somno, oral (fem receiving), p in v, sex toy usage ]. this fic contains dark content and is not at all how i view these idols. minors and ageless blogs dni. 18+ content read at your own discretion.

featuring. hwang yeji & shin ryujin (itzy)

a/n. happy valentine’s day babies!! wanted to do something cute and light but i fear it just wasn’t working out … so this right here is for my dark romance girlies hehe enjoy! drew inspo from the television show “you”! shoutout to bae @yangkkomi for beta reading

Lee Heeseung has the worst case of separation anxiety when it comes to you.

The mere thought of being away from you for too long is enough to send him into a spiral, and you barely even realize the effect you had on him. His naturally clingy nature raised no concerns to you; in fact, you relish in his borderline unhealthy infatuation with you — seeing as your previous boyfriend of ten months disappeared on a random Tuesday afternoon, leaving nothing behind but a note claiming he needed to start a new life.

The week of Park Jongseong’s sudden disappearance was agonizing. Yes, he assured everyone he was okay and simply was moving onto a new chapter in his life, and that no one drove him to make such a rash decision, but something about the situation didn’t sit well with you.

Jongseong wasn’t impulsive in the slightest, and you would argue he was one of, if not the most, mature, level headed men you’ve dated. He was distant at times which often felt unsettling, but had his reasonings and assured you he couldn’t have been happier in the relationship. That was one of your favorite things about Jongseong, how he always knew just what to say to calm your nerves, and how he always had a rational explanation for everything.

Running away so suddenly was out of character for him, and a part of you feared that, despite the note left behind, there was something malicious going on that led to his disappearance.

Your older sister, Yeji, had just given birth and was in the midst of planning her wedding, while your parents deemed themselves as “too busy to deal with your issues”, leaving you to become a shell of yourself without having anyone to confide in. Days turned into weeks of you locking yourself in your apartment, typing your ex boyfriend’s name into the search bar over and over, hoping something new would pop up; but nothing ever did.

After a long, tiring day of Zoom meetings and doing more research on Jongseong, your eyes had begun to flutter shut when a knock on your front door wakes you. Expecting it to be your Doordash driver dropping off a greasy, million calorie cheeseburger and a can of soda, you yell out to leave it at the front door. The knocking persisted, and with a sigh, you dragged your feet all the way to the front door, certainly shocked at the man that stood before you.

You don’t even give him the chance to explain himself before you’re asking, “Why do you look familiar?”

He grins at you, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the cardboard box in his hands. “Unless you’re a book lover we probably don’t know each other; I’m a manager of a bookstore downtown, I’m there all the time.”

“Is it… Brookhaven? You guys have K-pop albums too, right?”

“Book-haven,” he corrects you with a polite nod, “and, yeah, we have albums. Have you been to the shop?”

“A few times.” You mumble, suddenly feeling very self conscious of your outfit choice. With the option to have your camera off during the Zoom meetings, you felt no desire to get dressed for the day, opting to work in your oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts.

The unnamed man wore casual clothing — a grey North Face jacket atop a black t-shirt and white cargos — yet, you felt completely underdressed in comparison to him. His gaze was piercing yet gentle, like he carried a certain confidence about himself in a way that didn’t come off as cocky or arrogant. Though, you really couldn’t blame him if he were the conceited type; he was definitely an attractive man.

The silver chain on his neck had been paired perfectly with matching earrings, including a silver hoop on his helix. His hair, though likely not his natural color, suited him perfectly; the subtle curls and waves giving him a classic, boyish look with bangs that fell just beneath his eyebrows.

You clear your throat, gesturing towards the package in his hands, “Are you dropping this off?”

“Yes! Uh, FedEx dropped off some packages at my store yesterday and it looks like this must’ve gotten mixed in,” he explains, extending the package towards you, “I tried calling the number on the label yesterday but no one answered, so I’m just swinging by to drop it off.”

You accept the package, rolling your eyes at the mixup. “FedEx is always doing bullshit.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, “Trust, I’m fully aware. The driver for our block is this old-ass man; I once caught him asleep in his truck.”

You laugh a little too loud at this, inwardly cringing at yourself afterwards as you tuck the package beneath your arm. “Well, thanks for bringing my package…?” You trail off, hoping he’ll complete your sentence by offering you his name.

“Heeseung, Lee Heeseung.”

“Thank you, Heeseung, Lee Heeseung.” You repeat, earning a grin from him.

“No worries,” he responds, fishing something out of his pocket, “and feel free to stop by the store sometime, especially now that you have a coupon.” He says, offering you the small slip of paper from his pocket.

You accept it, eyes widening at the “BOGO FREE KPOP ALBUM” staring back at you. “I…is this real? You really don’t have to.”

Heeseung shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, “It’s no big deal, I keep coupons on me to hand out, anyway. Plus, we’re trying to make room for more stock.” He says, slowly walking backwards down the hall as he inches away from your door. Like a magnet, your body automatically angles towards him, hoping he’ll say something else.

“You’ll just have to request a manager when you’re ready to use it, regular associates can’t process certain coupons under their employee number.”

You nod, free-hand gripping the doorframe as your eyes follow Heeseung, “What days do you work?”

He shrugs again, “Doesn’t have to be me, I have two assistant managers that are there pretty often.”

“Right, but, when are you there?”

He pauses, titling his head at you before responding, “Monday through Friday, eleven-to-eight. Sometimes I stop by once or twice on the weekends to check in.”

“Will you be there tomorrow?”

“All day, eleven-to-eight.”

The following morning, you had the sudden urge to buy a K-pop album and get another one for free.

Heeseung had spent a good portion of that morning conversing with you from behind the counter, listening intently when you got on the topic of your previous boyfriend’s disappearance. It’s still a touchy subject for you, and probably not the best thing to talk about while getting to know a guy you’re interested in, but Heeseung’s question on how “such a pretty girl” like you was single required a truthful answer. Initially, you feared your response of “my boyfriend went missing” would be enough to scare him off, but Heeseung didn’t seem phased in the slightest.

In fact, in the two-and-a-half months you’d been dating Heeseung there was almost nothing you could say or do that would phase him to the point of genuine concern. Not how it took an insane amount of motivation for you in order to clean your apartment (he was fine cleaning it himself), or how often you’d forget to take your very much needed medication (he was more than happy to remind you every morning and night, and even went as far as requesting a refill when the bottle was nearly empty and picking it up for you). Catering to your every need was just another simple task for him, and you’re more than grateful that the universe seemingly dropped him right in your lap when you needed it most.

Heeseung was patient, understanding, and was absolutely devoted to your relationship. In his eyes, you deserved nothing but the best, and was keen on making sure to provide for you.

Cooking for you was probably his favorite task. He wasn’t the best at it per se, but improved with every attempt, and you seemed to enjoy his meals despite them not being to his liking.

He’d woken up early this morning to prepare a Valentine’s day breakfast for you, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead as he slipped out of bed and into your kitchen. The original plan was to go all out and cook a ridiculous breakfast feast he’d seen on TikTok that featured cinnamon rolls, sausage, and fluffy pancakes.

He burnt the first batch of cinnamon rolls and decided it best to simplify your feast down to eggs, bacon, and french toast sticks. Slightly disappointed that his original plan didn’t work out, your boyfriend sighs at himself as he pours a glass of cranberry juice before setting it on a wooden tray table. How he made it to your bedroom without dropping everything was beyond him, considering how he was still weak from sleep and could hardly keep his eyes open.

Heeseung pushed the door open with his foot, peeking his head in slightly and furrowing his brows at your sleeping figure. If not from the noise of clattering dishes, he was almost certain the smell of food would be enough to wake you up. He knew you were a heavy sleeper, but never realized how heavy.

“How are you still asleep?” He mumbles to himself with a sigh, setting the tray of food on your desk before retreating to your bed. He digs his knee into the edge of the mattress, gently shaking your leg in an attempt to wake you. You don’t budge, your slumber remaining unaffected as the sounds of your light snoring continue to fill the room. His fingers trail down your leg until they reach the sole of your foot, his fingernails softly tickling the sensitive area until you’re jerking your leg away in discomfort.

“Weirdo.” You say through a yawn, angling your body until you’re laying on your side.

Heeseung rolls his eyes at your insult, grabbing ahold of your leg as he responds, “A true weirdo would’ve put their mouth on it, you’re lucky it’s just me. Now get up, I made breakfast.”

Waking you up was no easy task, whether it was seven in the morning or half past noon. Heeseung suspects you’re still recovering from sleep debt after all the nights you’d spent lying awake researching Jongseong’s disappearance. The nights you could sleep didn’t typically didn’t last long; it’d either take hours until you finally drifted off, or you’d wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare; leaving you unable to go back to sleep.

Your sleep schedule hadn’t gotten back on track until you met Heeseung, who made sure you were taking melatonin, iron pills, and just about anything that would help you sleep soundly and feel less tired during the day. And while the extra supplements may be working, there was still a lot of sleep debt you were recovering from; an almost concerning amount that made it difficult for you to get up most days.

You groan into your pillow when the smell of Heeseung’s freshly made breakfast hits your nose, your mouth nearly salivating from the scent alone. As much as you wanted to sit up and start eating, your limbs were still heavy with exhaustion. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be up,” you plead, “I promise.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Y/N,” he whines, “just get up, I wanna spend time with you before work. You can go back to sleep after I leave.”

Today was the release day of author, Shin Ryujin’s, newest sapphic romance novel that Heeseung could not remember the title of; just that it featured a lot of smut, has over twenty-four chapters, and was highly anticipated. Her team had reached out to Bookhaven not too long ago, inquiring about hosting a Q+A session and book signing event on the day of its release. Initially, Heeseung had planned to reject the offer since it fell on Valentine’s day and that type of event required his presence, and he’d originally planned on spending the entire day with you. The payout of said event, however, was more than enough to get him on board.

He’d be leaving the shop and heading over to you around five, and have Sunoo or Jungwon close up, leaving him with just seven hours with you that he’d planned to make the most of. All he needed now was for you to wake the hell up before he has to leave.

You still don’t budge, mumbling something incoherent before the snores resume and you’ve drifted back to sleep.

“Babe,” he says flatly, shaking your leg. “Y/N. Baby. Dude, get up.”

Still nothing, and Heeseung’s on the verge of kissing your forehead and calling it a day, but there is one thing that could get you up.

Slowly, he peels the thick comforter off of your body, relishing in the fact that you chose to sleep in one of his shirts. Allowing himself further onto the mattress, Heeseung’s hand reahes for the hem of your shirt, pushing it up just enough to reveal your lavender colored panties. He pauses, glancing up at you momentarily before lowering his head and nestling it between your thighs.

He starts off slow, placing a light kiss on your inner thigh before trailing his lips upwards. Pausing right at your hip bone, Heeseung’s fingertips move to the core of your underwear, lightly scratching at your cunt through the soft material. Frustrated, he whines your name once more before slowly trailing your panties down and off your legs, discarding of them on the other side of the mattress.

Fingernails digging into your flesh, he grips your thighs as he repositions himself at eye level with your cunt, inching forward slowly until he’s pressing his lips right against yours. It’s gentle at first, much like how he’d kiss you any other time, a few gentle pecks until he was desperate for more.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and finally has his tongue fall flat against your entrance. The groan that escapes his mouth from the contact comes from deep in his chest, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped indents on your thighs from how hard he’s gripping them.

He licks a long, slow strip along your cunt upwards towards your clit, licking and sucking at the bud as if savoring the feeling of your taste on his tongue. He repeats his movements a few more times, growing desperate as the seconds pass by, each moan and whine from him becoming more desperate and whiny than the last. You shift around slightly, furrowing your brows a bit, but still not fully awake.

Another minute passes by and you’re still asleep. Your body automatically responding to Heeseung’s touches, but they’re still not enough to wake you. He’s not bored in the slightest, though, and would argue that he could probably go on for hours if that’s what it took; but he has to leave soon, and needs you awake as soon as possible.

With a sigh, he kisses your thigh once before twisting his body and reaching over to your nightstand, opening the bottom drawer and digging around slightly until his fingers brush against the rubber vibrator he’d been searching for. It’s an air pulsing one you’d bought before you’d met Heeseung, and when he’d discovered it in your room for the first time, he’d insisted on implementing it into your sex lives as much as possible.

He turns it on, choosing to keep it on the first setting before pressing it directly on your clit. A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the contact, with Heeseung keeping his gaze fixed on your face. Gently massaging the toy against your cunt, your eyes slowly began to flutter open, a loud moan echoing through the room as Heeseung turned the toy up to a medium setting.

You grab a fistful of Heeseung’s hair, yanking him forward until his mouth is on your cunt again. The sudden roughness takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t seem to mind it in the slightest; in fact, he can feel himself stiffening in his boxers from you gripping his hair alone.

Moaning into your cunt, Heeseung does his best to keep the vibrator pressed against you while he eats you out. His desperation was astonishing, his moans nearly being as loud and whiny as yours as he continued.

When you’re finally close, which doesn’t take very long; Heeseung discards the vibrator completely; mindlessly tossing it on the floor to lap at your cunt with his tongue. He presses it flat against you, dragging your wetness up to your clit before sucking the swollen bud between his lips.

You orgasm almost instantly at that, trapping Heeseung's head between your thighs as you come on his face with your back arching off the bed and swears pouring from your lips.

You’re panting as you come down from your high, breath rigged as you drape your arm against your forehead, “Wow.”

“You okay?” Heeseung asks, voice muffled as you finally release his head was still trapped between your thighs.

“Shit,” you loosen the grip, “sorry, Hee.”

“Don’t apologize. Oh my God, I could’ve died like that and would’ve been okay with it.”

Weirdly enough, you don’t think he’s joking.

“Anyways,” he continues, “you okay?”

You nod, pressing your lips into a thin line, “I’m definitely up.”

“Yeah, me too,” He responds, tapping on his painfully hard erection. “Can I…?”

“If you do all the work, sure.”

Heeseung scoffs, already moving to tug his pajama pants down, “As if I ever let you do any of it.”

It’s not a complaint, Heeseung was more than happy being the more assertive one when it came to your sex life. He didn’t mind doing most of the work as long as it meant you were getting off.

When he turns you to lay on your side you let him, resting your back against his chest as he teases his tip at your entrance. You bite down on your bottom lip, hand gripping the bed sheets when he finally does slide himself in. Heeseung grunts into your ear, placing a gentle hand on your hip, “ ‘m gonna go a little bit fast, okay? We don’t have a lot of time.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, either.

At your confirmation, Heeseung pulled out of you entirely before pushing himself back in; his thrusts overwhelmingly fast but not painful or rough. You yelp when he bites down on your neck, though, a habit he picked up upon finding out you enjoy being marked up.

He was certain that neither of you will last long like this, so it doesn’t surprise him that after a few minutes you’re already creeping up on your orgasm. Heeseung takes this as a sign to speed up his already quick thrusts, his nails digging into your hip as he presses his head onto your shoulder.

You finish first with Heeseung just a few seconds behind you, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of him filling you up with his cum. As always, he keeps his dick buried in you for another minute longer, only pulling out when he’s reminded of how little time he has.

Sitting up, Heeseung moves a few stray strands of hair out of the way to plant kisses on your face, but you stop him with the excuse of not having brushed your teeth yet before he’s able to properly kiss you on the lips.

He scoffs, “You just came on my face, do you think I care if you have morning breath? Don’t insult me.”

“At least let me eat first so I can get this weird taste out of my mouth,” you counter, reaching over your shoulder to pat Heeseung on the cheek. “Can I do that?”

Heeseung lets out a loud, dramatic sigh, “If you insist. Let me clean you up first, though.”

He stands from the bed, awkwardly pulling his boxers and pajama pants back up before excusing himself to your bathroom. He takes care of himself first before running a rag under the sink faucet and returning to your bedroom.

After cleaning you up with practiced ease, Heeseung discards of the rag in your bathroom hamper and slips back into your bedroom, finally delivering you the breakfast in bed he’d been anticipating all week, a wide grin on his face as he sets the wooden tray down on your lap. “All your favorites: french toast sticks, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and a glass of cranberry juice. Bone apple teeth.”

You chuckle at his joke, admiring the feast laying in your lap as you grab a strip of bacon, “Where’s your food?” You ask, noticing there was only enough servings for one person.

Heeseung shakes his head, resting the palm of his hand on your bare knee as he sits across from you, “I’ll pick up something on the way to work, didn’t have time to make enough for both of us.”

With a pout, you take a bite of the bacon strip, “Now I feel bad.”

Heeseung grins, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “Don’t, consider this part one of your Valentine’s gift.”

You’ve finished the first strip by now, moving onto the second one as you use your free hand to retrieve your phone from the nightstand. “Well, at least let me pay for your breakfast then.”

He shakes his head at you, reaching for your phone that you manage to pull out of reach. “Babe, you seriously don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you respond, halfway through Venmo-ing him fifteen dollars, “that should be enough.”

“Y/N…”

“Done! And don’t send it back or else I’ll be really sad, you know gift-giving is my love language.”

He chuckles, using the fork and knife on the tray table to cut a piece of the french toast stick, “Thank you, baby. You spoil me.” He dips the fork into the container of maple syrup before bringing it up to your parted lips, cupping his hand underneath to prevent the syrup from dripping onto the bed sheets.

You hum, cupping Heeseung’s face as you chew, “Anything for my princess. Also, you said this was part one of my gift?”

Heeseung nods, cutting another square off the french toast, “Part two is still later tonight, once I’m off work.”

“Can you tell me what it is now, please?” You plead, clasping your hands together as you jutt out your bottom lip, staring up at him with a pout. For the past week, Heeseung had been teasing about this big Valentine’s day surprise he had planned for you, claiming it would be the “surprise of a lifetime”.

He hums, feeding you another forkful. “I’ll tell you this, when you have the time, you’re gonna have to pack an overnight bag.” Your eyes light up, waiting patiently before speaking as Heeseung continues, “And, you’re gonna have to be dressed up once I pick you up after work. Nothing crazy fancy, just… something nice.”

Heeseung can tell you want to bombard him with more questions, and brings another forkful of food to your lips before you have the chance. “I’ll be picking you up around five-forty-five, ‘m sorry I’ll have to be at the shop most of the day.”

You shake your head, picking up the glass of cranberry juice, “Don’t be, I hope the event goes well. If you have extras, can you bring me a copy of the book?”

“For sure, and I’ll see if I can leave any sooner so we have some extra time together.”

“You seriously don’t have to,” you assure him, taking a sip of your drink, “besides, I have some errands to run in the meantime.”

Heeseung raises a brow at you, “Oh? You’re going out today?”

You nod excitedly, setting the cup on your nightstand, “Yeji and I are taking the baby to a Mommy-and-Me yoga class then doing some shopping.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes at the mention of your sister, setting the fork and knife back onto the tray table. You frown at him, shoulders slouching as you tilt your head, “Why do you hate my sister so much?”

“I never said I hated Yeji.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s pretty obvious. You never wanna talk to her when she’s around and you roll your eyes whenever I mention her.”

Heeseung shrugs, “She’s just not my cup of tea, is all. Our personalities clash.”

Of course there’s more to it than clashing personalities, but you’re not quite ready for the full truth just yet, so he decides to leave it at that. “Anyways, how are Jake and Jihan?”

Your eyes light up at the mention of your future brother-in-law and nephew, “I talked to Yeji yesterday and she said things are good! Jihan is starting to roll over and Jake plans on asking his friend, Sunghoon, to be his best man. Oh, and Yeji says the baby is finally starting to look like Jake.”

“Really?”

You nod, “Mmhm, Jake is so happy.”

“Good for him,” Heeseung mumbles, watching as you take a bite of the eggs. “Gonna have to head out now, but I loaded my card onto your Apple Wallet, ‘kay? Use that while you shop.”

You blink at him, “When’d you do that?”

“Last night, consider it part one-and-a-half of your gift.”

“You spoil me.”

Heeseung grins, “Anything for you.”

The drive to Bookhaven is quiet, with Keshi playing from the stereo as Heeseung made his way to the shop and parked by the employee entrance.

Stepping right into a pile of snow, he shuts the car door behind him before making his way across the street and stopping by his favorite breakfast cafe, Heaven’s Treats. He ordered his usual: two bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches on croissants and two bottles of water; using your fifteen-dollar Venmo gift to pay and tipping the staff with a few dollars cash.

He heads back over to his shop afterwards, unlocking and entering through the employee entrance. Once inside, he unlocks his office door first, setting the bag of food down on his desk before heading into the main area of the shop. Taking a few minutes to wipe down tables and put away loose books, Heeseung hums to himself as he enjoys how quiet and peaceful the shop is. Shin Ryujin was sure to bring in a crowd later today, and he can already tell he’d be leaving the shop with a headache.

Once finished, Heeseung retreats back to his office and shuts the door behind him, grabbing the bag of food from the desk before walking over to the closet door. With a sigh, he opens it up, pushing the file cabinet to the side to reveal the door to the hidden basement. His eyes jot down to the keypad under the doorknob, where he quickly types in your anniversary before twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

Staring down at the wooden staircase, Heeseung sighs once again, “Let’s get this over with.”

Carefully, he retreats down the steps and into the basement, looking over into the glass chamber and finding Jongseong, your ex boyfriend, sound asleep on his mattress. Heeseung chuckles once he’s made it down the stairs, walking over to the pass-through attached to the glass chamber and opening it, sliding in the breakfast sandwich and bottle of water before shutting it with a loud click!

Heeseung retreats over to his desk and computer monitors that sat opposite of the glass chamber, sitting on his office chair before grabbing and turning on the intercom microphone. “Sleeping in?”

His voice comes out ten times louder in the glass chamber’s speaker, jolting Jongseong out of his sleep as he presses the palms of his hands onto his ears. “Jesus fuckin’… is the intercom necessary?! You’re right there! I can hear you through the glass!”

Heeseung shrugs nonchalantly, setting the microphone back on the desk, “You’re a heavy sleeper.” Jongseong sighs in response, rubbing his eyes as Heeseung continues, “Brought you breakfast, it’s in the pass-through. Eat before it gets cold.”

“How do I know you didn’t do something to it? Sick fuck.” Jongseong spits, arms folded across his chest as he stares at Heeseung through the glass.

“Do something like what?”

“I don’t know, spike my drink like last time?”

Heeseung lets out an agitated groan as he slumps in his chair, retrieving his own food from the takeout bag as he responds, “How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t fucking drug you that night? You actually made everything a lot easier by getting blackout drunk at a fucking nightclub.”

“Yeah, and if I didn’t blackout? Then what?”

“Who cares? It doesn’t matter, what matters is that you’re away from Y/N.”

Jongseong shivers at the mention of your name, immediately looking away from Heeseung and focusing his attention on the food in the pass-through.

Around six months ago, you’d showed up to Bookhaven hand-in-hand with Jongseong, and Heeseung had been enthralled with you ever since. He spent is every waking moment doing his research on you, which included doing a deep dive on the people closest to you: your immediate family, close friends, and stupid fucking boyfriend.

Heeseung knew the moment he laid eyes on Jongseong that he was no good for you, and was clearly putting up a facade when the two of you were together. Heeseung saw right through it, how quickly he’d pull out his phone to snap a text when you were looking, how he’d roll his eyes whenever you got too excited about something, how he almost never responded to your PDA — he was the fucking worst, and you deserved so much better. You deserved Lee Heeseung.

Days leading up to Jongseong’s disappearance, Heeseung had been watching him like a hawk; cyber-stalking him as closely as possible without being caught, until, finally, Jongseong decided to go clubbing one night.

Heeseung’s original plan was to wait until Jongseong was slightly drunk and knock him out, but Jongseong getting blackout drunk on his own accord made things way easier for Heeseung — all he had to do was pretend to be a friend to Jongseong and convince everyone else he’d be getting him home safely.

Dumbasses, all of them.

Jongseong stands, scratching the back of his neck as he walks over to the pass-through.

“Anyways, it’s Valentine’s day,” Heeseung says after biting into his own sandwich, “you have any plans? Oh wait.”

Jongseong rolls his eyes again, mumbling “Fuck you” under his breath as he retrieves his food and drink. He inspects the sandwich thoroughly before taking a bite, chewing slowly as if trying to taste each and every spice and flavor.

“Wait,” Heeseung speaks, suddenly realizing something, “if you just woke up, that means you missed the show.”

Jongseong rolls his eyes a third time, already knowing what Heeseung was getting at. “I’m sure I didn't miss much.”

Heeseung swivels around in his office chair to face the three monitors, each one surveilling different areas in your apartment. You were blissfully unaware of the hidden cameras he’d set up in your home that have been recording your every move for months on end. He’s doing it for your own safety, really; keeping an eye on you at all times.

You’re in the kitchen now, loading up the dishwasher with music playing from your phone, stopping every few seconds to belt out the lyrics or make an attempt at doing the choreography. Heeseung enjoys watching you like this, when you truly get to be yourself because you think no one is around.

He grins, switching over to the center monitor and hitting the rewind button until he sees himself entering your bedroom, “There we go.” Heeseung monitors himself closely, watching as he sets the tray of food down on your desk before walking over to your mattress.

He moves out of the way so Jongseong has a better view of the screen, a smug expression on his face as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. The monitors were on at all hours, meaning the only entertainment Jongseong had was watching you stroll around your house. Weirdly enough, it pleases him to keep an eye on you like this, making sure you’re still okay after all this time.

He can do without watching you and Heeseung have sex, though.

Jongseong turns his head away the moment Heeseung removes the blanket from your body, groaning in disgust as he takes another bite from his sandwich. “I don’t need to see this.”

Heeseung shrugs, mumbling, “Your loss” as he speeds up the replay. He prefers to focus on the key moments anyway, like the face you make right before you come on his, or how your entire body tensed when he leaned down to bite on the nape of your neck.

As arousing as it was to play back all those moments, he primarily used it as a personal study guide on what you liked the most, so he’d be better at pleasing you going forward. This behavior had started before the two of you even got together, if he’s being completely honest. One simple, playful retweet from you about preferring to receive oral rather than give it had him ordering a pocket pussy the very next day to practice on.

The first time the two of you hooked up, Heeseung had spent approximately twenty-four minutes going down on you, only stopping when you expressed concerns about his jaw locking up — not that he cared.

“Wait a second,” Jongseong pauses, crumbling the empty food wrapper into a ball before tossing it to the floor, “what happened to that big breakfast feast you kept talking about, huh? With the, uh, the pancakes and cinnamon rolls?”

When Heeseung doesn’t respond, Jongseong continues taunting, “What, realized you couldn’t do it? That you can do something as simple as prepare a meal? Wow, are you—”

“Shut up, dumbass.” Heeseung interrupts him with a shake of his head, swiveling around in his office chair until he’s facing Jongseong, “You think you’re better than me because you know how to cook? Go on then, cook something. Go to the stove and prove you’re better at me than cooking.”

Silence falls between the two, with Jongseong glaring daggers at Heeseung as he tightens his fists.

“Oh, wait,” Heeseung continues, tapping his chin, “you can’t cook; you’re trapped in my basement while I fuck your girlfriend.“

“Whatever.”

“Oh, now it’s whatever, but just a second ago you were so much better than me for knowing how to cook — you also know how to lie and cheat.”

“Whatever, Heeseung, just drop it.”

“How do you think Y/N would feel if she found out you were cheating on her with her own sister? How old do you think Jihan will be before Jake realizes why they look nothing alike?” Heeseung questions, tilting his chin at Jongseong, as if expecting a legitimate answer.

The mere thought of Jongseong and your own sister getting together behind your back is enough to make Heeseung gag; he couldn’t fucking believe two of the closest people in your life would deceive you like that. It was beyond disgusting, and he had a strong distaste for Yeji the moment he found out.

Ashamed, Jongseong turn away from Heeseung’s gaze. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, turning around in his seat until he’s facing the monitors, “Anything involving Y/N is my business, fuck-face, including you and anyone else that bothers her.”

He navigates the surveillance controls until he’s back to watching you in real time, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile when he sees you facetiming someone. He shushes Jongseong, who hadn’t even been speaking, as he turns the volume up in order to hear you better.

“…and I think he looks just like you, seriously…Jake?…I mean, I don’t know…I’m not really seeing the resemblance yet…”

Realizing who you were talking to and what the topic of conversation was, Heeseung clicks his tongue, “They may even find out sooner than you think.”

The sound of Yeji’s voice through the speaker has him rolling his eyes as he turns down the volume, not that it mattered, considering you disappeared into the bathroom a few moments later.

“Hey,” Jongseong taps on the glass, “let me ask you something.”

“No.”

“Why do you have a camera in every room except the bathroom?”

It’s a genuine question, but it comes out more perverted than Jongseong had intended it to.

As if the answer was obvious, Heeseung raises a brow as he responds, “I’m giving her privacy, pervert.”

#enhypen smut #enhypen imagine #enhypen scenario #lee heeseung #heeseung smut #heeseung imagine #heeseung scenarios #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #kpop imagine #kpop scenario #kpop smut #sleepyhoon

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bookwormjust · 3 days ago

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Peeling Oranges and Guarded Hearts : Small Acts of Love in the River House

(Azriel x mate reader)

The late afternoon sunlight poured into the River House, illuminating the cozy living room where you, Elain, Feyre, and Nesta were sitting. Elain, as usual, was soft-spoken but smiling as she admitted,

“I love oranges, but I hate peeling them. Those little white bits always get stuck under my nails.”

You smiled at her, already rising from your seat. “I can peel it for you, Elain. No problem.”

Elain’s eyes lit up with gratitude. “Oh, thank you! You’re so sweet.”

With a warm laugh, you made your way to the kitchen where the males were gathered, deep in discussion. Azriel was perched on a stool, his sharp eyes scanning a piece of parchment, while Rhysand leaned casually against the counter, and Cassian gestured animatedly as he spoke. Lucien stood nearby, listening with a small smirk. As you entered, the room’s energy shifted slightly, the males pausing in their conversation to glance your way.

“I’m peeling an orange for Elain,” you announced with a smile, holding up the fruit. “Does anyone else want one while I’m at it?”

Cassian was the first to respond, grinning widely. “If you’re offering, I’ll take one! But only if you peel it for me too—I’m lazy.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course you are.”

Rhysand raised an elegant brow, his violet eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t say no to an orange, either. But don’t feel obligated to spoil us all.”

Lucien, standing near the fruit bowl, chuckled. “I can peel my own, thanks.”

Azriel didn’t say anything immediately, but his gaze softened as he watched you move toward the counter to grab a knife. As you began peeling the orange with careful precision, your hands deftly removing the white pith, you glanced over your shoulder. “Az, what about you? Want one too?” His lips curved into a faint smile, his shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. “I’ll have one, but only if it’s not too much trouble.” You laughed softly. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Cassian leaned against the counter, smirking. “Look at that, Az. You’re being pampered.” “Jealous?” Azriel asked dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. As you finished peeling the first orange, you handed it to Cassian with a mock-serious expression. “Here’s yours, my lord.” Cassian clutched it dramatically to his chest. “Bless you. You’re too kind to us.” You shook your head, smiling as you started on the next orange. Once you’d finished peeling, you distributed them to Rhysand and Azriel, saving the last for Elain. “Thanks,” Rhysand said, his tone teasing. “I’ll make sure Feyre hears about how well you’re taking care of everyone.”

Azriel didn’t say much, but when you handed him his orange, his fingers brushed against yours briefly, his hazel eyes meeting yours with quiet gratitude. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Anytime,” you replied, your smile soft. As you headed back to the living room with Elain’s orange, you couldn’t help but hear Cassian’s voice behind you. “She’s a saint. Az, you better hold onto her.” Azriel’s response was quiet but firm. “Always.”

#acotar x reader #acotar #acotar reader imagine #azriel x female!reader #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel x you #azriel fanfic

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talisidekick · 20 hours ago

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Someone tagged this with the following and I actually want to talk about this:

This isn't the first response like this. I've had comments, asks, tags like this one, reblogs, and even comments on other platforms where this has spread to that bring up racism and xenophobia. Whether thats accusing me of being racist or hating immigrants (despite coming from a family if immigrants) or just pointing out, like this person did, the inherent xenophobic attitude the world has for my pharmacist to want to change his first name to an English sounding name. And it gets worse, I was given an English name at birth because my mother wanted me to "have a name that fit in". They weren't English, my last name was German, my great-grandmother who was a pillar in the family used German and Norweigan words mixed in her English that carried into my life and still does to this day. And because I wasn't "English", I still got picked on at school to the point I filtered out the german/norweigan in my vocabulary and learned to mimick accents to remove any germanic lilt I had in my speech.

Point being, I made this post recognizing the inherent xenophobia present. That's one of the reasons I told my pharmacist he didn't need to do that for my sake. I kind of suspected he wasn't just being kind. The way he said it had intent. The next time I saw him, nametag out, proud, it was touching to see the name I was given to protect me from xenophobia going to protect someone else, but also a bit bitter that I know part of the reason for wanting to find an English name was the pressure to blend in and sidestep a LOT of bullshit.

My name now is Germanic, my middle name Italian, my last name Ukrainian, and my nickname I use everywhere to make peoples lives easier is Talia or Tali <- To which I've learned "Tali" is a common short-hand/nickname or name for some in the middle-east (I didn't know, I just mashed up my middle name with my childhood nickname 'T' to get it so my friends would have an easier time transitioning over to my new name and it stuck. I just recently found out from a co-worker who just got back from a trip to the middle east and asked me about it). I'm no longer side-stepping the bullshit, I have noticed a difference in treatment. If people don't know me, and haven't seen me, like when it's over the phone or in email, it takes much longer and I have to be more precise with my wording. In fact, I've noticed it a bit when in person too. Next to my English named co-workers, I am treated by some like I know less and I'm scruitinized a bit more. Now obviously if I was a woman of colour and not off-white canvas, this would be 10-times worse in ways I'm not qualified or experienced to explain or get into. I'll leave that to someone WITH that kind of experience to get into.

I've never mentioned whether my pharmacist is a coloured man or not, and I never will. It's not that it "doesn't matter", every aspect of that man shapes his existence and experience of this life. I'm just not clarifying because the moment I do, I know some of you are going to solely focus on his race and miss the nuance of everything this post is about. It's about transgender positivity, discrimination, humour, and the kind-hearted actions of an incredible man in his journey of immigration. By leaving him faceless, every one of you brings something of yourself to this post. Be it simple joy, or further commentary.

The person who tagged this post is one of many who've accurately pointed out one underlying truth about this post. Not everyone is treated equally in society. This happened in Canada. Do you begin to understand the depths this post goes to with all that I've said here? With what you now know about me? Because I think some of you should now re-read the post again.

A while back my pharmacist saw my deadname on my profile and accidentially called it out, he corrected and deleted my deadname from the system so only my preferred name shows up now. There was a crowd of people behind me, so as he hands over the pills he apologized, in equal tone and volume as when he called my deadname and lied saying it's been a long day and he didn't mean to call out -his own- name. I quietly told him it was fine and he didn't need to do that for my sake.

His response: "No, it's my name now."

I went to the pharmacist yesterday, his nametag is my deadname. He informed me he's immigrating and in the process he's changed his first name to my deadname to have an English sounding name. That's why he's now able to get a reprint of his nametag to be my deadname. And repeated, with the intense seriousness of someone who is going to die on this hill: "It's mine now. Not yours. I'm taking." His tone indicated that decision is final.

Bro literally deadnamed me once, and has committed to flat out stealing my deadname. It's his now. Legally. Officially. I over heard his co-workers call him by the name.

#talisidekick #talisidekick things

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preciousannie · 3 days ago

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Ateez Headcanons

Ateez as your long-term boyfriend

Genre: Fluff, Boyfriend AU!, Idol AU!

Warnings: None

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･

Kim Hongjoong

always attentive to your emotions

dislikes PDA but showers you with affection when the both of you are alone

the two of you share every part of your daily lives together

he would get slightly jealous when you get too close to the other members

very dedicated to his work but always makes sure to spare two days in a week for “dating days”

“I’ll always have time for you babe, always.”

Park Seonghwa

he surprises you with random gifts or gestures

keeps track and remembers your period schedules

always prepared beforehand to help you soothe all your discomfort and pain as much as he can

it hurts him to see you in any sort of unpleasant emotions and he tends to match your emotions

always makes time to video call you even on late nights when he’s busy and always after concerts

“I miss you, gorgeous.”

Jeong Yunho

the two of you always do silly things together

either one of you would be cracking a joke with the other

laughs and giggles surround your entire relationship

likes to give you piggyback rides and princess carry you just because you’re “tiny” to him

very playful when you’re around each other

but when it comes to it he can get earnest and protective about anything threatening related to you

“You okay my love?”

Kang Yeosang

the both of you have a whole facial routine that you have to follow through every night

he likes to shower together whenever he can

buys you lots of expensive beauty products that he approves of and wants you to use with him

prefers to stay at home ideally with you on his off days to spend quality time together

but he would be down in a heartbeat if you just mentioned that you want to go somewhere or want something

even if it is in the middle of the night, he’d do it

“Oh? Consider it done baby, wait for me.”

Choi San

he unleashes his cute side whenever you’re around despite wanting to appear stoic and manly around others

follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy

likes to take you out on food dates

loves complimenting you random times a day for just about anything

you absolutely endear him when he introduces one of his plushy collections

“Look darling! This one looks just like you! It’s a cute bunny, hehe.”

Song Mingi

he enjoys taking you on random vacations and trips

has to hold your hand wherever he goes as he claims it comforts him

showers you with affection and hugs especially back-waist hugs because of your size differences

absolutely has to cuddle or spoon when in bed together whether it’s relaxing or sleeping

loves sniffing your hair or the perfume you had on that particular day because it’s calming to him

“Mm, you smell so sweet today beautiful, come closer.”

Jung Wooyoung

always showers you with kisses and pecks whenever he can

enjoys bringing you to his family home and letting you be engulfed in the affection of his family members

loves mentioning and introducing you to everyone he engages with

eager to marry you ever since the beginning and wants to have children with you

hopes that the kids the both of you will bear would resemble you the most

“Let’s make it official, shall we dear? And have adorable children together please~”

Choi Jongho

always makes you feel safe and assured in every aspect of your life

his goofiness makes you laugh all the time even when you’re down

loves singing you to sleep while he caresses your hair

very mature and responsible even though he is younger

likes to help you with everything he can even when you say you don’t need help

“Here, I’ll do that for you honey, don’t hurt your hands.”

Hihi, it’s been a while (3 years to be exact) but I’m back. I’ve decided to clear up these years-old drafts refining them a little so that they can finally see the light of day XD But anyway hope ya’ll enjoy! Have a beautiful day or night wherever you are <33

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cloverandstuff · 21 hours ago

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Allow me to psychoanalyse this drawing-

I think this drawing was made by Luka. Mainly, due to the fact that Hyuna is the one drawn with the most detail. I think it's also fairly obvious with how it's drawn, that it was made by Luka when he became friends with the siblings.

That leads me to my next point; Luka did not dislike Hyunwoo. I'd even go as far as to say he regarded him in a positive manner. He is the only other person here besides Hyuna who is not blonde.

Now, why is everyone else blonde? I think it's because Luka was imagining a life with his clones and the siblings, in Anakt Garden.

He looks horrified in this scene. It doesn't seem like he took joy or even feels numb here. He looks to be in genuine shock over what happened.

The body don't have a single stab wound either. None that we can see. All we see is the cases they're in shattered. Like they were released and they weren't able to survive.

Here, he's just looking at them. No attempt to get closer, nor to destroy them. He just looks on.

The drawing makes me think that Luka was seeking out other people. He was, in every way, a lonely child. He wanted a sense of belonging. He wanted him and his clones, and Hyuna and Hyunwoo to all just...live happily in Anakt Garden.

And with the few frames we get of this incident throughout, it does seem like Hyunwoo was the one to throw the first punch. Luka never initiated a fight, he always just annoyed Hyunwoo who would respind angrily. It didn't make sense why he would just randomly kill Hyunwoo.

With this, it makes more sense. Luka killed Hyunwoo through an accident. It was a fight gone too far. He does not feel remorse, but it doesn't seem like he actively wanted to kill him.

If this is truly the case, then while Hyuna is right to hate him because he does not feel conscious regret over this, her speech at the at also makes sense. Because she knows he truly is just...clueless.

Luka has never truly allowed himself to mourn loss, or regret actions. He was constantly chasing a high, which he got from Hyuna. He loved her, he truly did. But it was initially borne out of her giving him a sense of belonging.

He loved her because she gave him what he was seeking out from his clones; to erase the loneliness he felt.

Luka is clueless about his own emotions. Him and Ivan are alike in that sense. They both are unable to properly understand their feelings. But while Ivan allows his love to be a silent protector, Luka is much more childish and desperate.

Luka, in every way possible, is just a lonely child.

#alien stage #alnst #alien stage luka #alnst luka #alnst hyuna #alien stage hyuna #hyuluka #alnst hyunwoo #alnst ivan #alien stage ivan #ivantill #alnst analysis #alien stage analysis #my analysis #alnst wiege #alien stage wiege #alnst spoilers #alien stage spoilers

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er1nne · 2 days ago

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⸝⸝⸝ ⑅ —໒ྀི ִֶָ rafe cameron is kown for throwing the best parties, so of course your best friend had to attend, but who'd guess she'd leave you alone with him to take care of you

word count: 6.4k sorry lol

warnings : roofing / slight drug use, mostly fluff, misunderstood rafe as usual lol, also not proofread unfortunately so excuse any mistakes

AN: the problem is left ambiguous & left to the imagination so you can make up the problem, you guys loved the last one lol :) i have plenty more in the vault so let me know if y'all want them. enjoy!

(please do not copy or plagiarize, this is my original work subject to copyright)

You don’t know why you’re here.

The party is overwhelming, a pulsing, chaotic blend of music, voices, and movement that sets your nerves on edge. The heat of too many bodies pressed into one space makes the air thick, suffocating.

You hadn’t even wanted to come, but your friend had convinced you, promising it would be fun, promising she’d stay by your side. Your friend had dragged you along, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of getting into a this party in particular for some reason. You don’t understand, she had gushed, fingers tight around your wrist, her eyes wide with something close to desperation. People would kill to be invited to one of these. She had promised it would be fun, that she wouldn’t leave your side, that this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of night.

All lies. And just as quickly as you arrived, she had disappeared into the crowd, swallowed whole by the chaos, leaving you stranded in a place you had no business being. That promise had shattered the moment you stepped through the door. See, what she didn't tell you however, that it was at the famous Cameron Estate. As quickly as you both arrives, she had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

You don’t belong here. Not among the drunken recklessness, the glossy, carefree people who thrive on excess. Not in a house where money drips from every surface, where the air itself feels steeped in entitlement. You’ve heard the stories—everyone has. Rafe Cameron’s parties are one of a kind. But you're not the type to be interested in the whispers and gossip everyone spreads about them on campus.

Now, you hover near the wall, gripping a red solo cup with fingers that feel too tight, the plastic bending under the pressure of your grip. You're not normally a drinker, but given your nerves right now, you definitely needed the drink. You take a slow breath, exhaling through your nose. You’re not here to have a bad time. Maybe you just need to loosen up. One drink to take the edge off. You bring the cup to your lips, letting the liquid burn as it slides down your throat. It’s stronger than you expected, too sharp, making you cough slightly. You grimace, the burn lingering on your tongue, but you swallow it down anyway, hoping the warmth will spread, will make you feel like you belong here. You roll your shoulders, forcing yourself to relax, but the tension in your body remains stubborn, coiling tight in your muscles.

The bass reverberates through the floor, through your chest, making your pulse feel off-rhythm. People are laughing, shouting, clinking drinks together in messy toasts that spill onto the already sticky floors. Someone stumbles past you, knocking into your shoulder hard enough to make you stumble. You flinch, pressing yourself closer to the wall, hoping to make yourself smaller.

Still, you scan the room, searching for your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight. Irritation flickers through you—how could she just abandon you like this? You shift on your feet, debating whether to go find her or just leave altogether. But then, you feel it. A prickle at the back of your neck. It’s faint, barely noticeable at first, like the sensation of a cool breeze brushing your skin. Goosebumps rise along your arms, but you tell yourself it’s just the temperature shift from the packed, overheated room. The feeling lingers, subtle and nagging, trickling down your spine before settling deep in your gut. You shake it off, shifting your weight from foot to foot, convincing yourself it’s nothing more than the side effect of being in a crowded space with unfamiliar faces. But as the seconds stretch, so does the discomfort. The undeniable feeling of being watched. A vague, creeping unease, like an itch beneath your skin.

At first, you ignore it. The party is crowded, filled with wandering gazes and fleeting glances. It’s probably nothing. Probably just your imagination. But as the moments stretch, the feeling lingers, heavy and persistent. You force yourself to move, to look natural. You take another sip of your drink, even though the taste is sharp and acrid against your tongue, even though your stomach twists in protest. The burn should be grounding, but it only heightens the awareness prickling along your spine. You scan the room carefully, slower this time, more deliberate. Your gaze drifts past groups of people caught in conversation, past the drunken laughter and the messy dancing, past the flickering glow of the chandeliers overhead. Your fingers tighten around your cup as you look toward the bar, toward the far end of the room where the shadows stretch just a little deeper.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the bar like he belongs there, like he owns the place -- oh wait he does. Shit. You're the one who doesn't belong here. A drink dangles loosely in his fingers, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. He’s not talking to anyone, not engaged in the revelry like everyone else. He’s just watching.

Watching you.

His gaze is a weight, heavier than it should be, anchoring you in place even as every nerve in your body is telling you to move. To look away. To do something. But you don’t. You can’t. The darkness in his gaze draws you in too close. The dim lighting carves deep shadows along the sharp edges of his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the cool detachment in his features. He looks almost statuesque, like he was placed there, perfectly sculpted, perfectly still. And yet, despite the stillness, despite the casual way he leans against the bar, drink loose in his grasp, his presence feels anything but passive. It almost feels like an accusatory stare, but something in your gut tells you it's something else.

You swallow hard, pulse flickering unevenly as you force yourself to breathe. He’s like a fixture in the room, unmoving, his presence both effortless and overwhelming. The dim light carves shadows along the sharp lines of his face, accentuating the cool detachment in his gaze. He isn’t smiling. He isn’t pretending not to stare. Doesn’t break the stare. He just is.

You look away, but your body betrays you. A shiver traces your spine, and your fingers tighten around your cup. The weight of his attention settles over you, thick and suffocating. You shift from foot to foot, adjusting your stance, suddenly unsure of yourself in a way you hadn’t been moments before. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just bored. Maybe he’s not even looking at you. But when you glance back, just for a second, his gaze hasn’t wavered. The space between you feels charged, stretching taut like a thread ready to snap.

Your throat is dry, so you take another sip of your drink, trying to dispel the tension. The burn should be grounding, but it only adds to the growing warmth pooling low in your stomach. The room feels different now, like you’ve slipped into another layer of reality where things happen slower, where every movement matters. The ice in your glass has long since melted, leaving behind a diluted, lackluster drink that won’t do anything to soothe the warmth pooling low in your stomach. It’s the perfect excuse. A reason to step away, to put some much-needed space between you and the weight of his gaze, still heavy, still unwavering. The kind of look that sinks beneath your skin and stays there.

A group of people pass between you, momentarily breaking his line of sight. The spell should break. It doesn’t. Your heartbeat presses against your ribs, too fast, too shallow. He’s still watching, still waiting. You tell yourself you’re overreacting.

The other side of the bar feels farther than it should. The walk is a slow unraveling, each step meant to shake off the feeling of his eyes still following you, still holding on even when there’s distance. But it doesn’t work. Your heartbeat presses too hard against your ribs, too shallow, too quick, the way it does when something isn’t quite right. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that it’s just in your head, that you’re overreacting.

But then your head starts to feel heavy.

Your fingers feel a little looser around your cup, but you barely register it. You take another sip, but the taste is wrong now—bitter, artificial. The warmth that had been pleasant before now sits heavily in your stomach, slow, syrupy. A strange warmth spreads through your limbs, slow and unfamiliar. Your vision feels sharper and blurrier at the same time. The music presses against your eardrums, a dull, throbbing hum that no longer matches the rhythm in your chest. The music distorts, stretching and bending at the edges. The lights seem dimmer, then too bright, flickering as if they’re keeping time with your unsteady pulse. The conversations around you feel distant, layered on top of one another like a badly tuned radio. Your breath catches, sharp and uneven. The sensation is gradual, creeping, and for a moment, you convince yourself you’re just tired, or maybe you drank too fast.

You steady yourself, shifting against the wall. But the floor feels different beneath you—less solid, somehow. Your limbs feel lighter, and at the same time, unbearably heavy. A cold sweat beads at the back of your neck. Something isn’t right. But it takes longer for your mind to catch up with your body, to connect the dots between the warmth in your stomach and the sluggish, detached feeling seeping into your bones. Panic claws at your throat. You try to take another step, force yourself to move, but your limbs feel detached, foreign.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to shake the feeling, but it only makes the vertigo worse. The heat of the room presses in on you, suffocating, and the sound of laughter and music stretches, distorts, becomes something distant and hollow. You want to move, want to breathe, but it feels like you’re wading through thick fog, each step heavier than the last.

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. Your heartbeat slams against your ribs, erratic and deafening. A sickly nausea curls in your stomach, spreading outward in slow, unbearable waves. The cup in your hand feels impossibly heavy, the plastic slick against your palm. You let it slip from your fingers, hear it hit the floor, but the sound is muffled, insignificant against the chaotic hum surrounding you.

Your vision tunnels, and for the first time, real fear grips you. The once vibrant room is now a mess of shadow and movement, colors bleeding together, voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. You open your mouth, trying to call for your friend, but the words die before they leave your lips, dissolving into a breathless whisper. The realization is slow, unfurling like a nightmare you’re just starting to understand.

Your drink. Something is wrong with your drink.

Your breathing quickens, shallow and uneven, your chest rising and falling too fast, too tight. Your fingers twitch, grasping at nothing, muscles sluggish and unresponsive. The walls seem to bend and stretch around you, the lights overhead shifting like distant stars, too bright, too sharp. You blink rapidly, but it only makes the dizziness worse. The edges of your sight blur further, darkening. The room feels impossibly far away, your awareness slipping, slipping—

And then there’s a presence beside you.

A firm grip on your arm. The touch is steady, grounding, but you barely have the strength to turn your head and see who it is. You don’t have to.

You don’t know who it is.

The scent reaches you first—something clean, sharp, expensive, mixed faintly with alcohol. A voice cuts through the fog, low and steady, but the words slip past your understanding. The presence is steady, firm, an anchor against the overwhelming sensation that you’re floating, weightless. A name—your name?—is spoken again, but it barely registers, as if it belongs to someone else.

You part your lips to respond, but the words slip away before they can form. A strong arm curls around your waist, another against your shoulder. The world tilts, and you realize you’re being lifted. Your body feels light, unmoored, like a doll in someone’s grasp. Your head lolls against a broad chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat against your ear, grounding but distant. Footsteps echo—slow, purposeful—but you barely process them. The lights of the party blur into a smear of gold and shadow, flickering at the edges of your vision as you’re carried away.

The voices, the music, the chaos—it all drifts into silence. The world fades. Everything dissolves into black.

Dawn arrives in fractured light and warmth. The first thing you register is the persistent press of sunlight against your closed eyelids, insistent and intrusive. The dull ache in your skull pulses in synchronicity with your heartbeat. The silences of the space unsettles you—too stark a contrast to the last thing you remember.

A scent infiltrates your awareness—rich, savory. Coffee. Bacon. The comforting familiarity should soothe, but instead, it feeds the dissonance pooling in your gut. The weight of the blankets drapes over you, cool fabric against your overheated skin. Your limbs remain sluggish, burdened by an inexplicable fatigue.

Blinking against the light, you lift a hand to rub at your eyes. The motion feels distant, disconnected, as though your own body resists you. A tremor skates along your fingertips. A creeping unease slithers through you.

The room resolves in pieces. Soft, sun-dappled sheets. A nightstand, its dark wood surface adorned with a solitary glass of water. The low murmur of movement, distant yet present, beyond a partially ajar door. Every detail unfamiliar.

You sit up too fast.

The dizziness crashes into you, rendering the world momentarily unsteady. Your stomach churns in protest. A cold sweat prickles along your spine as you press your palm to your forehead, struggling to tether yourself to the present.

Where are you?

Your breaths come faster, shallower. The space surrounding you—spacious, curated, the kind of elegance that exudes wealth—does not belong to you. The bed is too large, the sheets too luxurious. The walls are adorned with artwork that suggests taste and affluence. This is not yours.

And you do not remember how you got here.

Your stomach knots, nausea clawing its way up your throat. Fragments of the night attempt to surface—the party, the music, the sensation of liquid sliding down your throat, the slow unraveling of your control. A pair of eyes lingering in the distance.

And then—

Nothing.

An abyss where your memory should be.

A new sound pulls you back—footsteps, nearing, steady. Your pulse stutters, skittering in your chest. Fear coils tight in your ribs, an instinctual response to the unknown.

The door swings open.

The figure standing there is silhouetted against the morning light, their presence filling the doorway with an unsettling quiet. You try to focus, to piece together something recognizable—an outline, a familiar stance—but the fog in your mind is thick, unrelenting. Your hands grip the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric as your breath catches, morning crust still coating your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Good morning.” The voice is smooth, calm, too composed. It should be comforting. It is not.

Your throat tightens as the memory gap yawns wider. Who is this? And why are you here?

The scent of coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something else—something darker, something you can’t yet name.

And then the figure takes a step forward, slow and deliberate. The weight of their presence fills the space, shifting the atmosphere in an unplaceable way. Shadows stretch and contract in the morning light, their silhouette still obscured by the glare of the sunlit doorway. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each thud a heavy punctuation against the silence.

Your fingers tighten against the sheets, as if their fabric might tether you to some semblance of control. But control is slipping. Your breath catches in your throat as they advance further, their posture unreadable, their face still hidden from view. The scent of coffee lingers, but now it’s mixed with something else—something faintly metallic, almost sterile, unsettling in a way you can’t name.

They pause just short of the bed, standing over you now. A tension lingers in the air between you, thick, expectant. And then—finally—their voice cuts through the quiet again, smooth and even, but carrying an undercurrent of something you can’t yet define.

"You’re awake."

The voice sends a shiver down your spine. Familiar, yet distant. Your eyes finally adjust, your surroundings sharpening into something tangible. The deep mahogany furniture, the neatly pressed linens, the faint scent of cologne woven into the fabric of the room. Recognition dawns in pieces, fragments of memory slipping through the haze like sand through fingers.

Your breath stutters. This is Rafe Cameron’s bedroom.

Panic blooms in your chest, sharp and unrelenting. Your fingers clutch at the sheets, grounding yourself as the weight of realization crashes over you. How did you get here? The last thing you remember—the party, the drink, the slow, dizzying descent into something dark and consuming. Everything after that is a blur, an abyss where memories should be.

The tension in your limbs loosens, but a strange warmth replaces it—one you can’t quite define. The proximity, the realization that he had carried you, that he had seen you at your most vulnerable. A rush of heat blooms beneath your skin.

You shift against the pillows, suddenly hyperaware of the way the fabric clings to your skin. The weight of the night presses down on you, something heavy and lingering, something you can’t shake off. Your arms pull in close to your body, shrinking in on yourself instinctively, the way you might if you were trying to disappear. The feeling creeps in, insidious and unspoken, settling in your chest like an ache.

Rafe notices.

He exhales, his posture shifting as he takes a step closer, then hesitates, watching your reaction. "Nothing happened," he adds, quieter this time, as if anticipating your thoughts. "I just... made sure you were okay."

You swallow, your throat dry. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you nod, the weight of the moment settling over you. He moves again, this time toward the bed, lowering himself onto the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, closing the space between you in an intimate proximity that makes your pulse stutter.

Your breath catches. He took care of you.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is heavy, charged, filled with unspoken questions neither of you seems willing to voice. Your gaze flickers to his hands, resting loosely on his lap, his fingers curled slightly as if he’s resisting the impulse to reach out.

You should say something, anything. But all you can do is sit there, the warmth in your cheeks betraying you, your heart hammering against your ribs as you struggle to process what this moment means.

And Rafe just watches, waiting.

"Why?" The word leaves your lips before you can stop it, barely more than a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the quiet. It lingers between you, heavier than you intended, like it carries more meaning than just the question itself.

He glances at you then, something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away again. There’s something about the way he won’t meet your eyes, the way his fingers press into his palms like he’s holding something back.

"You don’t remember much, do you?" His voice is quieter this time, like he already knows the answer.

You shake your head, swallowing around the lump forming in your throat. "Not after a certain point. Just… flashes."

You think you see something in his expression shift, something fleeting. His jaw clenches for half a second before he nods, just once, like that was what he expected. And then he looks past you, toward the window, like there’s something out there more bearable to face than this conversation. Like maybe he doesn’t want to see the way you’re looking at him now.

Rafe leans forward, resting his chin slightly down as if in deep thought. His jaw tightens, like he’s considering his words carefully. "Because that party wasn’t for you. You’re not like them."

His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something almost reluctant. As if he’s saying more than just that, as if there’s something else sitting on the edge of his tongue, something he won’t let himself say out loud. Your breath hitches. He noticed you. Not just that you were there, but that you didn’t belong there, that you weren’t the kind of girl who let herself get lost in that world.

His fingers tap absently against his elbow before he exhales through his nose, slow and measured. Without a word, he reaches toward the nightstand, fingers closing around a small, amber bottle. He twists off the cap and shakes out two pills into his palm before handing them to you along with a glass of water.

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the weight of his words. A thousand questions press at the back of your mind, but none of them make it past your lips. So instead, you just look at him, studying the way his shoulders stay tense, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they rest.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the offering. The silence lingers, thick and unspoken, but he doesn’t push. Just watches, unreadable, until you take them from his hand. The cool glass feels solid in your grip, the only thing grounding you in the moment.

"It'll help," he finally says, voice low, controlled. Not an explanation, not an insistence—just a fact. And then he looks away again, like the moment never happened.

Your heart stutters, warmth creeping up your neck. You aren’t used to this side of him, this quiet sincerity. It makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

You clear your throat softly, fingers tightening around the blanket as you shift. you murmur a quick thank you to him, the words barely above a whisper, like you’re afraid to break the fragile quiet between you, you must have lost your voice last night.

Rafe doesn’t react at first, doesn’t acknowledge it right away. He just sits there, staring at a fixed point on the floor like he’s lost in something too deep to name. And then, finally, he nods—just once, a subtle dip of his chin. No arrogance, no teasing. Just acceptance.

The silence stretches, thick and unmoving, pressing against the walls of the room. The air between you is charged with something neither of you is willing to name, a slow, smoldering tension that lingers in the way he breathes, in the way his fingers twitch just slightly where they rest against his knee. The world beyond the bedroom feels impossibly distant, like something you left behind the moment you opened your eyes.

You can hear your own breathing, the slow, measured inhales that feel too loud in the quiet, the way your pulse thrums against the side of your throat. Everything is heightened, magnified—the subtle shift of the mattress beneath his weight, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric of the sheets, the way the sunlight spilling through the curtains catches in his hair, illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

Rafe doesn’t move. He hasn’t since he handed you the water, since he watched you take the painkillers without a word. He just sits there, his posture loose but intent, his forearms resting against lightly against his body, as if he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what. You don’t know if he does either.

Your fingers tighten around the glass, the condensation cool against your skin. The weight of his attention is suffocating, not because it unsettles you, but because it’s steady. Because he’s not watching you the way other people do—not with expectation, not with scrutiny, but with something quieter, something that feels like it belongs entirely to this moment.

You shift beneath the covers, suddenly aware of the space between you, of how small the room feels despite its size. There’s no rush, no urgency, but the tension coils slow and tight in the air between you, a pull that neither of you acknowledges, but neither of you breaks.

You should say something. Maybe to fill the silence, maybe to push away the weight of whatever is settling over the two of you, but the words don’t come. Instead, you glance at him, at the way his jaw is set, the way his gaze flickers—just for a moment—to the space where your hands curl into the blanket, to the way your shoulders have drawn inward, like you’re bracing yourself for something.

The realization lands heavily: he’s waiting for you to be okay.

You exhale, slow, measured. It should ease some of the pressure in your chest, but it doesn’t. The sheets smell like him. The realization makes your stomach twist, sharp and unexpected, and you inhale quickly, trying to steady yourself, to push it away. But it’s everywhere. His scent, his presence, the ghost of the weight of his gaze on you.

Rafe leans back slightly, his movements deliberate, unrushed. He shifts, settling more comfortably, but it does nothing to loosen the tension laced through the room. If anything, it solidifies it, makes it more tangible, makes it something that feels like it could snap at the slightest provocation.

The past few hours are a blur, a haze of flashing lights and distorted sound, of the world tilting beneath your feet, of a hand—his hand—steadying you before everything went dark. And now you’re here, in his bed, wrapped in the lingering remnants of a night you can barely piece together, but one thing is painfully clear: Rafe Cameron didn’t leave you behind.

And that fact, that certainty, makes your stomach twist.

Your fingers toy absently with the edge of the blanket, your gaze trained on nothing in particular. You can feel him watching you, can feel the weight of it in the space between you, in the air that crackles with something unspoken, something slow-burning and unrelenting.

It’s infuriating, the way he’s so still, so quiet, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to make sense of whatever is unraveling inside you. Like he doesn’t care how long it takes.

Another beat of silence.

Then, finally, he shifts, pushing himself up from the bed with a slow, fluid motion. His presence doesn’t leave with him, though—it lingers, draped over you like a second skin, woven into the air you’re breathing, into the space he just vacated. He pauses near the door, his hand resting loosely on the frame, his body turned slightly like he’s debating whether or not to say something.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he looks at you, a glance that lasts only a second but feels like it stretches forever, before he turns and disappears into the hallway, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of his presence and the steady, relentless pounding of your own heart.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, staring at each other, something unspoken stretching the space between you like a frayed wire. His gaze is steady, unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your breath catch, makes your fingers twitch at your sides.

The weight of the night still lingers between you, thick like smoke, curling around the edges of whatever fragile thing this is. The silence isn’t empty—it’s full, layered with everything that wasn’t said. The flicker of his throat as he swallows, the way his fingers flex against the counter like he needs something to hold onto. His presence is a solid thing, inescapable.

He clears his throat, breaking the stillness like shattering glass. "I should take you home," he says, voice low, even. "You probably want to get out of here."

You nod automatically, but the motion feels disconnected, like it doesn’t belong to you. The truth is, you don’t know if you want to leave. You don’t know if you’re ready to walk out of this moment, out of this strange and suffocating thing pressing against your ribs. But it’s the logical choice. The right thing to do. So you shift your weight, stepping further into the room as if that will make it easier, as if that will make it feel real.

Rafe watches you for a second longer before pushing off the surface he was leaning on. He moves with the same careful deliberation he always does, like he’s in control of everything, like nothing touches him unless he lets it.

But then, as he reaches for his keys, his jaw tightens. His movements slow. His grip on the metal rings shifts slightly, like he’s debating something, like something about this moment doesn’t sit right with him. And then he looks at you again, his eyes catching yours, something flickering in his expression—something restrained, something almost unreadable.

"Be more careful next time." His voice is quieter now, rougher at the edges. "

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest as a slight warmness fills your cheeks, even if he can't see it. The words settle between you, heavy. He’s not scolding you, not angry. But there’s something else beneath it, something darker. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. But maybe it's all in your head.

A part of you wants to say something—to defend yourself, to explain—but nothing comes out. You just nod, barely, the movement almost imperceptible. He watches the way your fingers tighten around the hem of your shirt, the way your shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something.

He exhales sharply, turns toward the door, and motions for you to follow.

But the moment doesn’t end there. The shift in the air is subtle, but it’s there. His fingers flex around the keys, his body pausing for just a second longer than necessary before he moves. Like he’s giving you the chance to say something. Like he’s waiting.

You don’t take it.

The cold air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and biting against your skin. It’s the kind of morning that lingers somewhere between the last remnants of night and the hesitant promise of day, the sky washed in pale hues of blue and gray, the world still and quiet.

You don’t say anything, but the shiver that rolls through you betrays you, your body instinctively curling inward as if you can escape the chill. Rafe notices. Of course he does. He hesitates for a second, just a fraction of a beat, then lets out a slow breath, as if he’s annoyed at something—himself, maybe.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket.

It’s heavier than you expect when he drapes it over your shoulders, the thick, well-worn material settling around you like a second skin. The scent of him lingers in the fabric—something clean but deep, a mix of faded cologne and the unmistakable warmth of skin, like the kind of comfort you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

The jacket is old, but not in a neglected way. More like it carries weight, history. It’s a varsity jacket, dark navy with white leather sleeves, the kind that looks like it’s seen late-night drives, fights behind stadium bleachers, and moments that don’t belong to you. His name is stitched into the fabric on the chest, subtle but undeniable: Cameron. The embroidered lettering is slightly frayed at the edges, as if it’s been touched too many times, traced over absentmindedly. On the sleeve, a faded championship patch clings to the leather, the numbers slightly worn, a quiet reminder of a past you know nothing about.

But he doesn’t just let it fall into place. His hands stay there, gripping the edges just beneath your collarbone, holding it closed, holding you—if only for a second too long. His touch is light, almost hesitant, but deliberate in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, one that has nothing to do with the cold.

The space between you feels smaller now, the tension stretched taut, humming like a wire between you. His fingers shift slightly, his knuckles grazing your collarbone through the fabric, his touch warm even against the cold bite of the night air. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosts over your cheek, close enough that if either of you leaned in—just a fraction—you’d close the distance entirely.

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to meet yours, something unreadable passing through them, something almost thoughtful, almost careful. It’s a contradiction—the way he holds the jacket like he’s reluctant to let go, yet his jaw is set, his expression betraying nothing.

You swallow, fingers curling around the edges, your hands on top of his, pulling it tighter around yourself. It’s warm, warmer than his hands. Too warm, maybe, but you don’t push it off.

Rafe watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on you that makes your breath come slower, makes your chest feel too tight and your hands are touching before he reluctantly pulls away, almost as if not to scare you off or harm you.

"It’s cold," he mutters, like that explains it, like that’s the only reason he did it.

You don’t challenge it. Because maybe that’s the reason you don’t take it off, either.

And just like that, whatever this moment was slips away, fading into the morning light as he leads you to his car.

The world beyond the house feels different, like the air is thinner, lighter, no longer weighed down by the silence between you. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you follow him toward his car, your steps feeling almost mechanical. The sky is still streaked with soft shades of dawn, a nostalgic blue still coating the sky, the edges of the horizon tinged with the last remnants of night. The streetlights on the corner on still on,

He unlocks the door, pulling it open for you, but you hesitate. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice.

His fingers tighten around the top of the door, his gaze flickering to yours. But he doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

You don’t know what you’re looking for. Some kind of confirmation. Some kind of explanation. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. And the space between that feels too charged to make sense of.

You step inside, settling into the seat, the leather cool and smooth beneath you, molded from years of use, broken in but still exuding something undeniably expensive. The scent of rich leather and faint motor oil lingers in the air, a combination of luxury and the kind of careful work that doesn't come from a mechanic’s shop.

The dashboard glows with a soft luminescence, highlighting the precision of the controls—sleek buttons, polished chrome accents, the faint imprint of his hands worn into the steering wheel. The passenger seat, by contrast, is almost untouched. The leather is stiff, uncreased, lacking the wear and shape molded by frequent use. There are no stray belongings, no faint imprints of past passengers, no lingering signs that anyone else has ever sat there. It feels untouched, almost foreign, as though this space was never meant for anyone else. The thought makes your stomach twist, the realization settling in like a whisper you can't quite decipher. For all the history his car carries, for all the work and time poured into every inch of it, this seat feels like it doesn’t belong to anyone—except maybe, just maybe, to you now. The seats cradle you, low and firm, the kind of comfort designed for control at high speeds. A faint scuff on the door panel catches your eye, and you can almost imagine him there, late at night, sleeves pushed up as he worked under dim garage lights, fine-tuning something only he could perfect.

The convertible top is locked in place for now, but the idea of wind rushing past, of the open road stretching ahead, lingers in the air like a promise. This isn’t just a car. It’s his, in every sense of the word. And now, for the first time, you’re inside it.

You grip your hands together in your lap as he closes the door with a quiet click. The sound lingers in the air, final in a way that makes your stomach twist.

The car is dimly lit, the dashboard casting a faint glow across his face, sharpening the lines of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. He doesn’t look at you right away, just exhales slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The movement is small, restrained, but you notice it. You notice everything.

The drive is silent. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. The road stretches ahead, the faint hum of the tires against the asphalt the only sound between you. The air feels heavy, charged, like the moment before a storm, thick with something unsaid.

Your fingers twitch slightly, pressing into the fabric of his jacket still draped over your shoulders. It’s too big on you, the sleeves hanging long past your wrists, the collar brushing against your cheek. The warmth of it, of him, lingers against your skin, a constant reminder that he was close, that he chose to put it there. You could give it back. You should. But you don’t.

The leather of the steering wheel creaks as his hands flex, his grip tightening like he’s forcing himself to keep steady. You steal a glance at him, at the way his jaw tenses, the muscle there twitching slightly. The way his fingers tap once against the wheel before stilling. He’s holding something back, something weighted, and you don’t know if you want him to let it go or keep it buried between you, a secret neither of you knows how to say out loud.

The headlights cast long shadows across the empty road, the outside world slipping by in streaks of gray and muted gold. But inside the car, it’s different. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a silence that feels almost sacred, like speaking would break something fragile, something delicate.

You shift slightly, the fabric of the seat cool beneath your legs, your knee brushing against the center console. The touch is barely there, a whisper of contact, but his fingers flex again, his grip tightening like he felt it too. Like he’s trying not to react.

You turn your gaze back to the window, but you don’t really see the passing streets. Not when every part of you is aware of him, of the tension strung between you like a wire ready to snap. It hums beneath your skin, lingers in the space between your breaths, curls in the air between you like smoke.

A red light slows the car to a stop. For a moment, the world outside is still, painted in the muted glow of streetlights. You chance another look at him, catching the way his fingers drum lightly against the gear shift, restless. His eyes stay forward, locked on the road, but his shoulders are stiff, coiled with something unreadable.

Then, without looking at you, without taking his eyes off the road, he exhales, slow and measured. "You warm enough?"

It’s nothing. Just words. Just an excuse for something else. But the way he says it, low and rough, makes your stomach twist, makes your fingers curl tighter around the sleeves of his jacket.

"Yeah," you murmur, voice softer than you mean for it to be. "I’m fine."

He doesn’t believe you. You feel it before you see it—the weight of his gaze settling over you, careful but unrelenting. When you finally look at him, his eyes are already on you, studying, assessing, searching for something in your face that you’re not sure you even understand yourself.

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. It’s not just concern. It’s something quieter, deeper, something that lingers in the way his brows draw together just enough to show he’s holding back words he doesn’t know how to say.

His mouth parts, just slightly, like he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers shift against the gear shift again, as if grounding himself, as if trying to keep some sort of distance between whatever is happening between the two of you. But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his throat moves when he swallows, in the way his shoulders seem to tense and relax all at once. And suddenly, the car feels smaller, the air thinner, the space between you pressing in from all angles.

The light turns green, and he finally looks away, jaw tight as he presses down on the gas. But the moment lingers, stretching across the quiet miles, settling somewhere neither of you wants to name.

His fingers drum against the gear shift again, once, twice, before stilling. The light turns green, and the car moves forward, but the moment stays, lingers between you like an unanswered question.

Another mile passes in silence. Another breath held too long before being released. The weight of the night still clings to you, woven into your skin, into the spaces between your ribs. And you know, without him saying it, without needing to ask, that he feels it too.

You tighten his jacket around yourself, pressing your fingers into the thick material. You don’t want to acknowledge how it feels like something you weren’t supposed to have, like something borrowed but not meant to be returned. But neither of you moves to change it.

The distance between you and the night before stretches, but it doesn’t fade. Whatever this is—whatever happened back in that house, in that room, in the space between breaths and silence—it isn’t over.

And somehow, you don’t think it ever will be.

© ER1NNE est. 2024. all rights reserved. unauthorized use, duplication, or reposting of any original content from this blog without explicit permission is prohibited. please respect the creator’s work.

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ellemeditdance · 5 hours ago

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Ok, but here me out: this world is perfect, actually. I think it takes a few days for the world to notice. People would be confused about why all the work they did yesterday didn't save, but wouldn't think too much about it. You'd have several people that noticed the date not changing on their phones who are trying to figure out how to fix it but assuming it's a weird glitch. If you were mid-travel when it reset, you'd wake up and think, wow I just had the most realistic dream that we had already left. But since everyone else still has free will and is doing different things, it might take a bit before everyone catches on. But once we did? No one's going to work anymore unless they like doing their job. Money isn't real, because your bank account resets, but there's also nothing to spend money on. The food in your house doesn't expire. Nothing you buy today will be here tomorrow. Wars end because what's the point? Neither side can ever win, because any progress you make gets reset, so why not just live peacefully with each other? People who want to spend their time doing art, will do art. Only as much art as can be accomplished in a single day, but there's a sort of beauty in that, I think. Make what you can for the thrill of making, rather than because you want anyone to see it. Oral storytelling would pop off. All new music would have to be memorized and performed live. People who enjoyed their jobs handing out food at the grocery store or making the electricity work and the water run will probably keep doing those things, but for free and only when they want to. Some jobs won't exist anymore, because a lot of jobs require building on what you do from one day to the next, but we probably don't need a lot of those jobs anyway in a society where everything starts fresh every day. Someone would probably make it their personal mission to remember how many days have passed and keep track so everyone else can count time. And that one guy who wakes up every day thinking nothing has changed? He just has a memory disorder, and will hopefully be treated with love and care by those around him, as he re-adapts to his new world every day. Honestly, this is a utopia, to me.

Apparently, you are living in a time loop. Also apparently, you are the only person on Earth who DOESN'T remember the previous iterations. This is the first time you've experienced today; the rest of humanity has been stuck reliving today for years now.

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neferaskingdom · 3 days ago

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Valentine Hotline | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Running a Valentine’s hotline was supposed to be fun—until she accidentally helps Bob plan the perfect date… for herself.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

The last thing she expected to be doing this Valentine’s Day was running an anonymous emergency hotline for lovesick fools, but here she was—headset on, taking call after call, all in the name of charity. Her best friend had roped her into this, promising it would be “fun,” but so far, all she had done was talk panicked men out of buying last-minute gas station flowers.

Her latest call came in with a hesitant, almost nervous greeting. “Uh… hi. Is this Cupid?”

“That’s me,” she said, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous alias she’d been assigned. “How can I help you, caller?”

There was a pause before he mumbled, “I need help asking out my crush.”

She smiled, already endeared. “Of course! What’s your name?”

A beat of silence, then—“Bob.”

She snorted. “Bob, huh? Okay, Bob, tell me about your crush.”

Bob sighed dreamily, and when he spoke again, it was with a kind of reverence that made her heart melt. “She’s amazing. Like, so cute, but not in a way that she even realizes. And she’s really smart—like, she remembers the smallest details about people, and she’s kind, too. Like, the kind of kind where she doesn’t even think twice about it, she just does things that make life easier for everyone around her. And she’s so funny, sometimes without even trying. I mean, she makes me laugh over the dumbest things. And—God, she’s way out of my league, but I really, really like her. It’s ridiculous how much I like her.”

Her heart melted. “That’s adorable. Have you spoken to her before?”

“Sort of,” he admitted. “We work together, but I don’t talk to her a lot because… well, I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid. I get irrationally shy around her.”

That piqued her curiosity. “Coworker, huh? What do you guys do?”

“I can’t say too much, or it’ll be obvious who I am,” Bob said quickly.

She nodded, intrigued but respecting his anonymity. “Alright, Bob. First things first, you need to start interacting with her more—test the waters, see how she reacts to you. Start flirting a little.”

“Oh God.”

She laughed. “Relax! I’ll help you. We’ll come up with a plan.”

And so, over the next few days, she helped Bob craft the perfect approach. They planned small conversations, little ways for him to test the waters—compliments, inside jokes, light teasing. He seemed enthusiastic yet nervous, but she assured him he was doing great.

Strangely, around the same time, Lando Norris—someone who had never gone out of his way to talk to her before—started showing up more often. He’d stop by her desk with a cheeky grin, making flirty comments that left her flushed. At first, she chalked it up to him just being friendly, but it kept happening.

“Looking good today,” Lando said one afternoon, leaning casually against her desk.

She rolled her eyes but felt her face warm. “Are you just going around giving out compliments to everyone?”

“Only to the pretty ones.” He winked, and she nearly choked on her coffee.

It was weird. But she couldn’t say she hated it.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, she was finishing up some work when Lando hovered nearby, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He shifted from foot to foot before finally clearing his throat.

“Hey, um… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

She turned in her chair, surprised by his serious tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He exhaled, looking at the floor before meeting her eyes. “I… uh, was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. Like, on a date. For Valentine’s Day.”

Her brain short-circuited for a moment. “Wait. You’re asking me out?”

Lando winced. “I mean, yeah? But you don’t have to say yes, obviously, I just thought—”

She cut him off with a grin. “Lando, I’d love to.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The relief on his face was almost comical. “Oh. Oh, cool! That’s great. Okay, um, yeah, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He left looking a little dazed but incredibly happy, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

That night, Bob called her one last time.

“She said yes!” he practically shouted through the phone. “I asked her out, and she said yes!”

She grinned, heart swelling with pride. “Bob! That’s amazing! I told you she’d like you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, if—no, when—we get married, you’re getting an invite.”

She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Have fun on your date, Bob.”

“Thanks, Cupid. You’re the best.”

And with that, her hotline duties were done.

The next evening, she met Lando for their date, dressed in a pretty outfit and buzzing with anticipation. He looked a little nervous, which was unusual for him, but she found it endearing. The restaurant was charming, the table setup romantic—candles, her favorite flowers, the works.

She took one look at it all and hesitated. The setup felt oddly familiar. Too familiar.

The restaurant. The flowers. The exact order of events.

Her stomach flipped as a ridiculous but nagging thought entered her mind. She looked at Lando, who was focused on cutting his steak, completely unaware of her staring.

“This is going to sound weird,” she began slowly, watching his reaction, “but do you know someone named Bob?”

Lando’s knife froze mid-slice. His head snapped up so fast she thought he might get whiplash. “W-what?”

She gaped at him. “Oh my God. You’re Bob, aren’t you??”

Lando opened and closed his mouth like a fish, looking utterly horrified. “H-how do you—how do you know that?”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Because I’m Cupid.”

Lando choked on his water, coughing as his eyes widened in horror. “No. No way.”

“Yes way,” she said, grinning at his absolute mortification. “I can’t believe I spent days coaching you on how to flirt with me.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m never living this down.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Lando.”

He peeked at her between his fingers. “Yeah?”

She smiled softly. “So… all those sweet things you said about your crush… they were actually about me?”

Lando groaned again, face going bright red. “I—uh—maybe?”

She felt her heart flutter, warmth spreading through her chest. “That’s honestly the sweetest thing ever.”

Lando let out a breath, rubbing his temples. “You must think I’m such a loser. Calling a hotline of all things just to figure out how to ask you out.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No. I think it’s endearing. You went out of your way to make sure you got it right. You wanted it to be perfect. That’s really, really sweet.”

He looked at her, expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their dinner was filled with laughter and easy conversation, and by the time he walked her to her door, she felt lighter than ever. He hesitated on her porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, uh… goodnight?”

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “Goodnight, Bob.”

Before he could groan again, she kissed him, soft and sweet, smiling against his lips as he melted into it. When she pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

She laughed. “Yeah. I think so too.”

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starfruitii · 3 days ago

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cws & notes. fluff! post-timeskip. iwaizumi hajime x implied fem!reader. 500+ words. since you guys liked the last one, here's more iwaizumi :) he's so <3

Iwaizumi is a gentleman. It's made immensely clear even before you started dating him, that chivalry isn't dead as long as he is living and breathing.

You never have to touch a doorknob when you're walking by his side, because by the time you reach out, he's already turning the handle. It's instinct by now; he could be midway through a monologue about the clients at his job, or the mediocre weather they've been having, or any other topic, and he'd still never forget to hold the door open for you to pass through first.

It's a wonder how you didn't notice sooner, with how frequently it happens, but it's not the only thing. It can be subtle at times, so much that you barely notice when he guides you to the street side of the footpath, leaving himself closest to the road, or when he lends you his umbrella, even if he has a longer walk home.

The habits are charming, but no moment shows his ways better he asks you out. A bunch of neatly clipped roses in hand, in his nicest shirt and pants, he arrives with a whole speech ready to confess his feelings. For once, he even looks nervous, almost stumbling over his words. But all of that is gone as soon as you smile at him, accepting his invitation with a breathless laugh.

Suddenly, with the walls of friendship knocked down, and faced with the chance for more, it only amplifies. Now, he gets to hold your hand, and drape his jacket over your shoulders, and slide his arm around your waist to draw you closer. Whenever you go out together, he's always either at your side or close by, holding your drink when you duck into the bathroom, and glaring at anyone who dares to make you feel uncomfortable.

And it's not just you who sees it, it's everyone else too.

On his birthday, a few of his closest friends gathered for drinks together, celebrating the occasion together. You were enjoying yourself for a while, but the gathering was starting to drain you. It was loud, and it was cold, and Iwaizumi noticed. He always did.

“You good?” He asked lowly. “We can leave early if you want.”

“I'm fine,” You said, stifling a shiver. The movement wasn't lost on Iwaizumi, and his brows furrowed minutely. He shrugged off his own jacket—the nice, comfortable black one you bought for him as a gift—and gently laid it over you. The weight of it settling across your shoulders was comforting, and you smiled in gratitude.

“Can't believe this favouritism,” Mattsun, sitting a barstool over, rolled his eyes, light-heartedly slapping Iwaizumi on the back. “He never treats us like that, you know. What if I was cold, huh?”

It was true, you realize slowly. You've never seen him interact with anyone else quite in the same way as how he interacts with you. Perhaps that's to be expected, with you being his partner, but it was obvious even before. Even with all his rough edges, every part of him was softened especially for you.

You smiled at Iwaizumi, with nothing but love. “Oh, that's just the way he is.”

A gentleman, through and through.

do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai. reblogs are appreciated <3

#🎧 : now playing !#odysseyofsaia #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu fluff

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eelliotss · 3 days ago

Text

— Borrowed time

‼️Caleb x reader. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely doesn’t stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Can’t we just enjoy the moment without making things complicated?”

word count = 5.3k

i poured my soul into this pls be kind 😭

The fresh scent of flowers lingered in the air as a cool breeze rushed past you. You tucked your hair behind your ear, gripped your bag tighter, and glanced at the university entrance.

A nervous breath escaped your lips. “Here we go.”

Laughter and chatter filled the air, students scattered across the school grounds. Some waved goodbye to their parents, celebrating their child’s first day at the country’s top university. Others rushed toward their friends, voices overlapping in a symphony of excitement.

“Do you even know the way to your class?” a concerned voice rang out.

“Pfft. Pa-lease! I can find my way around on my own,” the other answered confidently. “You, on the other hand, should not be late to your class, up-per-class-man.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, punctuating each syllable.

His laugh overtook all the others in the area. “Right, right. Text me when you get to your class, pipsqueak.” He smiled and ruffled her hair.

“Ugh! You’re messing up my hair!” she groaned, swatting his hand away.

She pushed him—harder than she realized.

A sudden force knocked into you, sending you off balance. Your stomach lurched—before you could hit the ground, strong arms caught you, steadying you in place. A shriek escaped your lips.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted out, pulling back just as quickly.

You pushed him off, steadying yourself, ignoring the faint trace of his cologne still lingering in the air.

“Oh my god, I didn’t see you!” A girl rushed forward, grabbing your hands like she’d known you forever. Her enthusiasm pierced through your ears, but her wide-eyed concern softened the frustration building in your chest.

“Are you okay? That was my fault!”

Your eyes met hers—bright, warm, and completely sincere.

“…Yeah, I’m fine.” The irritation dissolved as you took in her worried expression. “It’s okay.”

She beamed, relief washing over her. “I’m Michaela. What’s your name?”

It was history from then on.

•

You found out she was in the same year and major as you, and you became best friends almost instantly. Naturally, that meant getting close to him too—Caleb, as he introduced himself.

You also learned that you shared the same minor with him, so despite everything, you’d be seeing him in class.

It is another mundane day. You get to class and put your bag down on a seat, plopping your body down on the chair. A sigh leaves your lips as you look at your phone to check the time.

8:45. Having a class this early should be illegal.

You put your earphones on, hushing the quiet of the room with a faint song. You close your eyes as you wait for the others to reach.

“You’re early, kiddo,” his hand on your head pull you out of your daze. Your eyes shoot open and is met by a large yawn.

“I cant afford to be late again. I’m one mark away from failing the morning classes,” you groan as you tug off your earphones.

A sheepish smile tugs at his lips as his hand lingers a little too long in your hair, ruffling it just enough to mess it up before pulling back—slowly, like he enjoys the way it falls back into place.

He settles into the seat next to you, elbow propped against the desk, body angled toward yours.

“You need someone to wake you up in the morning?” he teases, his voice dipping just enough to make it sound like an offer.

“Are you offering?” you tilt your head, raising a brow.

Caleb grins, lazy and amused. “I wouldn’t want my shortcake failing a class I’m in,” he muses, tapping a knuckle lightly under your chin. The touch is fleeting, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch. “Who else would I have to mess with?”

You’re used to the nickname he has given you now. It used to annoy the shit out of you, how he used to tease about you being below his shoulders or how you have to tiptoe to reach for something— shortcake, that’s where the name came from. You scoff, swatting his hand away. “Wow, I feel so valued.”

He chuckles, low and effortless, settling into his seat. “You should. I don’t just give my attention to anyone, y’know.”

“Oh? So I’m special?” You flash him a smug look, crossing your arms.

Caleb tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Mmm… yeah, let’s call it that.”

He leans in just slightly, just enough to invade your space but not quite touch. His lips quirk up as he lowers his voice just for you to hear.

“…Or maybe I just like how cute you look when you get all flustered.”

You blink, heat creeping up your neck, but you refuse to let him win.

“So you admit it,” you say, keeping your tone light and teasing. “You think I’m cute.”

Caleb laughs, leaning back like he’s completely unbothered. “Shortcake, I’ve been saying that since day one. Keep up.”

His confidence is so insufferable you can’t help but roll your eyes. “God, I feel bad for all the freshmen falling for your charm.”

“Falling for it?” He raises a brow, smirking. “You say that like you’re not included, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes your stomach do a stupid little flip, but you mask it with a scoff. “Please, I’m completely immune to your antics.”

“Uh-huh.” Caleb leans in again, resting an elbow on the desk while watching you like he’s amused by a private joke. “Is that why your ears are turning red?”

Your hand immediately flies to your ear, and Caleb bursts out laughing.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Upperclassmen really are the worst.”

“Aww, but I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” He tilts his head, smiling like he already knows the answer.

You roll your eyes at him. “Your confidence is getting to your head.”

Caleb’s hearty laugh fills the room, his presence naturally drawing attention. More students trickle in, filling the seats, and as expected, the weight of lingering gazes settles around you.

The girls steal quick glances at the man beside you, their whispers barely concealed. The boys, on the other hand, greet Caleb with easy familiarity, taking their places around him like it’s second nature.

It’s nothing new. You’re used to it.

“Hey, Yn,” a voice cuts through the chatter.

You glance over as Matt slides into the seat beside you, grinning.

“Hey, Matt,” you reply, offering a small smile.

“You coming to the party tomorrow?” he asks, leaning in just enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne.

Before you can answer, Caleb hums beside you, loud enough to interrupt.

“What party?” he asks, resting an arm on the back of your chair like he’s settling in for the conversation.

Matt glances at him, unfazed. “The one at James’ place. Pretty much everyone’s going.”

Caleb nods slowly, then shifts his gaze to you, eyes twinkling with amusement. “And here I thought shortcake wasn’t the party type.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I can be fun.”

“Oh, yeah?” Caleb smirks, tapping a lazy rhythm against the desk. “Guess I’ll have to see it for myself, then.”

You raise a brow. “Wait—are you going?”

Caleb shrugs, his smirk never faltering. “Wouldn’t want my shortcake getting lost in the crowd, would I?”

Matt laughs, shaking his head. “Man, you’re acting like she needs a babysitter.”

Caleb tilts his head, looking at you like he’s thinking about something. Then, with obnoxious ease, he says, “Nah, just wouldn’t want her getting scooped up by some guy with bad intentions.”

Matt raises a brow. “And what, you’ve got good intentions?”

Caleb grins. “Not at all. But at least she knows mine.”

The room erupts in laughter, but your heart stumbles over itself for half a second.

Because there’s something about the way he says it—like it’s a joke, but not entirely.

You roll your eyes, forcing a smirk. “Right. So you’re just going for me, huh?”

Caleb doesn’t even blink. “Why do you look surprised?”

And maybe it’s just your imagination, but for a moment, his gaze lingers, just a second too long.

Matt scoffs, turning his attention to the professor entering the room. “Text me once you’ve made your mind, Yn.”

“Sure,” you answer, unaware of the furrow crawling its way up Caleb’s face. However, you don’t miss the way Caleb’s fingers stop their lazy tapping against the desk.

The class went by agonizingly slowly. You twirl your pen in your hands, scribbling stuff down to keep yourself from knocking out. The next thing you know, you feel a poke on your cheeks.

“You better get up before people see your drool,” Caleb smirks.

You quickly covered your face and wipe off the drool as Caleb laughs. You furrow your brows, feeling the embarrassment crawling up your face.

“I didn’t drool!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, shortcake,” he chuckles.

You both left for your next classes and the day quickly came to an end.

•

“You going to the party tomorrow?” You ask MC as you walk out of the campus.

She ponders for a second before answering, “Nah. I’m not big on parties and have so much work piling up,” she whines. “You should go, though! Have fun for both of us.”

Her sheepish smile never fails to bring one to your face as well. “I’m still deciding too.”

MC suddenly stops in her tracks, an excited gleam sparkles in her eyes.

“Are you free today, though?”

“Yeah… Why?” You suspiciously eye her.

Before you know it, you are at the mall, arms linked with hers as she weaves through the racks of clothes. “I just need one dress,” she says. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

You should’ve known better.

It’s been forty five minutes and counting.

You dont mind, really. Shopping with her is familiar, easy. She’s the type to hold up dresses in front of you and make you spin for her, laughing as she debates which colour would fit her best.

And then her phone buzzes.

As soon as she unlocks it, her smile grows wider.

You dont even have to ask who it is.

She taps on her phone, giggles, and shoves her phone in your face.

Caleb [5:36 PM]: wya?

MC [5:37 PM]: Shopping. Why?

Caleb [5:37 PM]: Need me to carry your stuff? ;)

MC [5:37 PM]: You know me too well

“Caleb’s coming,” she beams.

You nod. It isn’t really anything out of the ordinary.

Unsurprisingly, a few minutes later, he’s here.

He slides into the store like he belongs there, like he already knew exactly where MC would be.

“Alright,” he sighs, grabbing the bags from her hands with ease. “What am I hauling this time?”

MC beams at him, poking his side. “A gentleman and a mind-reader. No wonder all the girls want you.”

The Caleb smirks, like it’s a well-worn joke between them. The joke mirrors the one you had with him this morning. But somehow, the interaction feels much… different.

Deeper. Warmer.

Like it belongs to them.

You watch as MC doesn’t hesitate to press a dress against Caleb’s chest, measuring the colour against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t joke, doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

Like it’s always been this way.

Just like the way he doesn’t just carry her bags— he takes them before she even asks. The way he doesn’t just respond— he already knows what she’ll say. The way she doesn’t have to tease to get a reaction— he’s already looking at her like she’s the only thing in the room.

And you— watching. Like you always do.

Eventually, MC disappears into the dressing room, leaving you and Caleb alone.

“Having fun?” Caleb drawls, lazily shifting the shopping bags in his hands. His gaze falling onto you for the first time this evening.

You huff, crossing your arms. “Oh, the best time. Watching you two be so disgustingly in sync is exactly how I wanted to spend my evening,” you joke. But somehow, it stings a little.

Caleb laughs, light and amused. “What, jealous I didn’t offer to carry your stuff too?”

You raise a brow, feigning thoughtfulness. “Maybe I just wanna see if I get the same VIP treatment.”

His smirk wides, “You want me to spoil you, shortcake? Should’ve just said so.”

It’s easy, the way he flirts with you. But it’s just that— easy.

MC steps out of the dressing room, and immediately— probably unconsciously too— he straightens.

“Thoughts?” she twirls.

“Get it.” His response is instant.

MC laughs. “What do you think, Yn?”

You smile, pushing the uneasiness down. “You’re pretty in everything you wear, MC.”

“You got a good eye, Yn,” Caleb adds, his eyes never leaving her. “It looks good on you.”

The warmth in his voice is undeniable.

It’s the way he doesn’t say it playfully, doesn’t throw in a teasing nickname, doesn’t smirk.

It’s the way you fall into the background.

The ride home was unbearably normal. MC chats away about weekend plans, upcoming assignments, something funny she saw on TikTok.

Caleb hums along, adding in a sarcastic comment here and there. His eyes are glued on the road sparing a few glances her way.

You sit at the back seat, nodding at the right moments, but your mind is already made up.

You need a break. From this. From them.

From him.

So when you see Matt’s notification—

Matt [7:03 PM]: You coming tmr?

You don’t even hesitate.

You [7:24 PM]: Yeah

•

The bass thumps against your chest the moment you step inside. The air is thick with laughter, sweat, and the sharp bite of alcohol.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders back.

You’re here to forget.

Forget the way he looks at MC like she’s his entire world. Forget the way your own heart stupidly flips when he looks at you.

“Yn! You finally show up!” Matt calls out to you as you maneuver through the thick crowd, pulling you into the group he is in.

“Guys, this is Yn,” he introduced you to the group. “Hi!” you shout through the music, a nervous smile crawls up your face.

You’re not used to this setting— the alcohol, the mingles, the thumping of music, the proximity, the lights and colours. Every thing is making you drunk, even before you’ve touched any alcohol.

One of the guys whistles. “Oh! You’re that third wheel between Caleb and Michaela!”

Hah.

The third wheel.

“Forget it, we’re here to have fun tonight!” someone else chirped in as he handed you a drink. You’re not sure what it is— it’s not like you care anyways.

“Yeah,” I force a smile as you drown the drink. The alcohol stings your breath, its heat slowly goes down your chest. You slowly exhale, welcoming the warmth that spreads through you.

The alcohol burns, but it’s a different kind of ache—one that numbs instead of sharpens. It’s exactly what you need.

You roll your shoulders back, forcing yourself to relax.

Forget it. Forget him.

The music pounds through your veins as Matt laughs beside you, clinking his drink against yours. “That’s the spirit.” He’s a bit too close. You can feel his body pressed against yours.

But maybe thats what you want right now.

You let yourself sink into the noise, the bodies moving around you, the way everything blurs at the edges. Someone pulls you into a conversation, another offers you another drink, and soon enough, you’re laughing at something you barely even hear. Bodies push and pull, you sway with the beats, lost in the moment, the lights, the colours, the intoxication.

For the first time in a while, you almost feel—

“You didn’t tell me you were coming, shortcake.”

Your stomach drops.

That voice—smooth, amused, effortlessly familiar.

Your entire body tenses before you even turn around.

And when you do, there he is.

Caleb.

Standing way too close, a drink in one hand, the other shoved lazily into his pocket. His hair is slightly tousled, his sleeveless shirt making it impossible not to notice the way his toned arms shift as he leans in.

But none of that matters.

Because Caleb doesn’t go to these parties.

Everyone knows that.

And yet—he’s here.

Your jaw tightens as you glance at him, forcing a smirk. “Didn’t think you liked these things.

He grins. “I don’t.”

Your brows knit together. “Then what are you doing here?”

He hums, taking a slow sip of his drink before tilting his head at you. “What do you think?”

Your grip tightens around your cup.

He’s messing with you. Like always.

And you should ignore it, should walk away before you let him ruin this night for you—

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Instead, you match his energy, your own lips curling into a smirk.

“Well, hope you’re not expecting me to entertain you,” you quip, voice light, teasing. “I’m actually busy.”

“Busy, huh?” He raises a brow, clearly amused. His gaze flickers past you, scanning the group you came with.

Your pulse quickens.

He’s not jealous. You know that.

But the way his eyes narrow just slightly, the way he lingers—like he’s assessing something, calculating something—

It almost feels like he is.

And for some stupid, reckless reason, you want to test it.

So you shrug, taking another sip of your drink. “Yeah. Matt has been real good company today.”

Caleb’s laugh is slow, deep, and entirely too amused.

“Interesting,” he repeats, nodding slightly. “Guess that means I should try harder, huh?”

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the music.

“Caleb!”

A girl stumbles forward, eyes wide. “Oh my god, I didn’t think you’d actually come!”

Heads start turning. More people flock toward him, pulling him into their circle.

And just like that—you’re being pushed back.

You watch as Caleb greets them with that easy, sheepish grin—the one that makes everything look so effortless. The crowd bombards him with the same teasing remarks as always.

“Damn, what happened? Where’s your girl tonight?”

They don’t need to say her name. Everyone knows.

MC.

She’s not here. And somehow, Caleb being here without her is more surprising than him being here at all.

But he doesn’t seem bothered. He just chuckles, shaking his head.

“She doesn’t need me today.”

The words shouldn’t mean anything. But they do.

But before you can even process it, his gaze shifts and

Lands on you.

And his next words knock the breath from your lungs.

“Besides,” Caleb muses, voice light, playful, teasing— “Someone else probably needs me more right now.”

The crowd erupts.

“Ooooh, damn! Who’s the unlucky girl getting swept off her feet while your girl isn’t here to keep you in check?”

Caleb’s smile grows. Slowly, lazily.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence.

“What do you mean, unlucky?”

They laugh. They cheer.

You stand there, watching, feeling every single emotion crash into you at once.

Because they’re joking. Because he’s joking.

But somehow, you cannot muster a smile up your face.

He probably saw your face, or the look in your eyes, or probably the way your lips seem to tense a bit more.

He quickly finishes the drink in his hand, and someone quickly hands him another.

“Thanks,” he flashes a warm smile to the girl who hands him the drink as he reaches for it, brushing his hands softly against hers.

She’d probably replay the scene over and over for the next week.

His eyes finds yours once more before swiftly slipping out of the group of people.

You quickly turn away, desperate to vanish somewhere.

Anywhere.

Today was supposed to be a day without him.

However, your body betrays you. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, perhaps it’s the lingering sting of his gaze, perhaps it’s just him. The world tilts, and before you can catch yourself—

A strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his chest and stabling you on your feet.

“How many drinks have you had?” His voice low, edged with amusement, but there’s something else in it, something almost concerned.

You barely process his words because his chest is against yours, his breath warm against your temple.

You exhale, hands instinctively gripping his shirt as you try to steady yourself— not just from the dizziness, but from everything else.

Too close. He’s too close.

And he knows it.

His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens, his fingers pressing just slightly against the curve of your waist.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice dropping just a little lower.

You swallow, ignoring the way your heart pounds against your ribs.

“I’m fine,” you manage, but your voice betrays you— it’s softer, breathier than you meant it to be.

Caleb smirks.

“That so?”

He doesn’t let go.

Instead, he leans in just a fraction closer, eyes flickering down—to your lips, to the way your breath hitches.

It’s a game. You both know it’s a game.

“I heard people say you were looking for a distraction,” his voice dips, low and deliberate. His fingers trail lightly along your spine, just enough to make you shiver.

“Was Matt a good distraction?”

A pause.

His thumb brushes against your hip.

“Or do you want something more… intoxicating?”

Your breath catches.

All you can feel is the thumping of your heart against your ears, his low voice teasing your pulse, his warmth consuming you.

“I see the way you react to me,” he murmurs.

His fingers tighten, pulling you closer, his lips barely grazing your ear now.

“The distraction you want… it’s a distraction from me, isn’t it?”

His hand trails up, brushing the exposed skin of your arm.

“You don’t have to say it,” he muses, eyes glinting.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, unsteady, breathless.

“You like this, don’t you?” Caleb murmurs, his voice impossibly smooth, seductive.

Your throat tightens, but you don’t pull away.

You don’t deny it.

You can’t.

And he smirks, because he knows.

“Good.” His lips ghost over the curve of your jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to tease.

“Because I like yours too.”

His voice dips lower, slower— almost like a confession.

The world spins, but this time, it’s not from the alcohol.

Your grip on his shirt becomes tighter, if it’s even possible. He leans even closer, his breath warm against your lips, hovering— teasing, testing, waiting.

For you to pull away.

For you to stop him.

But you don’t.

You close your eyes, letting him consume you. He closes the distance his lips pressing into yours with slow, unhurried intent. There’s no rush, no urgency— just a deliberate pull, like he wants you to feel every second of it.

His hand on your waist tightens, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath catch. His other hand finds the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up, deepening the kiss like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips.

He moves— presses deeper, pulls you closer—

And deliberately, it turns hungrier. Slow, but consuming.

Like he’s claiming you— if only for this moment.

His teeth graze your bottom lip, a light tug, a silent dare.

Your fingers snake to the crevice of his neck, pulling him in like you don’t want this to end.

You somehow find a way to a secluded corner, and he pushes your back against the wall. He rests his arm on the side of your head, balancing his weight on the wall as his other hand rests protectively at your waist. His lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your neck. His teeth grazes your skin, earning gasps and small involuntary noises from you.

His lips drag along your pulse, slow and teasing, a deliberate contrast to the heat pooling between you.

You don’t even realize your fingers are tugging his hair, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you steady.

Caleb chuckles against your skin, the sound low, smug— satisfied.

“You sound so sweet,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the spot just below your jaws.

“Caleb…” you breathe. “What does this mean?” The air suddenly turn thick as the words slip out before you can stop them.

Maybe it’s because you don’t want to believe that the one towering you right now is simply using you as a distraction from the girl he longs for. Maybe it’s because you want to hear an answer that would put the pit in your stomach at bay. Maybe you want to hear a lie that’ll at least make this moment feel more real. Or maybe you’re just too drunk on everything.

You swallow. “What are we?”

You feel his smirk against your skin before he nips at it, just enough to make your breath hitch.

His hand on your waist tightens, grounding you, holding you in place as he trails even lower. Then he exhales a quiet laugh— low, breathy, like you’ve asked something ridiculous.

His lips brush your ear.

“Why do we have to be anything?”

He leans back just enough to look at you, and there’s something in his eyes— something unreadable, something you wish you could hold onto.

“Isn’t this enough?”

His fingers trail up your arm, slow, lazy, desperate. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Your breath catches.

His thumb strokes along your jaw, coaxing you, soothing you. “I know you like this,” he murmurs, his voice a slow, dangerous drawl.

And then—he smiles.

That same playful, easy, charming smile.

Like this is just another game.

Like it isn’t breaking you apart.

“Just enjoy it, shortcake.”

He kisses you again before you can respond.

“Don’t over complicate things.”

You should say something, you should fire back—

But then he sucks at the sensitive skin near your collarbone, and all that escapes you is a sharp gasp.

He chuckles again, pleased. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand slides up your side, slow, lingering—like he enjoys the way your body reacts to him.

Like he enjoys this.

And somehow, that’s what makes your stomach tighten the most—

Not just his touch, or his lips, or the way he’s holding you like he doesn’t want to let go—

But the way he seems to want this as much as you do.

Like for once, he’s here with you.

Not her.

You let that thought sink in, drown in it, just for tonight.

Because tomorrow, this moment won’t exist.

But then, the dream came to an abrupt pause.

PING

The sound cuts through the haze, through the heat, through everything. Caleb stops whatever he was doing. His hands leave your body, his warmth fades, leaving you a breathless mess against the wall.

He exhales, sweeping his hair back as he pulls out his phone.

Your eyes fall to his lips, the way it’s a bit swollen with smudges of your lipstick faintly staining him.

Then— a smile.

Not the teasing, cocky smirk he likes to throw your way. It’s a warm, heart-wrenching smile that reaches his eyes.

You don’t need to see the screen to know.

MC.

“I gotta go,” he murmurs, eyes still glued to the phone, fingers moving quickly as he types.

You don’t say anything.

You cant.

“Don’t get home too late, shortcake,” he states, eyes still on the phone.

Without sparing you a glance, he turns away and disappears into the crowd.

And you—stupid, foolish you—

Just stand there.

Waiting for something that was never yours to begin with.

•

You force your eyes open only to be met with light piercing into your eyes. You are not sure how the night ended, or how you managed to pull yourself home. You shot up, quickly checking the time.

8:45. Fuck.

You push yourself from the bed, ignoring the pang in your head.

Running into class, you quickly open the door, heaving as you scan the room for seats.

“Yn!” a voice calls out.

You turn to the source, and sure enough, it’s him.

He pats the empty seat beside him. “Here.”

You hesitate.

For a second, just a second, you think maybe he’ll say something. Maybe he’ll acknowledge what happened last night.

Maybe he’ll give you something.

But Caleb just leans back in his seat, grinning like always. Like nothing happened.

Like his hands weren’t all over you.

Like his lips weren’t on yours.

Like he didn’t leave you standing there, breathless and alone.

“C’mon, shortcake,” he drawls, patting the empty seat beside him. “I saved you a seat.”

You swallow, legs moving before your mind can catch up, and you take the seat.

And he smirks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes like he wasn’t out ruining you the night before.

He’s joking.

Laughing.

Acting like last night was nothing.

Like you’re nothing.

And you force yourself to laugh along.

•

The day goes by like any other day. You find yourself sitting with MC and Caleb, grabbing dinner at a nearby restaurant you frequent as soon as the day ends.

“So… how was last night?” she asks.

You pause, unsure of what to say. “It was okay,” you finally say. “I was a total mess.”

“Caleb told me he dropped by. Did you guys meet there?”

“No,” he answers. “There were too many people, I wouldn’t have been able to find shortcake there even if I was sober!” he jokes.

A pit builds in your stomach. You’re not sure of what to feel, how to react.

So you smile.

“True.”

MC drabble on, talking about how she suddenly had an urge for a late night meal and Caleb was kind enough to bring one to her in the middle of last night.

“I didn’t ruin your fun, right?” she turns to Caleb.

“You know I have the most fun with you, pipsqueak,” he chuckles, pinching her nose.

Oh. So that’s why he left.

They probably talked more about useless stuff. You can’t really comprehend what the conversations are about anymore. You excuse yourself, blaming it on the hangover and saying that you drank a little too much last night and need a sleep.

The moment you step out, the weight in your chest collapses. Your fingers tremble as you clutch your bag tighter, as you force your legs to move, one step after another, out the door, down the road, through the crowd.

Everything feels too bright, too loud, too much.

MC’s words echo in your head.

“I suddenly had an urge for a late-night meal, and Caleb was kind enough to bring me one.”

Your stomach twists.

That’s who he belongs to.

Not you. Never you.

You don’t even remember the walk home.

It’s a blur—like the rest of the night, like every moment you spent trying to convince yourself you were anything more than temporary.

By the time you come to, you’re curled up in the corner of your room, knees pulled tight to your chest, the darkness swallowing you whole.

You feel empty.

Not just sad, not just hurt—hollow.

Like last night never even happened.

Like you never even happened.

Your fingers tighten against your arms, nails digging into your skin as if pain could anchor you to something real.

But nothing about this is real.

You were a moment.

A passing indulgence.

A warm body for him to hold when the one he truly wanted wasn’t there.

And the worst part?

You let him.

Because even if it wasn’t real, even if it was just for a second—

At least for that moment, he was yours.

PING

Your phone lights up.

Caleb [7:04 PM]: I’m free tonight

Caleb [7:04 PM]: You didn’t eat a lot earlier

Caleb [7:05 PM]: You want porridge?

Caleb [7:07 PM]: I’m coming over

You stare at the screen until the phone dims once more.

PING

MC [7:10 PM]: UGH I have to stay late at the library tonight

MC [7:10 PM]: Some last minute thing came up with my group project

MC [7:11 PM]: Gotta be stuck here forever T_T

Oh.

#love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x mc #caleb #lads caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #reader insert #x reader #angst

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days ago

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sparks - february 12 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 496

Regulus Black hated James Potter.

Or at least….that’s what he kept telling himself. Because that was a lot less confusing than being in love with him.

But of course, it was very difficult to keep telling himself that when James kept showing up and being so…James.

So he reacted the way any sane person would. He ran. But of course, James was ridiculously good at finding him. He always had been.

“Why didn’t you show up last night?” James hissed at him the morning after they were supposed to meet, pulling him unceremoniously into a hidden passage. They’d been meeting a lot lately. At first it had been by accident- they both had rounds or James was sneaking around and Regulus had rounds. But then it’d become intentional. Because even as Regulus insisted he hated spending time with James, he looked forward to those nights they spent walking and talking and exploring the castle.

“Let go of me, Potter!” Regulus whisper-yelled, wrenching his elbow out of James’s grasp. “You’re so annoying! You think just because you manhandle me into a corner I’ll answer your question?” James was close. Much too close. They were barely a foot away from each other in the dark space.

“No, I think you’ll answer because I thought you weren’t a jerk, and I deserve a reason for you not showing up!” James retorted, crossing his arms.

“Because I don’t li-” Regulus started, jaw set.

“Oh, bullshit! Don’t lie to me, Reg,” James interrupted, eyes flashing. “You can’t say that! After all the time we’ve spent together, you can’t say you don’t like me! You know there’s something here, you have to feel it, too!”

Heart beating in his throat, Regulus grimaced. “I don’t feel anything,” he lied. “Maybe consider the idea that not everyone wants you, hmm?”

James looked him up and down and something simmered in his eyes that made Regulus want to both push him and push him against the wall to snog him. After a moment, he spoke. “Prove it,” he whispered, enunciating each syllable.

Regulus’s body went cold. “Wh-what?” he asked.

“Prove it. Prove you don’t want me. Kiss me, and tell me you feel nothing,” James challenged, raising his chin a bit.

He could’ve refused. He could’ve told James to fuck off. But instead, he lurched forward, connecting their lips in the most deliciously searing kiss he’d ever experienced, shoving the older boy against the wall as he licked into his mouth, sparks flying over his entire body.

Biting over James’s lip and pressing himself close, he made sure to take as much as he could in those few seconds. But before he could get lost in it, he pulled back, panting. And for a moment, he stared into James’s wild eyes, taking in his needy, desperate expression.

Then he stepped back, body still hot, heart still fluttering. “See?” he asked, wanting to surge forward again more than anything. “Nothing.”

And he turned and walked away.

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feeder86 · 16 hours ago

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Bossed

Ben huffed as he slouched in his desk chair, gazing at the computer screen. The numbers hadn’t changed but there may still have been some elusive way in which he could process them in order to make the sales figures look less dire than they actually were. He just needed to find it; otherwise, his neck could be on the line. The downward trend had been a worrying phenomenon ever since he’d joined the company almost 12 months ago, and he hadn’t been in the least bit surprised when their boss, Elise, lost her job over it all last week.

Reaching for one of the doughnuts from the box he’d picked up from the store across the street, Ben mulled over the problem, sucking his fingers and thumbs before reaching in for a second.

“Okay, listen up people!” came the call of Rob, the overly perky middle manager, making his usual trip to their office space as the day was drawing to a close. “I want to introduce you to someone,” he announced, motioning towards the tall, strapping older man in his late thirties. “This is Elijah. He’s the company’s new hire and we’re super lucky to have him,” he gushed; sucking up in his trademark style. “He’s taking over from Elise and has lots of incredible ideas about how he’s going to turn things around here!” He began retreating, already starting a round of applause that he expected everyone else to join in with.

With a decent amount of conformists now standing, Elijah stepped forwards and smiled with false modesty. “Thank you,” he nodded, quietly shushing them by gently motioning his hands for them to stop clapping. “I’m very excited to be here,” he began, revealing a slight Germanic accent that made him appear ever so slightly harsher. His body was strong and athletic, not a hair out of place; carrying himself with power and composure. “From what I have seen here today, there are clearly the building blocks of a potentially very strong team.”

Ben listened in, reaching for another doughnut. Sure, Elijah looked the part, but how long could he really survive on this sinking ship?

“Excuse me?” Elijah called out, looking directly at Ben. “Are you just going to sit there eating your doughnuts whilst your new boss addresses you for the first time?” he asked patronisingly, looking around at the others as if in disbelief at Ben’s rudeness.

Ben froze in shock as everyone turned to look at him, still in his desk chair with a half eaten doughnut clutched in his hand.

“Put it down,” Elias nodded at the doughnut, as if Ben was the rudest person he had ever met. “Manners cost nothing!”

Ben did as he was told, rising to his feet like everyone else and brushing the sugar off his chest. He suddenly had the feeling that he was back in school all over again.

Elijah’s warm greeting appeared to have been abandoned and he huffed as if he had suddenly been put in the foulest of moods. “This is exactly the sort of thing I dislike. You all have to realise that how you conduct yourselves in the office has a huge impact. We’re going to have clients coming in and out of here all day long.” Still his eyes were fixed on Ben. “What age are you, boy?” he asked directly.

Ben stuttered a little, feeling a bead of sweat running down his back. “I’m twenty three, sir,” he replied.

Elijah shook his head as if he was disgusted. “Twenty three and you were just slouching there in your desk chair eating an entire box of doughnuts whilst your boss was in the room talking to you. You think that’s appropriate?”

“No, sir,” Ben shot back, feeling that he could be fired at any second.

“So you’ve put on a little weight over the holidays?” the man taunted next, not pausing for Ben to respond. “You know how I can tell? That shirt of yours is too tight around your stomach. Do you think the rest of us want to see that?” he asked.

“No, sir!” Ben stated at once, swallowing hard. He knew he was up ten pounds or so since the start of December, but he hadn’t seen the point in buying larger shirts when, in all likelihood, he’d naturally drop most of it within a few weeks.

“Is this the type of look we want our clients to associate us with?” Elijah asked the staff collectively, motioning from afar towards Ben’s chubby form squeezed into an ill-fitting shirt.

“No,” they all replied, shaking their heads as if each once was keen not to be placed in the firing line next.

Ben could feel the blood pumping to his face. He’d been as skinny as a rake when he started college at eighteen, but he’d gradually thickened up from that tall, slender drainpipe-like boy of 145lbs, to the altogether softer look he had developed now at 190lbs. He’d started to get a little paunch by his second year, spurred on by the cheap, processed foods that made up the majority of his diet. He’d always imagined himself losing it eventually, but the right time had just never seemed to materialise. He’d packed on an extra inch around his waist every year since then, with even his nipples starting to grow softer and more pointed in the last six months.

Elijah stared at him hard. Ben remembered thinking that this could go either way and, in that moment, he imagined himself carrying a cardboard box of his things out of the office for the last time should Elijah choose to make an example of him there and then. What better way to begin a new regime than firing someone within the first few minutes?

“I want you in a shirt that actually fits tomorrow,” Elijah finally told him, taking a quick glance at the rest of him. “Pants too,” he nodded.

“Yes, sir!” Ben nodded gratefully, straightening up and sucking his stomach in; sighing with relief as Elijah at last moved on to continue his speech.

Ben grumbled to himself as he saw the money debited from his account for the new work clothes he had been forced to purchase earlier that month. It had been a hard slog to pay day now that Elijah was in charge. Ben felt as though he was constantly under the microscope with Elijah installing software that allowed him to see what was on his screen at all times.

“I want it put over there,” Elijah instructed the maintenance guys as he pointed to the vending machine that had always been behind Ben’s desk. With a headset on, the man probably assumed that Ben couldn’t hear him as he chuckled and told them that he needed to get it away from ‘that chubby one.’

Inwardly, Ben shouted expletives at the top of his voice, despite knowing better than to react. Six people had already left or been fired so far; even Rob, the master at sucking up to the bosses, had been given his marching orders. In their places, new recruits, more suited to Elijah’s style of management, began to trickle in. The familiar atmosphere had changed. That warm family-like environment had been ripped away. It was unnerving and stressful. Even the vending machine's new location, despite being further away, meant that it was now directly in Ben’s eyeline, making him obsess even more than usual for a quick sugar hit when things were getting tough.

At only 190lbs, Ben was far from being the chubbiest guy who worked there. However, it was the fact that his soft physique was combined with such a youthful age that Elijah seemed to find so intolerable. “I was starting my first business at twenty three,” he’d lectured Ben one afternoon after seeing him returning from a fast food place. “I wasn’t sitting around, stuffing my face with all this rubbish!”

Ben listened, hating every single thing about his new boss. Despite the initial boost Elijah’s harsh criticisms had given him to set up a gym subscription, Ben had actually found his energy completely drained after a day at work. The gym was only across the street, yet it was also where Elijah himself often frequented. Whilst there, Ben could sense the man’s eyes upon him as he sniggered with similarly muscular friends in a way that Ben couldn’t help feeling was directed at him. After only three sessions, he stopped going entirely. His work role had changed under the new system, with Ben practically chained to his desk chair from the moment he arrived at 8.55am each morning. Just like the fifteen pounds he’d gained during his final college exams, Ben’s old stress eating habits were coming back to bite him. He knew he’d put on more weight and, even worse, his boss knew it as well. Ben had tried to confide his frustrations about Elijah’s comments to his cousin who lived close by, however she merely brushed them aside, agreeing entirely with the anecdotes of Elijah’s observations and simply stating that ‘the truth hurts sometimes’.

Often, Ben’s dislike of his boss would manifest in the most peculiar and even counter-productive ways. Only last week he had seen a giant celebration cake on sale and he had gorged upon it all that very night, taking satisfaction in imagining how disgusted Elijah would be. “Fuck him!” Ben had shouted aloud, unbuckling the top button of his pants as he sipped on some chocolate milk to fully round off the experience.

Ben had never had a double chin before. However, it was becoming more and more apparent each time he shaved that the entire shape of his face had begun altering. He’d recently taken a picture of his body for someone he had been flirting with on an app, immediately getting blocked straight afterwards. He couldn’t blame them. He looked awkward and dumpy with his fat stomach popping out. Perhaps it didn’t help that most of his friends here in the city were so large and overweight; enjoying video games and the occasional board game nights, rather than anything active. Instead of focusing on his habits, Ben decided that it was actually his job that was contributing most to his expanding waistline. As such, he began to seriously look for a role in another company. He applied, finding he was rejected time and time again due to what he suspected was a very mediocre reference from Elijah.

With the annual charity fundraiser in December, Ben’s workload increased even more dramatically than the year before. There were so many elements to it and red tape to get through. He knew he would be stuck at the office for at least a couple of hours after everyone else. If only Elijah had left at the same time, Ben felt like everything could have run a lot smoother. He’d had a plan in his head for some time, knowing that he could corrupt the software on Elijah’s computer to disrupt the man’s ability to simply pop up on his screen like he regularly enjoyed doing. If Ben was successful, he’d be a hero amongst the staff by the time morning came around again.

Just before half six, the detestable man finally headed out, dressed and prepared for his usual workout at the gym across the street. He made a snarky comment about the carb-loaded snacks Ben had bought for himself as he continued trying to catch up. Some things never changed.

“This is just between you and me,” Ben winked at Mary who was pottering around cleaning up the office space.

Mary grinned back at him, having listened to many woes about Elijah’s management style from the others who had stayed late or quit over the last year. “I know nothing!” she laughed, fully prepared to close her eyes and ears to everything that was about to take place.

The system login on Elijah’s computer was easily overcome. The boss had boasted to Ben weeks earlier that he used the remarkable time from his last marathon run as his password; a time that he had repeated to Ben over and over again as he saw him popping backwards and forwards to the vending machine.

And just like that, Ben was in. Elijah’s whole computer opened up to him like a picture book. In fact, it hadn’t even been shut down correctly. There were so many pages and tabs open all at once. But, what was that? Ben had to go back, caught by the most striking image.

“Everything okay, dear?” asked Mary, popping her head inside the office.

“YES! Fine!” Ben exclaimed, eyes wide and startled. He couldn’t begin to explain what he had just seen, even if he had tried.

A couple of weeks later, Ben was enjoying that blissful period between Christmas and New Year when he didn’t have to think in the slightest about work. He sat around a table with his housemates, Gray and Eddie, alongside their friend Joe; all equally as nerdy as each other, engrossed in a complex board game, surrounded by the tastiest sweet and savory snacks.

“Did you guys know that there are some folks who are really into larger guys?” Ben asked the three others; all of them significantly larger and heavier than himself.

“Of course there are,” chuckled Gray, looking at Ben like he was simple.

“No…” Ben clarified, trying to rephrase what he was saying. “I mean… did you know that there are some people who really get off to the whole weight gain thing; seeing someone going from slim to really, really fat?”

“Oh, like a feeder, you mean?” Eddie asked him. “Yeah, I’ve had a few girls approach me on dating apps who were into that,” he nodded knowledgeably.

“And me,” Joe agreed. “They get off on wanting to feed you.”

Ben looked at the pair of them, both large and round, weighing no less than 350 lbs each. “And what did you say to them?”

“Depends on how hot they are,” Gray shrugged, chuckling as both Joe and Eddie fully agreed with him. “Why? Have you come across one?” he asked curiously. “You’ve definitely packed on a good few pounds this year,” he chuckled, looking daringly at the others, like he had just said something they had all wanted to mention for weeks.

“You’re getting tits like mine,” Gray laughed, reaching his hand out to poke the softer chest.

“Shut up!” Ben laughed back, snapping away the hands that reached out to him. “I’m not that…” he began, before deciding to refocus the conversation. “It’s just this guy in work,” he began. “He’s vile. I thought he found my weight completely repulsive but… now I think he could actually be into it. Not me, specifically,” he clarified. “But, bigger guys in general.”

“Your first chubby chaser!” laughed Gray, throwing back his beer.

“Yeah,” chuckled Joe, seeming genuinely pleased for Ben. “Chasers are pretty rare!”

Ben shook his head. They’d all seriously misunderstood the point he was trying to make. However, he was at least pleased that he had some friends with some experience in this area. He’d felt like he was going insane for a couple of days after he had seen the pictures of the enormously obese guys on Elijah’s computer screen. Some of them would make even Gray look slender. Then he’d gasped in surprise as he’d read the kinky chat log his boss had been having as he encouraged an already very obese guy from another state to stuff himself with the pizzas; pizzas that Elijah had apparently ordered online and sent over himself. “Like I said…” he mumbled to the other guys. “I hate the guy’s guts. I’d never go there with him. It’s just… interesting.”

Discovering Elijah’s kinky preferences could not have come at a worse time for Ben. The revelation had sent him into a period of complete thoughtlessness about his eating as he was utterly determined to enjoy himself over the holidays with his large housemates. More dessert? Why not? Another beer? Sure! Ben looked at himself in the mirror, having stepped on the scales to discover that he had gained no less than twenty pounds in a single month. He hadn’t even known that such a gain was even possible. However, it was all there, clearly visible on his 260lb body: the advanced swathe of belly fat that had rounded out into a pot belly, with nipples sagging and resting above. His love handles felt intrusive as they pushed out from the sides and gis glutes and thighs appeared as if they had been pumped with blubber. Even at 6’2, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was a fat guy now. His jawline was non-existent and his double chin had been commented on by several family members on Christmas Day itself. The work pants were tight; far too tight. His shirt clung unflatteringly around his stomach, straining the buttons like it wanted to highlight to everyone just how much more of a gut he had on him this year; the collar almost choking him.

Ben huffed as he further investigated his reflection in the mirror; that shocking side profile with his protrusive stomach and widened rear, exaggerated even more by the tightness of the fabric. His tie would need to be extra long today to try and mask the straining of the buttons. He was turning into a fat fucking monster, he thought, grumbling to himself as he rubbed the arching shape of his stomach.

All he needed to do was make it through to lunchtime, Ben thought, parking his butt down on his desk chair. Then he could head out and buy a shirt that could help him blend in better, and some pants that didn’t make him panic each time he took a longer stride.

“Is Annie in today?” Ben asked aloud to his colleagues as he saw the empty chair.

“We just assumed that you’d eaten her,” came Elijah’s sarcastic tone, suddenly springing up from nowhere and walking across the room towards the main office.

A rolling chuckle sounded around the office, like the boss had just said exactly what they were all thinking. So, everyone had noticed his extra weight then? And he’d been trying so hard to suck it all in as well. He rolled his eyes, knowing that there was so much he could say about Elijah to embarrass him in return. He wondered what everyone would think if he told them all about the things he’d found on Elijah’s computer. Perhaps he would have told them all already, but for the email threatening immediate dismissal to the unknown culprit the day after Ben’s devious computer hack, once the sabotage had been discovered.

Sitting at his desk, Ben's stomach was rumbling and growling. For two whole weeks he had been eating and drinking whatever and whenever he wanted. Now, forced back into the mundane, lunchtime couldn’t come fast enough. Given that he’d fooled no one with his techniques to try and mask the extra pounds, Ben treated himself to one of the giant burritos from the place down the street. His shirt buttons straining, he could see the glances he was getting. Perhaps he should have been more embarrassed, but his mind was still whirring, wondering how many other people were actually secretly into this fat bellied look. Was that person staring because they thought he was gross? Or was it because they wanted to rip his shirt off and see the glorious gut that was under construction? He gasped in realisation as he thought about his Uncle Leon and Aunt Pam over in Detroit. Uncle Leon had been so lean and muscular when he’d got married, yet he’d rapidly packed on an incredible amount of fat in the following years. So much so that he’d had to give up his job in construction and skinny Aunt Pam had been working two jobs for years in order to support them both. So why was it that everyone in the family still hated Aunt Pam? They all knew about this sort of stuff, didn’t they? They knew that Aunt Pam liked him larger and had most likely enabled him to his easily 500lb state. There were others too: his friend Tom from school, with his giant mother and slender father who was always constantly bringing treats home for his wife. What about Bob and Helen in his old neighborhoo? Bob was the only super obese guy in town to be dating a former beauty queen, ten years younger than him.

Ben’s burrito was gone in a flash as he chewed and mulled over everything. His sweet tooth was driving him crazy and he popped next door to the doughnut place to pick up some treats as well as a large bottle of soda to take back into the office with him. It was only when he made it back to his desk that he’d remembered his intention to pick up a new shirt. He shrugged, noting that there were only four hours left until the end of the day anyway.

“Listen up, people!” Elijah called out. He looked at Ben, frowning at the little stain of burrito filling that had landed on his shirt over the lunch period. “How did you miss that giant mouth of yours?” he grumbled, clearly unimpressed by Ben's unprofessional presentation. “You’ve clearly had plenty of practice getting stuff in there.”

Again, there was a little rolling chuckle amongst the staff. Every month there were more and more new faces as Elijah gradually replaced the old staff with people who were more suited to him.

“Annie’s handed in her notice and won’t be returning,” the boss explained calmly, despite the immediate groans of frustration from everyone else. “I know it’s tough when this happens, but we’re all going to have to pick up the slack. Especially you, Ben,” he nodded. “You’re the only one who’s dealt with her contacts before she left. They're going to be some late nights for the next three weeks until we can hire someone to replace her.”

Ben looked around at everyone else. Was he really the only one who could deal with Annie’s clients? Why did this have to fall to him?

“It’s time to prove yourself,” Elijah nodded. “I know you’re desperate to get to the gym this evening, but that’ll have to wait,” he teased, unable to resist having another joke at Ben’s expense.

Ben rolled his eyes. It wasn’t fair. Still, the overtime would come in handy if he was going to take a vacation that summer, he thought to himself, always keen for a silver lining. He just hoped that Elijah wouldn’t be working later each night as well.

“So, how come I haven’t received an application from you for Annie’s position?” Elijah asked a few weeks later, popping back to the office late to send a few more emails. Dressed in his workout gear, Ben could never help himself from admiring the dedication it must have taken for the guy to build such large, strong arms. The tight compression shirt displayed the fullness of his pecs, lacking even an ounce of fat around his waist and allowing the stomach muscles to really pop out.

Ben shrugged at his boss’ question. “Because I’m not really qualified for it,” he answered simply.

“And yet, you’ve been doing the job, as well as your own, since the start of January,” Elijah shot back.

“That’s only because you reject every application that’s been sent in for the role.”

“Well, maybe I’m holding out for the right person,” Elijah smiled, almost flirtatiously. He looked around at the take out boxes on Ben’s table. Although Ben described his workload as ‘stressful’ at the moment, in reality, it was simply just time consuming. So what if he treated himself to something tasty as he sat at his desk each evening? And what did it matter if all he wanted to do in his sparse downtime was sit on his butt and play video games? Even so, to an image conscious Elijah, the sight of it all still seemed to cause him much amusement. “Apply for the job,” he stated candidly, starting to tidy up Ben’s take out containers and give him more room on his desk without a single snarky comment. “I think you may be pleasantly surprised.”

Ben did as he was told, reasoning that a position, such as Annie's old job, could actually launch him on a proper career. Whilst he was earning a good amount of overtime at the moment, the added income each month could help him save for his own place. With Elijah’s admission that he was happy to promote him, Ben suddenly felt like he had at last entered the guy’s inner circle of those deemed ‘worthy’. Under Elijah, status was granted not by job title, but by how much favor you carried with the boss.

It was exactly the reason why Carol stood beaming beside her new desk chair the following week. “Elijah ordered it for me because of all the back problems I’ve been having,” she boasted, knowing that there were few others that their boss would willingly blow company funds on like this.

Starved of any other entertainment, one by one, the others in their office space lined up to have a go at sitting in the smart, innovative desk chair, until Ben was the only one still sitting disinterestedly at his own desk. He huffed, knowing that it would be the polite thing to at least try the chair and complement Carol on her good fortune. He lined up his rear, surprised that everyone in the office still seemed so interested. He’d known instantly that he was in trouble, given how tightly the firm arms of the chair had brushed against his hips as he carelessly dropped his entire body weight into it. He could tell by how tightly his love handles were pressed against the sides that he was thoroughly wedged into it.

“It’s nice,” Ben mumbled, trying not to show his surprise at how far back the chair had tipped now his weight was inside it. He turned and swivelled himself, hoping that the performance may be enough to satisfy everyone, shifting their attention to other things before he had to try and climb out of the damn thing.

However, that was all before Elijah came out, resting his large hands on his strong hips and gazing down at Ben with a bemused expression; a quiet grinning as if he sensed the whirring panic in Ben’s brain as he tried to think about how to get out. “Ben, could I see you for a second?” he called out whilst everyone was still looking.

“Sure,” Ben nodded.”I’ll be there in a second,” he replied casually, already suspecting that Eliah’s timing was anything but coincidental.

“No,” Elijah shot back sternly, folding his arms. “I need to see you right now,” he beamed, perching himself on a desk as if ready for a show.

Ben knew he’d have to get himself out as quickly and undramatically as possible. He placed the palms of his hands on the end of the armrests, shifting his body weight as straight as possible. He shuffled his feet, giving himself as wide a stance as he could, then paused for a moment, summoning all the energy needed to haul his body upwards. Three… two… one…

To everyone else in the room, all they heard was a loud, unattractive and unintentional grunt coming from Ben. They saw the fat boy straining to lift himself upwards, held back by the obvious wedging of his rear against the sides. Led by their boss, the laughter from those around him was almost instantaneous. Someone came closer to try and help, although Elijah quickly told them to retreat, too busy enjoying the spectacle himself.

His face pumped with blood, Ben lowered himself again, bouncing back up with even greater force. This time, the entire chair came up with him, despite still being stuck around his wider rear. He wriggled his hips and tried to push the chair back. Finally, he could feel some progress, if all far too slowly. His legs were burning, holding himself up in this strange half bent position.

At last, the chair slipped away, clattering to the floor and tipping over onto its side. Carol immediately picked it back up, checking it over for damage as she frowned in annoyance. Ben tucked his shirt back in tidily and straightened his tie, trying his best to ignore the ongoing laughter. He stepped over to Eliah. “Are we going into your office?” he asked, trying to ignore them all.

Eliah continued laughing. “No, buddy. I was just fucking with you,” he replied, as if Ben had been the dumbest person alive to have believed his false urgency to see him in the first place. “Just get that report to me by six,” he stated, turning and walking back, despite his ongoing laughter.

Sitting back down at his own desk, Ben grumbled to himself. What the hell was he doing putting up with this shit? He should just quit and find a job where he wasn’t treated like this just because he was obese. He looked up and saw Elijah still laughing in his office. That was the moment the revelation struck him. Perhaps Carol’s new chair had never been about correcting her posture. Perhaps it had always been intended as a trap for Ben. Had Ben just played perfectly into his boss’ hands?

Back at home, Gray was dating a new girl, shifting the dynamic in the share-house considerably. Ben and Eddie’s jaws had dropped when they’d seen her; Marie, the stunning blonde girl with such a tight waist and big chest. The pairing with Gray couldn’t have been any more mismatched. Likewise, Eddie’s jealousy couldn’t have been more obvious, biting back at Gray whenever he tried to impart some dating advice on him so that he could one day be as blissfully happy as he was.

“Why does Gray suddenly believe he’s the universe’s gift to women?” Eddie grumbled. “It’s not like Marie is going to stick with a guy like him for long.”

Ben mumbled awkwardly. “I’m not so sure, y’know. She seems pretty serious about him. I heard them discussing pretty much everything: houses, marriage… the lot.”

Eddie huffed. “It’s just not fair, is it?” he complained. “Gray gets to live out his perfect life, whilst fatties like us remain permanently single.”

Ben bit his tongue, resisting the urge to call out Eddie for lumping him in the same category as him. Sure, he’d put on a lot of weight, but he wasn’t in the same league as Eddie, Gray, or even Joe. Yes, he had quite a gut on him now. And, yeah, maybe his chest was pretty flabby since he’d crossed three hundred pounds. But, he still was still pretty skinny compared to the others. Wasn’t he? The more Ben looked at himself in the mirror and assessed the situation, the less he seemed to believe in the differences between his own shape and that of the other guys. His problem had become his sheer width. As much as his stomach appeared to be pushing firmly outwards in one direction, his chunky butt seemed to be swelling outwards in the opposite direction. There was so much fat resting around his neck; his jawline completely swallowed. The cheeks of his face had puffed and broadened to such an extent that he actually found it hard to see his old self hidden underneath it all.

Whilst the promotion at work had granted him many benefits, Ben found the guaranteed extra income made his impulses harder to contain. Take out could arrive at ten in the evening; those premium doughnuts were hardly going to make a dent on his bank balance. But with so many bad habits ingrained in him now, Ben struggled to imagine anyone willing to put up with him in a romantic relationship. He didn’t really want to be active and go out an awful lot. The warmer late Spring days brought him annoyance and impatience as he sweated lethargically in his new office. Although he knew he shouldn’t, he kept a drawer full of candy and snacks, failing every single attempt of his to eat more healthily in the last two years. What difference was there between his own lifestyle and that of Joe or Eddie? Maybe this was something he wouldn’t ever be able to stop, even if he tried.

Being higher up the food chain at work gave Ben a new perspective on how well Elijah had turned the company around in under two years. From losing money each week, to acquiring multi million dollar contracts on a monthly basis, Elijah’s record was as perfect as could be. However, despite his success, there was always something about the guy that meant Ben couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Perhaps it was the fact that work seemed to consume so much of his life. Being a workaholic was fine if the person enjoyed it but, at times, it didn’t always seem like Elijah did.

“Don’t tell anyone this,” Elijah confided in Ben one evening after everyone else had left. “I’ve been offered a job elsewhere,” he whispered, as if, even now, he had to keep it under wraps. He wouldn’t say where, nor give away much more information other than the fact that the pay increase was to be life-changing.

“But, what would we do without you here?” Ben asked. He’d disliked Elijah as a boss for so much of his time here that he’d never actually considered how awful it would be trying to manage things without him.

“I imagine they’d give the role to Keira,” Elijah pondered.

“Oh, not Keira!” Ben groaned, already picturing the disordered chaos that would inevitably ensue.

“Or, you could come with me?” Elijah suggested next. “I could easily get you on-board. I couldn’t guarantee you the salary you have now; at least, not right away. But, once you’re in, there are so many more opportunities for you there.”

“You want to take me with you?” Ben asked, dumbfounded by the idea that Elijah would want such a thing.

“Of course. You’re the best we’ve got here!” Elijah beamed.

Ben frowned, knowing that not to be true in the slightest. The whole thing didn’t make any sense. Had he secretly been Elijah’s favorite this entire time?

As negotiation between Elijah and his potential new company got more intense, the man seemed to become more intent on getting Ben to make a decision about coming with him. In some ways, the pressure felt unfair and it almost seemed to Ben as if Elijah was quite prepared to turn down the offer were he to refuse to move with him.

“You seem a bit distracted,” Gray nodded to Ben as the pair of them stacked a few boxes ready for Gray’s moving out day tomorrow. With Gray and Marie moving in together, Joe was soon to take the room, saving them all from having to advertise the space. Helping Gray pack up had been a good distraction for Ben, as well as quite lucrative, inheriting plenty of clothes items from the back of Gray’s closet that the guy had outgrown months before. “Is everything okay at work?” Gray probed further, having always been the most intuitive of all the larger guys Ben lived with.

Ben sighed, explaining the entire situation.

“You know, Marie used to come into my workplace pretty much every day,” Gray began afterwards. “She’d make excuse after excuse for her being there but, in the end, it was me who had to ask her out.”

“What’s this got to do with anything?” Ben asked, chuckling at the sudden change of subject.

“What I mean is…” Gray sighed, rolling his eyes. “I remember what you told us about your boss. Sometimes, chasers are no different to the rest of us. Sometimes everyone needs a little help asking for what they really want.”

All at once, Ben knew exactly what he needed to do. He felt confident as he strode into Elijah’s office the next day. The blinds had been drawn and Elijah pulled him in as if he wanted to discuss a top secret bank heist that must not be overheard. “Well, what’s your decision?” he asked, as if every second counted.

Sighing, Ben took a seat, looking up at the handsome guy earnestly. “I’m staying here,” he explained simply, cutting Elijah off the moment the man burst into his sales pitch, trying to convince him once more. “Listen, you don’t need me!” he smiled. “You’re going to be awesome.”

“But you’re the best I’ve got!” Elijah countered.

“I’m average at best!” Ben laughed. !And you know it!” He could see Elijah trying to redouble his efforts to counter his remark, yet he continued, talking over Elijah as he began to speak. “I’m just a chubby, overfed, under-exercised, nerdy accountant. And… I think I’m also the guy you’ve secretly had a crush on for quite some time…”

Elijah immediately halted trying to speak over him. The man’s eyes widened. He started mumbling, immediately flustered. “I… I’m…” he tried, looking like he had been outmanoeuvred for the first time in his life. “How did you know?” he finally asked.

“I didn’t,” Ben laughed. “That was the problem. I just thought you were being an asshole most of the time! You’re actually not that good when it comes to approaching people you’re genuinely attracted to, are you?”

Elijah shook his head.

“If I came with you, you’d still be my boss and we could never explore whatever this could be between us,” Ben reasoned. “Whereas, if you hand in your notice today… Well, you and I could be out for dinner this evening, with no nasty fallout from HR.”

With a beaming smile, Elijah was soon announcing his departure to the entire office. Ben was sitting, slouched in his own office, picking at a couple of doughnuts and not really paying attention to what was going on outside. He was hardly going to go out there, pretending to be surprised. Besides, it was fairly common knowledge that he didn’t even really like Elijah, which made it even more bizarre when he was sitting across from the man at a very fancy restaurant only a few short hours later. It was so obvious when someone really was making an effort on a date; Elijah received top marks for his charming manner and attentiveness. He thoroughly deserved the kiss he was granted during the cab ride back to his place.

“You’ll know he’s definitely a chaser when you get to kiss him for the first time,” Gray had warned him. “If he’s anything like Marie, his hands will go straight to your belly!”

Ben had found the idea strangely arousing when Gray had said that. However, it was nothing compared to how horny he felt with Elijah’s hands exploring his body with a lust Ben had never before experienced. Arousal leached from every pore of the guy’s body and, when they went inside Elijah’s apartment, Ben felt like he was almost being worshipped. Even so, nothing was ever rushed. The build up was always perfect; the crescendo, always sublime. Despite the stunning physique of Elijah, it always felt as though it was Ben’s rounded, bloated form that was the star attraction. After a couple of weeks, Elijah was permitted to fuck him properly for the first time. Each thrust into Ben’s hefty rear seemed to give the man absolute pleasure. Nothing was ever done hastily, even as Elijah moaned softly and breathed steadily, as if trying to hold back an orgasm that he could summon at any moment.

Of course Ben continued to pack on weight once he’d got together with Elijah. It was yet another thing that Gray had warned him about when dating a chaser. Elijah was kinky, without a doubt. He took pleasure in taking a can of whipped cream into the bedroom with them and encouraging Ben to lick it all off his muscular body at any opportunity. It wasn’t unusual for them to deplete an entire can in almost no time at all.

However, just like Marie and Gray, Ben’s relationship with Elijah seemed equally as controversial. Despite the almost fifteen year age gap, folks just couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around why a man as stunning and successful as Elijah was so captivated by such a fat man as Ben; the looks and stares only getting worse as Ben’s weight continued to climb; his body getting more expansive and jigglier; fat building upon already well established fat. Perhaps it didn’t help how ‘touch’ was always Elijah's best love language when they were out and about. Ben was well used to having the man’s large hand attached to his wide rear, or cupping a bulge of back fat. It was obvious how distasteful some appeared to find it; especially some of Elijah’s more refined friends. Not that it ever stopped him. Elijah was simply being himself for the first time in his life.

“She’s a real kinky little thing, y’know,” Elijah had chuckled one evening after Gray and Marie had left, not long after Ben had moved in with his lover.

Ben, who had spent most of the night discussing video games with Gray in the lounge, had almost forgotten that Elijah would have had so much time to get to know the pretty little thing that had ensnared his best friend so completely. “Oh, yeah?” he smirked, feeling like he knew so much more about what it was like to date a chaser these days. “Gray’s certainly looking a lot heftier these days.”

“He sure is! But he’s all belly. Unlike you with that big, cute butt…” Elijah grinned, swooping in for a kiss. “But there’s plenty more to come if you listen to Marie! Gray is going all out for her, trying to get his weight up before their wedding.”

Ben laughed. He’d always assumed that Marie had driven Gray’s ongoing weight gain but, now that Elijah had said it, the amount that Gray had been gorging on the snacks that evening seemed to make perfect sense. “No wonder I feel so full!” Ben laughed, rubbing his bloated stomach. He’d always been easily influenced by those around him and, if he could pinpoint the moment his weight truly began to run away from him, it had been when he’d moved in with the larger guys, Gray and Eddie; being surrounded by such frequent overeating and carefree attitudes towards food. Just like tonight, watching someone else eating so much always made Ben feel naturally hungrier himself. “So, does that mean you were telling Marie how much weight I’ve packed on since we started dating?” he asked, knowing that such questions always brought out the kinky, teasing side of Elijah that Ben had always found rather unattractive; that was, until they had started dating and it’d become funnier, more laid back and always tinged with kinkiness.

“Of course I did,” Elijah smiled back, his hands exploring the pounds and pounds of pure lard that had made Ben’s stomach so large and spherical since he had broken four hundred pounds. “And I told her about your plans to cut down your hours at work,” the man continued to explain, unbuttoning Ben’s shirt to unleash the enormous torso that he got so much pleasure from. His hands grabbed underneath and bounced the giant belly that had amassed. “I think she’s quite jealous of how well I’m doing with my big boy!” he teased.

Ben chuckled back, enjoying the attention. Dating a chaser had been quite a learning curve for him, but the more he had leaned into it, the more pleasure he had gained from it. He’d wanted Elijah to be open about his kinks, which had simultaneously opened up a whole new world to Ben. There were so many people out there getting enjoyment from this. He’d asked Elijah to use his contacts in these communities to find girls for his friends, Joe and Eddie. On the whole, he’d been pleased to see his friends so happy, despite how rapidly Joe’s secretly kinky girlfriend had swollen up the guy’s face and butt to the point where some people no longer recognised him. Similarly, Elijah delighted in having any of the guys over at their place, splashing his cash by ordering mountains of take out for them all and simultaneously messaging their girlfriends to quietly update them on how well they’d all eaten.

“What’s my calorie count tonight?” Ben asked, seeing the pure lust in his lover’s eyes.

“I counted about five thousand since Marie and Gray arrived at six o’clock,” Elijah speedily replied, full of admiration for him.

“Shit! No way?” Ben chuckled back, rubbing his tight stomach. “I didn’t even notice I was eating that much.”

“You never have,” Elijah smiled wickedly.”I saw that greedy appetite and knew there’d never be anyone I’d want more than you!” He wrapped his arms around Ben’s hips, rubbing the broad glutes. “You’re perfect!”

Ben accepted the sweet kiss from his lover. He could already feel Elijah’s hardness rubbing against him, just as it always did whenever the guy had watched him eat so much in one go. Despite all the dirty dishes, they were heading into the bedroom; clothes rapidly disappearing. “Go on, then!” Ben chuckled, already knowing exactly what horny Elijah wanted to ask him.

The man beamed, bounding away briefly and returning with a fresh can of whipped cream. He lay himself down on the bed, squirting furiously around his hardness.

Ben licked his lips, gazing down at the beautiful physique of his lover; kind, sporty, intelligent and successful. He couldn’t have found anyone better. As for this kinky streak of his… Well, that was something Ben would never want to be without. It was the part of Elijah that Ben had come to love more than any other. Despite his own monstrous, growing form, Ben knew that there would never be anyone Elijah craved more.

He was, and always would be, Elijah’s dream boy.

#gayfeeder #gayfeedee #gainerfic #gainer story #gainerstories #gainer fic #gainerstory #gainer stories #gay feedee #gainer fiction

197 notes · View notes

honeyhotteoks · 2 days ago

Text

across stardust - three (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. one | two (section 1); (section two) | three | four | five 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: thank you for all the warm notes on part two!! part three is fluffy, smutty, angsty, and full of plot so please enjoy. parts four and five are in the works, but tbd on post date.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, suggestive language, anxiety, nightmare, almost panic attack/talk of panic attack, frank conversations around sexual history / bad sexual relationships that could be triggering for some readers, oral m receiving, extremely descriptive blowjob / throat fucking, messy/desperate sex, emotional sex, creampie, rough sex, fights/arguments and heavy language

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 12.6k

It’s still dark when you wake up on the third day, the sky still inky black, but when you open your eyes you’re pushed right into consciousness like it’s time to get up and get your day started. When you shift your hand back to find him, the bed is cold. You take a breath and listen to your apartment, but everything is painfully silent.

A sharp spike of alarm courses through your chest at the thought that Yunho might not be here, but the panic only lasts for a moment.

“I’m downstairs,” Yunho calls softly, “don’t worry,”

You drop back in the bedding with a sigh of relief, but when you catch sight of the clock reading three in the morning you can’t help but worry about him.

“Baby,” You say as you roll to the edge of the bed, “What are you doing up?”

He sighs, “I can’t sleep,”

“I got that,” You tie your robe around your body and head toward the stairs, “is something wrong? You’re just sitting down here in the dark,”

He doesn’t have his phone in hand and the lights are still low, and he scrubs a hand over his eyes before looking up at you as you descend the stairs, “Just thinking,”

“About?” You step closer, trying to see his face in the dark, the room only partially illuminated by city lights.

He reaches for you and you take his hand, letting him pull you in close to stand between his open legs. With another heavy sigh, Yunho wraps his arms around you and lets his forehead drop into your stomach.

You squeak at the sudden way he gathers you up, but once you’re steady on your feet you soften, and let your hands drop, one on his shoulder and the other threading into his hair. You card your fingers through his locks slowly and search yourself for the thread of his feelings, but all you can pick up on is anxiety. “Hey,” You murmur, “what’s wrong?”

His fingers tighten on the silk of your robe, “I don’t want to leave,” he confesses quietly.

“Oh, Yunho,”

He’s quiet, too quiet, and a second stretches into a minute while he holds you, but you feel the rising tension in him almost like it’s in the air around you.

“How do we do this?” He finally says, his face still buried in your abdomen, “How do we have both? I feel like I’m abandoning you if I leave, I feel like, it feels like,”

You feel the tide of panic and you hush him softly, “Baby, breathe,”

He grips your hips, his forehead digging into your stomach, “I had a t-terrible dream,”

“Shh,” You rub a hand up and down his back, holding him close to you, “it was just a dream,”

“I don’t,” He swallows, shaking his head, “what if it wasn’t, what if,”

“Breathe,”

“They took you away,” He drags in a harsh breath, “they took you and I couldn’t find you, and everyone was watching but no one was fucking doing anything, and I couldn’t feel you anymore, and,”

You catch the shadow of an image in his mind, a silent stadium full of onlookers while he ran row to row searching for you, his throat hoarse from screaming, every expression blank and disinterested around him.

You shiver, tightening your hold on him as he sucks in another sharp breath.

He’s one wrong thought away from a panic attack, and you tuck your fingers under his chin to drag his head up, “Yun, Yunho, look at me,”

His breath is fast, dysregulated, his expression stressed in a way you’ve never seen, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

“Shh,” You cup his cheeks, soothing him as best you can, “I’m right here, no one did anything to me,”

“It felt so real,”

“It wasn’t,”

“But it could be,” His chest aches, “I can’t lose you like that, they can’t take you away like that,”

“Baby, who’s they?” You murmur, your thumb stroking a line over his jaw.

“I don’t know,” He says in a rush, “but you were at the dorms with me and we were asleep and they pulled you out of bed, they took you, and you were gone before I… I couldn’t even see where they,”

His panic tightens again and you shake your head, “No, no, no,” you murmur, “look at me, take a deep breath.”

He drags in a ragged breath along with you and you pause before slowly letting the air out.

“I am right here,” You run your hands down his arms to get him to hold you closer, “it was just a bad dream.”

“But,” He manages, and then lets out another shaky breath, his eyes dropping away from your face.

”No,” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and card your fingers through his hair, “don’t let those thoughts in,”

He holds steady, his chest tight but starting to loosen with every slow breath. You model it for him, bringing him along with you into the breathing exercise, and then finally he nods just a little, “I’ve never felt like this,”

“Tell me,” You murmur, softly stroking his shaggy hair at the base of his neck.

He swallows, his throat bobbing, and then a confession, “I’m terrified,” he says hoarsely, “I love you more than I ever,”

His words die on his lips and you murmur your reply softly, “I love you too,”

With a breath he continues, the words spilling out now, “And I’m just supposed to put it away?” His hands tighten on you, “I’m supposed to pretend you’re just someone? And not be with you when you need me, not be,” he shakes his head, “how is any of that fair to you, or what you deserve?”

“Yunho,” You say softly.

“I shouldn’t even,” He looks down, shaking his head in what you can only read as disappointment in himself, “I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

You can feel him boxing it up, shoving his emotions and his panic down, putting on a brave face you never asked for.

“Hey,” You say, a little more sharply than you intended and his head snaps up, “don’t do that with me, don’t pretend.”

He sighs, “it’s just,” he tries, and you can see the exhaustion in his face, “I told you I would figure it out, I promised you,”

Whatever arcane concept of masculinity has him trying to shield his stress from you ends tonight, and you shake your head to get him to stop going down this path.

“Alright,” You say when he falls silent, your hands on his cheeks to keep his eyes on you, “let’s play worst case scenario,”

His brows draw together, “What?”

“Hana and I played it all the time when things got bad,” You tell him, “you tell me the worst case scenario for the thing you’re anxious about,”

“This is a game?”

”Just trust me,”

He sighs and squeezes your hips before letting his hands fall slack to his own thighs, “Um,” he says, “okay, worst case scenario,”

“Do your worst, really,” You nudge him.

He shoots you a mildly amused expression and then rubs a hand over his face, reality sinking back into him, “Worst case?” He starts off, “We get found out, you get fired, I get fired, I owe thousands of dollars back to the company, the public hates us, and we’re both unemployable pariahs who’s friends don’t even speak to us anymore because they’re all in the industry.”

“Jesus,” You laugh sharply at the intensity, the near absurdity of having this conversation with him at all, but then you recover.

“Is that supposed to help?”

“Shush,” You lay your fingers gently over his lips to keep him quiet, “now listen to me,”

He nods and you let your hand fall away.

“If I get fired and you get fired and you owe all that money back,” You start with the first thing, “we will still have each other. Our families love us, I have this apartment and I have some money saved, and we won’t be unemployable because I have skills and so do you. I’ll do makeup for dramas or photoshoots or make YouTube videos for all I care, KQ is not the end of the line for me and my work. And you have your dancing, your vocals. If you weren’t an idol, what would you do?”

“Teach, maybe,” He says quickly, “I’ve thought about that, if things don’t work after year seven,”

“So not unemployable pariahs, just different jobs,” You point out.

He stays quiet at that, mulling over your words.

”And our friends would not do that,” You add, “they love us. Do you think they’re that shallow?”

He sighs, “No, but,”

“No,” You shake your head, “your worst case scenario sucks, it would be really, really hard, but it wouldn't kill us. It wouldn’t break us up.”

Yunho nods, “I know, but is it really so bad that I don’t want that for us? That I’m scared I’ll fail at this and you,”

“Hey,” You draw his arms back up to touch you, wrapping yours around his shoulders, “baby, this is not on your shoulders alone, it is not your job to figure out our relationship.”

”If I wasn’t an idol,” He starts.

“You are an idol,” You shake your head, “but if you weren’t an idol we might have never met. Don’t play what ifs like that,”

“y/n,” Yunho sighs.

“Yunho,” You counter, emphasizing his name and trying to get him to snap out of this spiral, “when I said I knew what being with you meant, I meant all of it. I’m under no illusions that this will be normal or easy, and I’m ready to face that for a chance that we could be happy.”

“Of course we’ll be happy,” He softens.

“Hold onto that, then,” You stroke his cheek, “and when you forget it or when you have a bad dream, I’ll remind you of it.”

“We’ll be okay,” He murmurs.

You nod, “We will,”

He sighs, dropping his forehead against your stomach again and you feel the tension physically drop in his shoulders, “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“I’m here,” You remind him again, gently running your fingers through his hair. For a moment you wonder if he ever lets anyone see this part of him, the anxiety and the worry and the strain. Yunho is always so calm, positive, and easy-going that you imagine it’s easy for people to gloss over what he must be feeling most of the time.

He nods against you but stays quiet.

“I don’t want you to go either,” You murmur, “but we are going to stick to the plan, and someday this will just be a thing that we had to do,”

He nods, letting out a slow exhale.

The plan was simple, and worked out between frantic moments of need in every corner of your apartment. For a little while, you’d both keep this to yourselves and play as coworkers, in the fall once contracts were closer to the final year, you’d tell the members together and Yunho would ask for an early renegotiation and for all of the members to stand beside him. After pulling the problem apart from every angle, it’s the only way that makes sense.

“It does suck though,” You add, “we don’t have to pretend it doesn’t,”

He laughs, a hot breath of air against you, before he looks up, “It sucks.” He says definitively.

“How long do we have left?” You glance at the clock in your kitchen.

He follows your eyes, looking around your hip, “A few more hours,”

Your hands tense on his shoulders.

Yunho nods, “I know,”

You don’t want to make him feel worse so you bite your tongue from saying anything else.

Yunho sits up a little, his hands now sliding to anchor on your hips, and his eyes flick from your eyes down your body. Your robe has parted open a little, just revealing a deeper V of flesh in the valley between your breasts and you feel the first strings of arousal through the bond.

He squeezes your hips, and then he leans forwards to connect his lips to your soulmark.

You hum softly, holding him close, “I love you,” you murmur.

You feel a tug on your robe, and suddenly he’s kissing you with more fervor, his lips traveling down to your belly as your robe parts open, his hands palming the bare flesh of your ass now that your body is exposed to him again.

He needs you, and you need him, but you can still feel somewhere in his body that taut line of stress and you gently push him back, “Come here,”

“Hmm?” He lets you push him away, but when you close your robe his brow furrows.

“Take your sweats off,” You tug at the fabric, and he lifts his hips to push them off immediately, “now just relax,”

He smiles, “What are you doing?”

He’s reclined on your sofa in nothing but his boxer briefs, and your body thrums with want.

“You’ve been taking care of me for days,” You drop down to your knees and settle yourself between his widely set thighs, “and you’re stressed, it’s my turn to return that favor,”

You drag your hands up and down his thighs, fingertips ghosting along the seam of his boxers, and you watch his eyes go dark and hungry.

Slowly, you tease him, gentle touches along every bit of his exposed skin until he’s sucking in little pleasured breaths and twitching under your hands, his cock rock hard and straining against his underwear.

As you toy with the elastic waistband though, his large hand closes over yours, “W-wait, one second.”

You know what you’ll see when you look up, concern, curiosity, maybe even pity over the thing you alluded to on your first night and never brought up again.

When you finally do meet his eyes though, it’s different.

He’s looking at you with tenderness, and he cups your cheek as you look up.

”You want to know?” You ask softly, dropping back to your heels and letting your hands fall away from his thighs.

“Only if you want me to know,” He offers, sweeping a thumb over your cheekbone before dropping his hands away, “but,”

The clear implication that could be read even without the bond is that he doesn’t feel like you can cross this line together without knowing.

”I can tell you,” You say, “it’s not bad, I just didn’t want to bring up an ex on our first night together.”

He nods, “Okay,”

“I had a boyfriend in school,” You tell him, ignoring the tense little bubble in your gut at just the thought of him, “we dated for a while, he was fine, but we were both young and I didn’t have much experience with sex,”

Yunho’s jaw tenses lightly, “Did he?”

“A little,” You explain, “he had dated two girls before me, but we were both pretty young and stupid,”

“Okay,” He manages, and you can tell that he’s bracing himself for whatever you have to tell him, but he reaches out a hand for you to take.

You take it immediately, slotting your fingers together, and he gives you a small squeeze before you continue, “It was mostly fine, just kids having bad sex and pretending it was great,” you laugh, trying to lighten the tension but he doesn’t join you.

“Baby,” He sits up a little, “what happened?”

“Nothing,” You tell him, and that’s the truth. There’s no one moment, no axe of trauma to bring down and confess, it’s just a collection of things, disparate moments, and it’s almost always impossible to articulate why it’s affected you like this for all these years.

His brows furrow lightly as he tries to make out your words and your feelings, and he opens his mouth to say more but you get there first.

”He was rough,” You finally sigh, “I think part of it was that’s what he thought sex was supposed to be like, and I didn’t know any better, so I just did my best to make him happy,”

His free hand curls into a loose fist, but he nods for you to continue.

“It was fine,” You assure him, try to explain, “he didn’t do anything wrong, I just didn’t know how to speak up for myself then, and just kind of went along,”

“And oral?” He asks it plainly, almost medically.

A flicker of your ex’s hand on the back of your neck flashes in your mind and you roll your shoulders, shifting your gaze, filing the thought back where it belongs in the deep recesses of your memory.

Yunho waits for your answer, but watches every movement.

”That I think he actually liked rough,” You finally admit, your eyes studying the edge of your couch cushion, “and I didn’t like that. It, that was, it only happened a few times, but yeah,”

His thumb presses circles into your palm, and then he quietly speaks, “How old were you?”

“Sixteen, seventeen,”

“How old was he?”

“The same age,” You look up to him, “it wasn’t like that.”

He swallows tightly and nods, “Did you tell him to stop or that you didn’t want,”

“No,” You take your hand out of his and rest your hands on his thighs, “Yunho, we were kids. We weren’t communicating at all, we were pretending we were adults and the only thing either one of us knew about sex was from porn. I thought I was supposed to like it, so I just let it happen. Was he kind of an asshole? Sure, but I’m fine, and it’s not like I said anything at the time,”

His jaw ticks again, and then he slides his hands overtop of yours, “Maybe not,” he says softly, “but you shouldn't have had to. Guys aren’t idiots, we can tell when someone isn’t comfortable with something,”

“I know,”

“I can tell this is more than just something you don’t like,” His hands slide up your arms, “he really scared you,”

You remember it all too well. The feeling of tears on your cheeks, the ache in your jaw, his hands in your hair, and the way you could only get tiny breaths in through your nose. Your throat had felt bruised for days after the last time you let him touch you.

“Yeah,” Is all you can give him.

”Fuck,” He breathes, and you wonder if he felt any of that, if he can sense through the bond more than what you’ve said out loud, “I hate this guy,”

“Yeah,” You smile, finally meeting his eyes, “I know, you and Hana can join forces and hate him together,”

He smiles, but it’s close lipped and doesn’t reach his eyes, “Was he your first?”

Your nose crinkles, “Unfortunately,”

“I hate him,” His hands tense on your upper arms.

“I know,” You sigh, “but yeah, it’s just one of those things.”

He just looks at you, no answer for that.

”Everything has been perfect with us,” You continue, “and what I said the other night is true, I don’t do anything I don’t like anymore. I figured that out, but that’s the one thing, I just don’t like it and it does make me uncomfortable. If you don’t pull my hair during or get aggressive with it, I’m totally fine it’s just,”

“Hold on,” He shifts on the couch, sliding forwards and letting his legs widen to make more space for you so he can pull you in, “now you take a breath.”

Your mouth falls shut.

“I wish you told me this before,” He says, cupping your cheek.

”Yunho,” You shake your head.

“No, it’s okay,” He keeps going, “but I just want you to know that you and me, everything we do together, there is never, ever something I want you to just put up with because you think I need it or like it.”

“I know that,”

“Still,” He presses, “and I know you were both young, but baby, that's not a good enough excuse for me.”

You take in a breath, ready to protest, but he’s not done.

“We will never do something together without talking about it,” He continues, “especially something like that,”

He’s so convicted, so serious, you can feel it through the bond and it makes your chest warm, even though he’s not letting you get a word in.

“You should have had a way to say stop,” His eyes soften, “I hate that you had to feel that way, he should have,”

“Yunho,” You reach up, taking his hands from your cheeks and holding them in yours, “I love you, and I love that you care for me like this, but I need you to hear something.”

His brow furrows, but he waits.

“It sucked,” You hold his gaze, “and it freaked me out, but it was not what you’re implying. I am not scared to give you a blowjob, and you do not need to treat me like glass because I had a shitty ex-boyfriend. I’ve already figured out my own limits, and you don’t need to protect me from something I’ve already handled,”

His eyes drop and he swallows tightly.

“I love you,” You remind him, “and I told you so that you’d hear my limits and understand them, but I already trust you to respect them.”

He exhales, a slow breath between his teeth and he nods, “You’re right, I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,” You smile.

He looks up and leans forward to press a kiss to your lips, and then another for good measure, “Alright,” he says, shaking off his protective instincts, “tell me your limits again, let me listen.”

You kiss him back, giving his fingers a squeeze, “Okay,” you nod, “don’t pull my hair during, other times it’s fine,”

“Outside of a blowjob?” He clarifies, his thumb passing over your lower lip once before he pulls his eyes up to yours and smiles softly.

“Yeah,” You nod, “that’s fine, I just don’t like feeling stuck, like I can't take a breath if I want to,”

“Hands off,” He says, “got it.”

“Well, I mean,” You start, but he interrupts.

“Don’t worry about me,” He reminds you, “your mouth alone anywhere near my dick is going to kill me,”

You huff a quick laugh and nod, “Then yeah, hands off,”

“What else?”

“We can work up to it, you actually fucking my mouth, but not yet,” You tell him, “I’m not ready to do that with you yet.”

“Okay,” He smiles, “if that ever changes just tell me, but for now you’re in control.”

“Also,” You blush a little, “I don’t think this will be a problem, but uh, no mean names or anything like that,”

“Not my style,” He says, cupping your cheek and leaning forwards, “and I know you’re fine, and I know you don’t need me to, but I would seriously like to hit this asshole in the mouth,”

You smile, leaning into his arms, “Fair enough,”

“Come here,” He wraps his arms around you, kissing you softly, “thank you for telling me,”

You nod into his kiss, your hands slipping back down to his thighs, “Now, let me take care of you,”

He hesitates for just a second, but then he nods and pecks your lips. Leaning back, Yunho shows you his hands, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and then he tucks them both behind his lower back and settles into the couch, his thighs spreading wider as he settles into a comfortable position.

Your stomach flips pleasantly, heat pooling in your gut.

Your fingers return to the elastic waistband of his underwear and you watch his abdominal muscles pulse as he tries to hold himself still.

”You sure this is okay?” He checks one last time.

You smile up at him and nod, “It’s more than okay, I like it, so just relax.”

He swallows, a nervous breath slipping out of him.

Slowly, your hands return to his underwear.

“God,” He sighs as you pull the front of his boxers down, letting his cock spring up between you, “you’re so pretty,”

You smile a little, enjoying the relaxed neediness in his voice, and you rest back on your heels to look up at him, “Yeah?”

His lips quirk, “Tease,”

”You like it,” You kiss his thigh, and then drag your nails along his stomach gently.

Yunho groans, his cock stiffening even more.

”Should I stop?” You tease him again.

“A-absolutely not,” He breathes.

You smile against his skin, and hook your fingers in the elastic of his boxers to drag them down and off his legs entirely, shifting until they’re tossed to the side. You sidle up between his legs again, and take a second to admire the picture that is Jeong Yunho stripped bare on your couch. His skin is deliciously smooth, and all but glowing in the moonlight, muscles taut and his legs long, thighs thick, his cock solid and heavy, drawing you in like a magnet.

“Cute,” He murmurs at your thirsty expression, but despite the hungry look in his own eyes, he keeps his hands tucked behind his back just like he showed you.

You ignore his words, and drop your lips back down to his body. You pepper teasing kisses over his thighs, his hips, your hands exploring the plane of his abdomen, the very top of his pubic bone, exploratory touches, soft pleasure, but never landing on his cock. It twitches between you, but you ignore it, kissing the inner crease of his hip and the dusting of dark, coarse hair there, cropped short and tidy. You can just barely feel the start of a trail of hair from his pubic bone to his navel, likely waxed away before the tour but just starting to come in again like a five o’clock shadow.

He twitches, tiny breaths, gasps, mumbled curses, and you hum pleasantly against his skin at every one.

When you can feel his resolve starting to crumble, and see a thick pearl of precum starting to bead up on the tip of his cock, and you know he’s ready for more.

On one of your next kisses, you let your mouth linger a little longer, dragging your lips across his skin until you’re nestled at the base of his cock, your hand sliding up from his inner thigh to cup his tight balls.

He shudders, a groan on his lips, “F-fuck, sweetheart,”

“Mm,” You finally let your tongue peek out, dragging a wet line from base to tip, “feel good?”

“So good,” He nods.

When you look up to him and take in his expression your cunt pulses, his eyes are dark and starving, his plush lips parted in needy awe, and his chest is already flushed red, sweat snaking down the contours of his chest.

You can’t make him wait a second more.

You wet your lips, letting saliva pool on your tongue, and then you adjust your position on your knees and finally take him in your mouth properly.

The sound he makes is one of pure pleasure, his body twitching beneath you, and you hear his hands tighten in the couch cushions behind him.

He is big though, you weren’t lying when you told him he was the biggest cock you’d ever taken and that no doubt includes your mouth. Your lips are stretched wide, jaw open and nearly straining, clicking as you get it comfortably open for him enough to start to dip your head down.

You focus first on the head, letting your hand wrap around the shaft that you haven’t figured out if you’ll be able to take, your tongue swirling over the velvety skin and lapping up the salty sweet taste of him.

“y/n,” He moans properly, “oh my god,”

You hum, a gentle laugh that leaves him jerking, and then you sink a little lower, your hand starting to pump slowly in time with the movements of your head.

”Oh, that’s it,” Yunho breathes, “oh fuck,”

You shiver involuntarily at his praise.

Yunho sucks in a breath, “C-can I talk to you? Is that okay?”

Your chest warms and you pull off just long enough to give him a reply, “Yes, please, yes,”

He groans as you return to his cock, lavishing as much attention on the parts you can fit in your mouth as you can. Yunho makes a pleasured noise as your tongue flicks over the seam where his shaft meets the rounded mushroom tip of his cockhead and he sighs, “Sweetheart, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You hum, a gentle reply as you work him over.

”There you go,” His voice is tight, like he’s talking through gritted teeth, “oh, fuck, that’s my perfect girl,”

You hum again, the praise running right through your body.

“Yeah,” He sighs, adjusting his thighs a little wider, “does my cock on your tongue make you wet, babygirl?”

Your fingers tighten on his thigh.

“Fuck, it does, doesn’t it?” He groans, “Insatiable,”

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, dripping your mouth a little lower this time.

“Three times last night wasn’t enough?” He teases you, warmth dripping from his voice, “You need more?”

You nod, but don’t lose attention on his cock gliding back and forth over your tongue.

“Good girl,” He shudders, “fuck,”

You lift away to take a fast breath and dive back in, keeping your ministrations steady with your hand.

He jerks and makes a tight sound, but then he sighs, “Look at me, baby,” he manages, “let me see that pretty fucking face,”

Your nipples tighten, belly stumbling in warm fits and starts, and you slide back on your heels and let his cock slip free of your mouth as you look up at him.

You can feel the urge in him to touch you, smooth your hair, touch your cheeks, have his hands on you in any way, but he holds himself still and locks his eyes on yours.

“Gorgeous,” He sighs, “fuck if you could see yourself,”

Warmth pools in your cheeks and you smile, letting his cock rest against your lips. Gently you press a kiss there, catching your breath in the brief pause.

“Fuck,” He grits out, “is it bad if I tell you I want to come all over that face? Those fucking lips,”

You sigh against him, shaking your head, “I like it,”

His eyes roll, hips twitching, “Of course you do,”

The moment his eyes leave you, you slide yourself back up, hot tongue dragging up and over and down until you’re taking more of him in your mouth than before.

A tiny thread of anxiety pulls in your chest, but it relaxes within seconds. His hands haven’t moved, he’s fought every impulse of his hips, and all you feel through the bond is overwhelming pleasure, need, and pride. You’ve never, never felt safer.

You sink down further now, letting him slide back deep down until you feel the head of his cock pressing into the spongy part of your throat, your lips nearly to the base of him and pressed to his pubic bone.

“S-shit, fuck,” His thighs twitch, but still he holds himself in place.

You bob your head back up, teasing his shaft with the hard press of your tongue before sinking down again.

“Ah, ah, mm,” You’ve never heard him sound like that, almost a whine. His teasing dominance falling to the wayside the moment you let yourself go to fully worship his cock.

Your hands tighten on his thighs and you repeat the motion, faster this time and sinking down far enough to take him all the way down your throat to the hilt.

He whines again, but your throat tickles and you choke a little before lifting higher up, adjusting your position and managing your gag reflex.

“You okay?” He’s breathless, “Hey, hey,”

You lift free and glance up at him, “I’m fine, relax,”

“God,” He shivers, “this is so good, but you don’t have to take it all the way if,”

“Baby, shut up,” You sink your mouth back down on his cock, sliding your lips and tongue down until he’s buried to the hilt again.

“Jesus f-fuck,” He moans, and when you glance up you can see his head has fallen back to the couch cushions.

The urge to cough is there again, your jaw aching, but you tuck your thumb into your palm and squeeze it tight on the off chance that the old wives tale has any merit, and you center yourself.

“Ah, mm, mm,” He’s fully trembling, at your mercy in a way that you know is raw and different for him, “sweetheart, oh, oh god,”

You can do this, you want to do this. Especially if it means he’ll make that sound again.

With another steady breath through your nose, you draw up and down and find a rhythm, working him faster until you’re bobbing your head and fighting through the little chokes, not because you have to but because you want to. You draw measured breaths of air in and out of your nose so you don’t lift your mouth away, and you let yourself go.

He’s tense beneath you, slick and shaking, the taste of him salty and sharp but not in a way you want to pull away from at all. It’s messy, noisy, and wet in all the right ways, and you feel his pleasure start to gather and build in his gut. Your hands slide over him, one to brace yourself on his tense stomach, and the other reaching under to cup his balls again, firm and hot in your palm.

”Fuck, fuck,” Yunho’s hips pull back at that, arching away from your mouth, “jagi, stop,”

You whine a little, you knew you had him close, but you pull your mouth away and take a sharp suck of air, “W-why’d you stop me?” You ask, breathless.

“Need to be inside you,” He pants, freeing his hands from behind his back and reaching for you, “right now,”

He hooks his hands under your arms and pulls you up off the floor, crashing his mouth onto yours. You slide up his body, hastily opening your legs to straddle him as his hands move again, one locking onto your hip to steady you and the other frantically pushing your robe back open. You moan as he slides two fingers through your slit to check your wetness, groaning pleasantly when he feels you slick and ready for him.

“Fuck,” He tugs you closer and you shuffle up his thighs as he directs his wet cock to your aching entrance, “sweetheart,”

”Please,” You beg, head fuzzy already at the catch of his cockhead on your clit.

He directs your hips, and then in one desperate motion he jerks his hips up and drags your body down to sink himself all the way, nestled deeply inside you.

The sudden stretch and sensation is sharp and hot and you moan, gripping down on his shoulders and shuddering above him.

“I-I’m sorry,” He babbles, kissing across your face, “need you,”

Your mouths find each other again, heat pulsing between you in the dark of your apartment and slowly you start to rock together. Following sensation only, instinct, need, all the ways you want to comfort each other, pleasure each other. He’s fucked you countless times this weekend, but this is making love, heady and dizzy like the first time your bodies coupled close.

You grind against him, Yunho’s kisses traveling down your neck, your collarbones, pleasure rolling through you in a foggy thrill.

“Feel so good,” You breathe, holding him close, “need you inside me all the time, fuck,”

He groans, his mouth peppering hot kisses over your breasts, tongue teasing one nipple while his fingers tease the other, “That’s my girl,”

“Mm, yes,” You sigh, rocking in the perfect rhythm.

“Beautiful,” He pushes your robe open more, hands caressing you, until the fabric droops off your shoulders and leaves you naked to his hungry eyes, “my beautiful girl,”

“Yunho,” You gasp sharply at the tweak of your nipple, at the praise, at his cock filling your channel.

“Ride me like that,” He nods, eyes blown wide, “don’t stop, want you to come,”

“K-kiss me,” You beg him with a pant, sensation blooming through your body.

He drags you closer, locking your lips together, and you moan into his mouth. He nods, humming his approval for your desperate sounds, and you roll your body against him harder, heat spreading through your chest as you get closer and closer to the edge. Tangled up like this, without all that much room to move, you both just jerk and roll your hips, spurned on by the desperate need to feel each other falling apart one more time.

”There,” Yunho groans when he feels you getting close through the bond, one hand locking onto your ass to help steady your rutting movements, “right there, sweetheart,”

“O-oh,” Your eyes shut tightly as a wave flows through you, pleasure a tight bubbling sensation in your gut, “Yunho, baby, oh,”

“Come for me, jagi,” His voice is low, husky, his fingers gripping you tightly, “feel me inside you, come around my cock,”

A shudder lances through you, and you fall apart in his arms, a mess of words babbled through your lips you can’t even hear. The thought of him inside you a singular, starving thought. He’s leaving, in a few yours you’ll be on this couch alone, and in a choked breath you beg him for more. You want the ache in your hips, the wet feeling of his release, bloomed bruises and a mouth kissed raw, you want to know not a second of this was a dream.

Yunho wraps you up, his kiss hotter, needier as he pulls you back from the spiral of your thoughts, “Tell me you love me,”

“I l-love you,” You whine against his cheek, your orgasm flooding through you.

“Tell me you’re mine,”

“All yours,”

His hips roll as he holds you steady above him, fucking you slow and deep, “I can feel you,” a wave of pleasure and emotion washes through you from his side of the bond, “like you’re buried in my chest,”

You nod, holding onto him for dear life as he loses himself.

“You’re part of me,” He says between kisses, his forehead pressed on yours, “for as long as I live, you’re right here,”

Yunho tugs your hand to lay flat over his chest, over the knotted soulmark on his breastbone and you gasp sharply, nodding again, “I love you,”

“You feel me too, don’t you?” He manages.

”Always,” Your hips roll, meeting his tempo better, an undulation of your bodies that kisses your hips together with every breath, “always,”

“Here,” He lays his hand flat over your chest, holding your gaze, “I’m right here,”

Hot tears flood your eyes, overwhelming emotion, pleasure, and all you can do is nod.

“That’s it,” He shudders, taking a sharp inhale, dragging your body back and forth with his other hand, “just like that,”

You’re both close, your own orgasm stretched long and his rocketing back full force.

You whine his name, grip down on his sweat-slick shoulders.

“Always here,” He manages, still breathless, “I’m always inside you,”

“B-baby,” You’re a split second away, “Yunho!”

He groans, his pace stuttering as he feels you start to come around him again, and he pulls you down flush to his hips. You feel his release wash through you, and the warm sensation of his cum pumping deep into you, filling you.

Yunho’s face is buried in your neck as he pants, feeling your fluttering pulses still rocking through you, “Always inside you,” he shivers, kissing your chest, “always you and me,”

Tears spill over, your fingers knotting into his hair as your bodies slowly rock together through the final washes of pleasure.

When the wave passes, cool air washes over your skin and you shiver in his arms.

”Don’t be scared,” Yunho murmurs against your throat, feeling the thread of your grief underneath it all, “I promise you, we can do this,”

“I know,” You breathe into his shoulder.

“It’ll be hard,” He murmurs, straightening up and finding your face with gentle hands, “but you were right, we’re going to be so happy,”

You nod, breathing back another wave of emotion.

“This part will pass,” He murmurs.

“I know,” You whisper softly in the dark safety of your apartment, “but I’m really going to miss you,”

He kisses you gently, full of tenderness, “Not for long, I promise,”

“We’ll make this work,” You nod, trying to search for your earlier strength.

”We will,” He says, “we have a plan, and we have each other.”

“Yunho,” You hold him close, “I love you,”

“I love you too,” He seals it with a kiss, “always.”

You nod against him, soaking in his warmth and his presence for a little longer.

After a few minutes he sighs, “Let’s go back to bed for a little while longer,”

You agree, you let him take you upstairs. Wrapped up in each other’s arms you rest, but neither one of you falls asleep. Quietly you watch the night sky break hazy blue with the dawn, and you hold onto each other until the day gets up and moving around you, until it pulls him through the motions and out the door. Last kisses, last promises, a heavy ache nestling deep in both of your chests.

On the couch, alone again, you close your eyes and search yourself for the thread of him, clinging to the tender ache in your ache in your hips, and the heavy beat of his heart with yours.

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

Plans are just plans after all.

Yunho has almost told his best friend about you a thousand times over, but every time the words die on his tongue. Keeping you a closely guarded secret is both the scariest and the smartest thing he thinks he’s ever done though, because the more people know about you the more risks there are that he can’t control. And he’s never been willing to be risky with you, not even before he realized you were his.

Three long months have passed since that weekend in your apartment, and he’s seen you alone a total of nine times. Ten if you count the time he cornered you in the KBS dressing room last comeback, but he doesn’t really count one rushed kiss between panicked glances at the door as seeing you alone.

Nine times.

It’s not for lack of trying, but this is harder than he ever imagined it would be.

Four of the nine were for under an hour, two were barely over that, two were proper dinner dates, and one was a full night where he nearly got caught in the morning coming home.

Coming to your apartment is a bigger production than he imagined in every way.

For starters, his members were observant, and while his manager was a heavy sleeper, he didn’t go to bed until late. He’s had to cancel more plans with you than he’s made just because there was no safe way to not be seen. Each and every time he makes it to you successfully, there’s a cost. He’s missed dinner plans, been late to practices, and made up lie after lie just so he could see you, touch you even just for an hour.

It makes sense then why he makes up a weak lie to Yeosang on tonight of all nights, just so he can get out of the dorms and make it to you by an even semi reasonable hour.

It makes sense too the way he fucked you, hard and needy and full of desperation, barely making it into the entryway of your apartment before he pinned you up against the door, leaving dinner on the stove to burn.

It makes sense in the way he lets the hours go by without checking his phone, without suggesting that he really should be getting back. He’s sick of this, he’s sick of hiding, of constantly missing you, of seeing you at work and looking past you just to protect you. When he finally leaves, on the night he’ll consider your real tenth time together, it’s with a pit in his stomach after making love to you for hours, after ignoring the niggling feeling at the base of his skull that told him this time was different.

It’s late when he turns the key in his lock, too late, but as long as everyone’s asleep he thinks maybe he’ll sneak in without detection. That idea gets ruined the second he locks the door and kicks off his shoes and sees Mingi and Yeosang quietly sitting side by side on his sofa, serious expressions on their faces.

“Hey,” Yunho tries to keep it relaxed, tries to think of a white lie, “what’s up?”

Mingi’s jaw jumps with a pulse of tension, “How about you tell us?”

His chest aches a little at Mingi’s pained expression. He really had wanted to avoid this.

”What do you mean?” Yunho tries.

Mingi huffs a sharp breath through his nose, an unfunny laugh, “You lied to Yeosang about going out with me tonight,”

Yunho stays perfectly still.

“I bumped into him at the studio,” Yeosang explains, “I left my airpods, I went back to pick them up.”

“Oh,” Yunho says dumbly.

“Something’s been going on with you,” Mingi gets to his feet, “for months. I thought you’d talk to me if you needed to, and I tried to let you know you can talk to me,”

Internally, Yunho winces. Mingi had, on several occasions, not so subtly offered himself as a listening ear.

“But lying like this,” He says, “and you haven’t been sleeping, we haven’t gone out for food in ages, you were late to practice and Yeosangie says he hears you leave after he goes to bed,”

His stomach tightens.

“If you need help,” Mingi’s angry, that much is clear, but worry is threaded in his voice, “you’ve got to talk to us.”

“I know that,” Yunho finds himself saying.

“I know shit is hard,” Mingi says, “and this year has been rough, I know,”

Yunho wants to stop him, but he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“If you’re drinking, or if it’s drugs,” Mingi says, painfully direct despite the uncertainty on his face, “you don’t have to go through that alone.”

The silence in the room is drowning him, and all at once Yunho realizes how much of a mistake it was to keep you hidden away from his brothers.

“It’s not that,” Yunho admits hoarsely.

“Thank God,” Yeosang drops his head into his hands.

“Then,” Mingi searches his best friend’s face.

“There is something,” Yunho feels his heartbeat pick up in his chest, and distantly inside himself he searches for the feeling of you, “I should have told you,”

Mingi crosses his arms, but keeps his voice calm, “Okay,”

Yeosang stands too, giving Yunho an encouraging nod.

“I met someone,” Yunho manages.

“What?” Mingi's arms drop, and Yeosang’s eyes widen.

In all the years they’ve been together, Yunho’s never discussed a girl like this. Outside of occasionally covering for one another when someone has a hookup, romance and the risk that comes with that to their joint careers is something all eight of them have been diligent about since the beginning. It’s something they promised each other would never interfere, not while their contracts were so strict and so tenuous.

“It’s more than that,” Yunho confesses, dropping his eyes, “it’s y/n,”

“What?” Mingi’s voice is sharp, “Our y/n?”

“How long?” Yeosang blinks.

“Since Berlin,” Yunho looks up and rushes to the full truth the second he sees Mingi’s expression, “she’s my soulmate, it’s not what you think,”

Yeosang’s eyes widen, “Our makeup artist is your soulmate?”

“We didn’t know,” Yunho clarifies, “we touched, not even on purpose, and it was just like… there, we both knew,”

The truth sits between them, immovable and too real.

“So,” Mingi says finally, “that’s where you’ve been?”

Yunho nods, “We have a plan, we just needed some more time before we told anyone,”

”Fuck you,” Mingi shakes his head.

A spark of defensive anger ignites in Yunho’s gut, “What?”

Mingi takes a wide step towards him, “Fuck you, I said,” he repeats, “we’ve done everything together since we were fourteen and you didn’t think I’d want to know you found the love of your life?”

Yunho winces, “It’s not like that,”

“How is it?”

“We have to be careful, you know that,” Yunho presses, “I know I fucked up, but people can’t find out,”

“Am I people?” Mingi’s voice spikes.

”No, that’s,”

“I wouldn’t tell someone that,” Mingi presses on his logic, “none of us would, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hey,” Yeosang grabs Mingi’s arm, “our manager will hear,”

“Maybe he should hear!” Mingi shrugs off his hand.

Yunho snaps immediately, “Keep your mouth shut,” he hisses, “you can be pissed all you want, but don’t put us in that position because you’re angry with me.”

“Us,” He repeats, and then internally does the math, “Berlin was four months ago,”

“I know,”

“Who the fuck are you?” Mingi shakes his head, “You’ve been lying to our faces for months,”

“I know,” Yunho drops his shoulders.

”Team meeting,” Yeosang says calmly, “tonight.”

“It’s late,” Yunho offers.

”The rules are that we deal with something in the moment,” Mingi sneers, “or did you forget that one too?”

Yunho takes the stinging barb without comment and nods, “Alright,”

“Thirty minutes, at the studio.” Mingi says.

”I’ll get the others up,” Yeosang offers.

“I’ll call y/n,” Yunho murmurs.

”Why?” Mingi reels back.

”Because,” Yunho’s jaw flexes, “whatever you feel about this, I’m not talking about her or making decisions that affect her without her in the room.”

Mingi is speechless, but Yeosang simply nods, “It’s a good idea,”

Yunho finds his phone, buried in his coat pocket, and grimaces when he sees a string of texts from you. He doesn’t even read them before he presses the call button.

“Hey,” You answer immediately and his stomach unclenches at the sound of your voice.

”Hey,” Yunho says, “everything’s okay,”

”What happened?” Your tone is sharp and he can feel your tension.

“The members know,” He keeps it simple, “we’re going to the studio to discuss it. Can you come?”

“Now?”

“Yes,” Yunho’s voice softens, “I just, I want you to,”

“Let me get dressed, I can be there in fifteen minutes,”

“Don’t rush,” Yunho presses, “and don’t walk at this time of night, take a taxi, I’ll pay for it just don’t,”

“I’ll be fine,” You remind him.

“y/n,”

“I’ll call a cab,” You promise him.

Yunho nods, “Thank you,”

“I’ll see you soon,” You promise him, “but are you okay?”

“Mhm,” Yunho replies shortly, “I’ll see you soon.”

”Alright,” You murmur, “I love you,”

He can’t not say it back, and softly he replies, “I love you too,”

When he drops the phone and looks back up to his best friend, the expression on his face is nothing short of abject betrayal. The ride to the studio is the most painful fifteen minutes of his life, followed only by the next fifteen minutes waiting for you, all eyes on him except for his best friend who can’t stop staring at the linoleum.

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

You take a cab to the studio, just like Yunho asked you to, but it’s almost worse than walking. At least walking you’d have the distraction of movement and your own momentum making you feel like you were going somewhere. Every stop of the taxi makes your stomach lurch and your anxiety double in your chest. Yunho has been silent via text, and the panic of not knowing what you’re walking into is starting to eat at you alive.

By the time you swipe your keycard you feel dizzy, and when you finally make it up to the practice room you realize those nerves aren’t just yours, but his too. The tension in the room is unmatched, and all eyes zero in on you like a laser beam.

Words don’t come, but the frozen moment is broken the moment you meet Yunho’s eyes and he stands from his place leaning on the corner desk, cutting through the room to get to you.

“Hey,” Your eyes flick from him to the room.

”Thank you for coming,” He brushes a hand over your arm and leans in, kissing you warmly on the forehead.

The room makes no sound to welcome you and you find Yunho’s hand, “Is everything alright?”

He gives you a tight smile, “Everything’s going to be fine,”

So no.

Someone clears their throat and you both take a small step away from each other. For the first time you have a second to assess everyone and it’s possibly worse than you thought.

Hongjoong looks furious, Mingi murderous, and with the exception of San and Seonghwa, everyone else looks exhausted and in disbelief.

“Alright,” Yunho says, “let’s talk,”

Everyone looks to Hongjoong.

He glances between you both, and then he sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face, “How about we start with an explanation? Yunho?”

You can feel he has his defenses up, something coiled inside him and ready to strike, but you lay your hand on his forearm and give him a small squeeze and you watch the way he deflates, nodding a little to you.

“In Berlin,” Yunho starts, his voice much calmer than it would have been without your grounding touch, “when a bunch of staff got Covid, y/n did my makeup for the first time.”

Hongjoong nods, and you do your best to keep your eyes on him over the rest of the boys.

“We hadn’t ever touched skin to skin before,” Yunho continues, “but when we did it was like all the stuff you read about, I knew it immediately.”

“Did you?” Wooyoung breaks in, his eyes locked on you.

You nod, “Immediately,”

“Then?” Hongjoong prompts.

“We tried to keep our distance for the tour once we talked it through,” He says, “the idea was to stay focused on work while we were abroad and to discuss it once we were back home and had the space to do that.”

Hongjoong only nods.

“Once we were home though,” Yunho looks down to you, finding your hand and lacing your fingers together, “it’s been different, harder. We are very aware of what this would do if it leaked, we’re taking every precaution, we’re keeping our distance even now.”

“Were you ever planning to tell us?” Hongjoong finally asks.

“Of course,” Yunho bristles at that, “we had a plan for that too. Once our contracts were near the six year mark, we planned to come and talk to you like this together,”

“That’s months from now.” Mingi says dryly.

”And what was the plan if you were seen before that? Photographed? Caught sneaking out?” Hongjoong says pointedly, “I assume you have a plan for that, otherwise this is incredibly, incredibly foolish of you both.”

Shameful blush heats your cheeks and you look down, away from their eyes.

”So no plan,” Hongjoong shakes his head, his voice hardening, “I cannot believe this,”

“Joong,” Yunho takes a step forwards, “all of you, I know I fucked up, but this is different,”

Mingi makes a sound of derision.

Yunho looks to Seonghwa, and everything spins off the rails, “Hyung, tell them,”

“Yunho,” Seonghwa says softly, “I told you both not to lie,”

“You knew?” Hongjoong’s voice is sharp.

“We both did,” San jumps in, ready to make sure Seonghwa isn’t falling on the sword alone.

“This is not how we do things, this is not okay!” Hongjoong all but yells and you take a sliding step backwards out of the loose circle.

A hand connects with your arm and you look up to Yeosang, “Hang on,” he says softly, “it’s alright,”

“What happened to casual hookups but no relationships, hmm?” Hongjoong says, exasperated, “And being honest with us, your team, your brothers,”

Anger flares inside you, but it isn’t yours, it’s Yunho’s, “You’re not getting it, this isn’t a relationship, this is something bigger than that,”

“A year and a half,” Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, “you couldn’t have just waited for a fucking year and a half?”

“You don’t understand,” Yunho manages.

”I understand you’re willing to lie to us all of a sudden,” He counters, “you’re willing to put your career at risk, and ours, because you’re thinking with your dick,”

Yunho’s hands tighten into fists and your stomach rolls. This is so much worse than you ever thought possible.

You shrug off Yeosang’s hand and move for the door, but he catches you again, “Don’t go,” he presses, “this really isn’t about you, it’s about him lying. No one’s upset with you, not really, and Yunho wants you here.”

You’re frozen, weighing his words and then in your periphery Jongho nods and quietly says, “Just wait,”

When you turn back to center though, the altercation in the middle of the dance floor has gotten even more heated.

“Out of line, hyung,” San is squared up between Yunho and Hongjoong, Mingi to the leader’s side still looking ready for a fight.

“I’m,” Yunho flounders, “I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I’m telling you, you don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it,” Hongjoong sounds so dismissive.

“Joong,” Seonghwa murmurs gently, trying to bring the peace, “I know you’re angry,”

“You’re right I’m angry,” Hongjoong swivels to face his friend, “and I haven’t even touched how angry I am at you for keeping this from me too.”

“Joong,” Yunho tries.

“No, no,” Hongjoong spins on his heel, “I think we’re allowed to be a little angry. We have a nine AM schedule, and it’s three o’clock in the morning. You’ve dragged us here to talk about this, not some little interpersonal rift, no, we’re here to find out that one of our own has been putting us at risk for months,”

“Jesus,” Yunho drags a hand through his hair, emotion rising in his chest, “I’m sorry, I am, but you don’t understand,”

“I think we understand just fine,” Mingi says, his arms crossed tightly.

Yunho scoffs, and you feel the reflection of his frustration in your own chest.

“Oh,” Yunho throws his hands up, “you understand, you all understand.”

“Yunho,” Wooyoung tries softly, reading his sudden intensity, but it’s no use now.

“When we touched everything changed,” Yunho insists, “it’s not just knowing she’s my soulmate. I can feel her, all of that shit is true.”

“But people,” Hongjoong starts, and it doesn’t really matter what his argument is because Yunho steamrolls that too.

“I don’t care about people,” Yunho says firmly, “I care about her. It’s not a crush, it’s not a flirtation. She’s not a hookup or just any girl, she’s the one and the minute I knew it, it was like the entire universe pushed me towards her until we were together. We’ve been fighting how that feels for months to try and keep this quiet, because both of us would never risk this team, but don’t tell me you understand how it feels. You don’t.”

The room has gone quiet, and raw emotion fills your chest.

“I’m still sorry,” Yunho manages, “I shouldn’t have lied to any of you and I know that. I know that.”

Your heartbeat quickens.

“But, what would you have me do?” Yunho asks, his voice cracking, “My entire life I’ve worked for this, for us, and I’ve given everything I have to it for every second of the past six years,”

No one says anything to that, because of course he has. They all have.

Yunho’s shoulders drop, “Am I supposed to give this too?”

Tears flood your eyes but you hold yourself steady for him.

His words hang in the silence, but it’s Mingi who finally breaks it, “You’re my brother,” he says, his voice considerably gentler, “I’d never hurt you like that.”

“Then please,” Yunho implores, “please listen to me, to us, I know we made mistakes, but haven’t I earned that?”

Hongjoong sinks back against the desk and runs a hand through his messy hair, and slowly he nods.

“We’re listening,” Mingi relaxes his posture, his eyes softening, “we are,”

Yunho swallows tightly and nods, taking a breath.

Hongjoong’s eyes flick from Yunho to you, “y/n, come back, I’m sorry,”

Yunho turns in a flash and catches where you are in the room, close to the door with Yeosang and Jongho blocking your exit, eyes full of tears and arms wrapped around yourself.

“Baby,” He breathes, crossing the room once again for you, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,” You breathe, pulling back the tears, “I’m fine,”

“You’re crying,” He tugs you in, kissing your head.

“I’m fine, let’s talk to them,” You brush off his attentions but you feel him through the bond, a comforting brush of his mind on yours, and you find his hand to lace your fingers together.

He draws you into the circle, and you brush away any lingering tears with your free hand before taking a deep breath.

“We,” Hongjoong looks around the circle and then back up to you both, echoing Mingi’s words, “we’re all listening.”

Yunho’s nervous, you can feel it, but you give his hand a squeeze and look up as he starts to speak, “Someday,” he offers, “you’ll meet your person and it will make more sense why we both acted the way we did, I don’t mean to sound like that, but I really don’t know how to put it all in words,”

Mingi’s jaw tightens, but he releases it immediately and you can see how he’s trying to keep himself relaxed and steady for his best friend now that the initial wave of anger is passed.

“We should have told you all sooner, and I know it isn’t a matter of trust, but,” He rubs at the anxious knot in his chest and you feel the echo of it, “you know how our contracts are,”

There’s soft murmurs of acknowledgement.

“You know what could happen to her if anyone,” He looks down at you briefly before looking up to Mingi, holding his best friend’s gaze, “I just wanted to keep her safe from that, for as long as I could.”

Mingi nods, his posture relaxing, “Alright,”

“What we talk about here doesn’t leave this room,” Jongho offers, laying a hand on Yunho’s arm, “that has always been true, and that includes this.”

Yunho swallows back a knot of emotion and nods, “Thank you,”

“You’re bonded already,” Wooyoung notes, not a question but an observation as he watches the two of you together.

Your hand falls away from your chest, where you were slowly massaging the same spot of anxiety, a mirror of Yunho.

“Yes,” Yunho murmurs, “I love her, I,”

“We love each other,” You finally find the strength to speak now that the tension has gone down a little, “and I’m sorry too, but it doesn’t change what we are to each other. He’s it for me,”

Seonghwa smiles first, and then San follows, “It is pretty romantic,” he says.

“Can you really feel each other through the bond?” Wooyoung asks, no longer upset but interested.

“It’s insane,” Yunho nods, a grin breaking out on his face.

“Even from far apart?” Mingi raises an eyebrow.

You nod, “I knew something was wrong tonight before he called me,” you explain, “I could just feel it.”

“Damn,” Wooyoung says, “that is insane,”

“Yeah,” You manage.

“Alright,” Hongjoong interrupts, bringing the group back to attention, “then the only thing to do is move forward. We’re a team, we’ve handled a lot of shit together. We can handle this too,”

Yunho lets out a breath of relief and manages a thank you, but Hongjoong continues.

“We need a plan, and we need one now.”

You nod along with his words, “You’re right.”

“Who knows about you two?” He asks.

“Just Iseul from staff,” You see the stricken expression on Hongjoong’s face but you calm him immediately, “she’s known since Paris, and she’s my best friend. She hasn’t said a word to anyone and is already covering for us, we can trust her,”

“Our families know,” Yunho says, “well, Gunho and her sister, anyway,”

“Would they tell anyone?” Hongjoong asks delicately.

”No,” You’re firm, “Hana understands the risks for us, she and her wife both do.”

There’s a flicker of understanding in his eyes when he hears the word wife, and he nods, “Good, that’s good,”

“And you know Gunho,” Yunho says.

“Tell me again, then,” Hongjoong sighs, “what was your plan?”

“When contracts are at year six,” Yunho releases your hand so that he can wrap his arm around your shoulders instead, “we were going to come to you, and hope that you would all be willing to do an early renegotiation. We’d come clean as part of that process and find a way to loosen the contracts for dating. We have no plans of being publicly together for a long time, but at least then we wouldn’t have to sneak around and risk our contracts because of it,”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Hongjoong says, “but by that time you’d have been together for months, it’s too risky to assume no manager will ever look into where you’ve been disappearing or notice something between you at the office,”

You nod.

“It makes the lying look worse,” Jongho adds, “if you were just dating anyone I’d say maybe don’t come clean, but you can’t help finding your soulmate.”

“Only,” You jump in softly, “we’ve never heard of an idol with a soulmate,”

Hongjoong chews the inside of his cheek, “True,”

“Have you considered you might be the first?” Wooyoung offers.

“That’s not possible,” Yunho shakes his head, “there has to be someone,”

“I mean,” Wooyoung shrugs, “not that any of us have heard of, right?”

He looks around the circle, but no one jumps in with an example, everyone stays painfully quiet.

“It’s strange there’s no clause for it,” Mingi says, “an exception,”

“It’s not,” You sigh, “could you imagine us feeling this way at twenty? Or when you were all trainees?”

“Companies don’t want us to find soulmates,” Wooyoung nods, “I wonder if this has happened before but we just don’t know, maybe companies keep it covered up?”

“Yeah, well,” Yunho’s hand tightens on you, “we’re bonded already. I’m sure some companies think they’re more powerful than a centuries old metaphysical connection, but they can go fuck themselves.”

You huff a small laugh and tuck your face into Yunho’s chest.

“Maybe let’s not lead with that,” Hongjoong sighs, “we want them to agree.”

“We’re skipping steps,” Jongho interrupts, “no matter what, if you stay together we need to renegotiate contracts.”

Yunho stiffens, but you settle him with a hand over his chest.

“A vote,” Hongjoong clears his throat, “and we need to be in agreement. Hands up for early renegotiation conversations with leadership, standing by Yunho and y/n for adjustments to the dating clauses. Remember this path is riskier, and will potentially result in months of negotiations.”

Hands raise throughout the circle, and your chest grows tighter.

Your eyes flick from member to member, each one with their hand raised regardless of how tired or angry they were moments ago.

The only member without his hand raised is Mingi.

Yunho’s arm falls away from you as he turns towards him, “Please,”

But Mingi looks straight at you and it roots you to the spot, “Are you ready for this?”

“Me?” Your eyebrows raise.

”Mingi, don’t,” Yunho warns.

“It’s going to be public,” Mingi says plainly, “at some point at least. Can you handle that? Can you ignore all the bullshit and stay anyway? Because this job is our dream, his dream, and the fans and the visibility, all of that comes with it.”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Yunho moves to step between you, as if there’s some kind of threat in the question, but you side step him.

“Yunho,” You tell him, a soft rebuke in your tone.

He stays silent.

Turning your eyes to Mingi you nod, “I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, “I don’t do the job you do. I don’t know what that amount of attention or pressure feels like, honestly, I don’t really want to know.”

He studies your expression.

“I have no interest in hurting any of your dreams, your careers, and I’ll do everything I can to protect them. But like it or not, I’m not going anywhere,” Your hands clench into fists, “and it would be nice if whatever plan we come up with acknowledges the fact that I also work at this company, I also stand to lose everything, and if the public decides to shred someone, it won’t be any of you, it will be me. I love him, I know the risks, and I am not giving him up. Is that enough for you or not?”

Mingi takes in your words for a beat and then he smiles widely and raises his hand, “Let’s do this,”

“Just like that?” Your eyes widen.

You expected more of a fight from him, but at Yunho’s relieved exhale you know he’s on board.

“Yep,” Mingi nods and then looks up to Yunho, “I always knew I like her,”

“I’m standing right here,” You cross your arms.

“Pick your battles, baby,” Yunho wraps his arms around you from behind and gives you a squeeze. Taking a deep breath, he looks up to his members, “I,” he clears his throat, “I’ll never be able to thank you all for this,”

Hongjoong brushes that off, “We’re a team. It doesn’t work without all eight.”

“Still,” Yunho presses, “thank you.”

Hongjoong nods once, “No more lies now,” he adds, “if we’re in this together, we’re in it.”

You nod and so does Yunho.

“If you’re seeing each other, one of us needs to know and we need a better cover than ‘he’s out’,” He continues.

“So contracts first?” San asks, “If we don’t know how they’ll take their bonding, it’s a wild card for negotiations.”

Everyone considers that point and Yunho nods, “It’s not odd for us to want to renegotiate early, and removing dating bans is standard for moving off rookie contracts, if we’re all in that together it wouldn’t throw any flags.”

Hongjoong considers it and then nods, “Friday after practice, we’ll meet at your apartment. We’ll put the plan together then in detail and decide what and how we want to negotiate. What we’re willing to give, what we’re not.”

Everyone nods. “If we can make some decisions, we can consult outside counsel and we can start meetings with leadership in the next few weeks. There’s no telling how long that process will take, but until then,” He looks to you both, “be additionally cautious.”

“Of course,” You nod.

“We’ll tell them about us when it makes sense to do that with negotiations,” Yunho agrees, “we’ll take their temperature first, and then come clean. We need to see what we can do to insulate y/n’s position here, and I’d rather have that conversation with the CEO directly while we have a good relationship,”

“Agreed,” Hongjoong says.

There’s a collective feeling of relief in the room, the air slowly let out of the balloon of tension, and then Wooyoung cracks through the silence with a laugh, “Holy shit,” he smiles, “one of us is bonded.”

Yunho smiles, his chest swelling with pride behind you, “I know,”

“It would be you,” Seonghwa laughs.

Yunho rolls his eyes and you look at Seonghwa with a little confusion.

“We used to call him cathedral boy,” San says wryly.

You laugh and Yunho wraps his arms around you more tightly.

Hongjoong smiles, really smiles for the first time since you got here and nods, “Alright, alright,” he checks his phone, “we have a schedule in less than five hours, let’s get home.”

Jongho nods, pulling on his beanie, “You know,” he says, “if we renegotiate now, maybe we’ll actually start getting paid,”

“That’s the idea,” Mingi huffs a laugh and everyone follows behind.

Yunho’s shoulders drop, the final bit of anxiety leaving him.

After that, the room starts to break up, everyone finding their jackets, but one by one, each of them gives you and Yunho a moment; a warm expression, a hand on the shoulder, a few words of congratulations. The anger you felt when you first walked in the room is gone entirely, and all that’s left is pure relief.

Yunho drops his lips to your head and sighs heavily, warm air tickling your scalp, “Well,” he murmurs, “we did it,”

You rest your hand over his and gently stroke his skin, “Are you okay?”

He nods, “Yeah,”

You feel the swirling emotions in him - relief, pride, hope, elation. For the first time since finding out you were fated for each other, the obstacles in front of you don’t seem so impossible to overcome.

Mingi and Yeosang are the last in the room with you both, and quietly you untangle yourself from Yunho until the four of you are in a loose square in the middle of the practice room.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Mingi says, clearing his throat, “I was a dick.”

Yunho shakes his head, “You’re good, I deserved it.”

You glance between them, but Yeosang smiles a little and interjects, “You two look happy together, we can’t deny that,”

You smile too, nodding and finding yourself once again caught by Yunho’s warm expression as he looks down at you.

“Go on,” Mingi sighs, “take her home, we’ll cover for you tonight.”

“But,” Yunho’s head snaps back up to his friends.

“I’ll bring you a change of clothes to the office,” Yeosang says, “you couldn’t sleep and went for an early morning run, right?”

Yunho nods, “Right,”

“Don’t be late,” Mingi claps his best friend on the shoulder, “now go get some sleep, you look tired as hell.”

Yunho snorts, “Thanks, man,”

“Yep,” Mingi pulls a beanie over his hair and nods to you, “take care of him.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest, “I will.”

Mingi nods again, as if to say he knows you will, and then he and Yeosang are gone, leaving you both alone in the mirrored room.

There’s nothing to say, not right now, but you fold into each other tenderly. After months of lies and panic and anxiety, you have your answers to so many questions. Yunho kisses you softly, wraps you up in his coat, and takes you home, right where you’re both supposed to be.

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