#inspired by that post i did last year (but only for the men then)

[niemernuet]

99 days *screeeeam*

[asahicore]

cold hands - psh (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact

pairing. sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis. plot plot plot what is a plot when you can just have vibes and a vague narrative direction... if you MUST know you go to your brother's hockey team back-to-uni party accidentally matching one of the members with your cowgirl barbie costume. hopelessly romantic sunghoon sees this as a sign that the two of you are meant to be together, but you're impossible to read and soon the two of you settle on an ambiguous secret friends with benefits relationship. unfortunately, conflict ensues.

genre. strangers to friends to fwb to lovers..?? its not an asahicore fic if it doesnt have fluff angst AND smut, brothers best friend, jock x nerd type vibe, slight miscommunication put your pitchforks away and hear me out pls it works out i promise, reader has ISSUES 💜 loser loverboy sunghoon, its mostly in his pov, i know nothing about ice hockey

word count. 39.5k 😂

a/n. inspired by @moonlighthoon's request for the 1k trope event! sorry it took ages to write but i hope you like it and that i met ur expectations!!!! hope everyone else enjoys it too, this is the longest fic ive ever written and im quite proud of it, pls pls pls let me know what u thought <333 shoutout to @zreamy .. good luck with your studies, thank u for beta reading and making this fic exponentially better as u always do ⭐️ credit to @/plutism for the dividers :)

Some men never think of it. You did. You’d come along And say you’d nearly brought me flowers But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts - The sort that minds like ours Dream up incessantly. You thought I might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then. Now I can only smile. But, look, the flowers you nearly brought Have lasted all this while. - Wendy Cope, Flowers

When Sunghoon falls in love, it usually goes as quickly as it came.

Just to name a few:

There had been Ahn Yujin, whose family had moved next to his when he was twelve, and whose dog got on perfectly with his. His crush on the cute girl next door grew with every walk the four of them took but disappeared the second she ditched him to walk home from school with Na Jaemin. 

A few years later, there had been Bae Sumin, who sat in front of him and always had her hair up in a ponytail he found exceedingly pretty. An appointment at the hairdresser was enough for him to stop liking her, as if his interest in her had been laying in the ten centimeters of hair she had cut off. 

In his junior year of high school, there had been Kim Yerim, a college student that tutored him in Math and English. She was three years older, but that didn’t deter him—what did was the fact that she was dating a college graduate. She showed him a picture once, and the guy had biceps probably twice the size of Sunghoon’s. He thought it was safer to give up on her than to fight such a bulky guy five years his senior. 

The first time it stuck was during his first year of college. She was his coach’s daughter and he liked the way she would smile at him when she came to watch their practice. Sunghoon didn’t like to think about her, mainly because even after she broke his heart, for a while there, he continued to love her. 

So, when he first spots you from across the room at the Welcome Back costume party thrown by his hockey team, unintentionally the Cowboy Barbie to his Cowboy Ken, he tries not to read too much into it. Barbie was a hit this summer, it’s an easy and topical costume, of course there’s a pretty girl wearing the same bright pink cowboy hat he is. It doesn’t mean she’s the love of his life.

Right?

He knows you from the pictures that littered the walls of Minjeong, Yunjin and Chaewon’s apartment last year, from Instagram posts, both yours and your friends’, from your video calls with Jake, who dragged him into the camera’s view. Say hi to my sister, he’d insist, like Sunghoon was a child who didn’t want to greet his great-great-aunt. He’d dip in to say hi as requested, ask how you were, and mumble me too like a fool when you said you heard so much about him and were excited to meet him in real life. 

These are the things Sunghoon knows about you: Jake’s older sister by a year, currently on a year abroad in Rome, studies something fancy like Classics, which he hadn’t known people still did in the twenty-first century, deep attachment to Stardew Valley in first year, rarely seen with the same man twice, very pretty. Absurdly so. He’s also weirdly obsessed over the texts you’ve sent to the group chat he was added to at the beginning of last year—scarce, short, elusive. Never more than two sentences, and always long after the conversation was over. But sometimes you’d send photos and videos out of nowhere, of your adventures or of funny things you saw online, and he always hearted them. He even replied to it sometimes (brave hahas or that’s so cool!s), in hopes that it would make you like him, would make you think, he gets me. 

The two of you have never formally yet because you left for Italy the year he started university. He’s been nervous about meeting you since the first time the group told him about you. 

Now that he is about to, he can hear his heart thumping so loudly in his ears, it drowns out the bass of the music. He’s glad he gets to see you before having to talk to you—he’s not sure he could take in your presence and form coherent words at the same time. He watches you laugh with your friends, the smile lines that form like dimples around your mouth, the strands of hair you keep tucking behind your ear. Then someone joins your group—except it’s not just someone, it’s Minjeong, her denim jacket so often worn he recognises her from the back, and he realizes the people you’re with have been Chaewon and Yunjin this whole time. The three of them have been banging on about you all year, even more so due to the fact that their replacement flatmate was dreadful, a Spanish girl who only hung out with other Spanish exchange students and looked the girls up and down when they tried to invite her out somewhere.

You turn towards Minjeong, and before he knows it, he’s in your line of sight, and your eyes meet. Confusion, then a flash of recognition goes through your eyes. He had been resting his elbow on a countertop, cider bottle in hand and watching you, he realizes, not unlike a creep, but now he stands up straight and looks around him as if you hadn’t just caught him staring. Before he can find a way out, Jake appears by his side and throws an arm around his shoulders, guiding him into the throng of party-goers and, coincidentally, closer to you.

“Dude, you’ll never guess what.”

“What?” Sunghoon says, tone coming out more irritated than he means it to. He’s just had to give up on making a good first impression on you, and he doesn’t even have the time to think of a way to redeem himself. When he dares to look back at you, your eyes are already on him, a small smile on your lips. You probably hate him already.

“My sister is dressed just like you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys came together or something. Hey, guys!” Jake calls out, and all of a sudden, it’s not just your eyes on him, it’s everyone’s. Well, to be fair, they’re also looking at Jake. But you’re only looking at Sunghoon, and he can’t look away from you either, can’t even manage the politeness to hug everyone in greeting like Jake is doing now. He watches as your eyes rake over his figure, taking him in, assessing him, and he suddenly feels awkward in his costume that matches yours, like he’s somehow overstepped a boundary, like you might think he’s asked around about your costume, found out you were going as Barbie and decided to match you so you’d think the two of you were meant together, like he had two minutes ago, and come to the fairly reasonable decision that he was the weirdest man on Earth. But then you meet his eyes, smile a kind, genuine smile, and his whole body relaxes. 

“Hey, Hoon!” Chaewon calls, arms open wide. He remembers himself and hugs everyone, even you, and he has to pretend like this is completely fine and normal, like his hands aren’t practically shaking as his arms circle your shoulders in a two-second embrace. 

You squeeze one of his shoulders, and keeping his countenance is a Herculean task. He feels like those people centuries ago who passed out at the sight of a lady’s ankle. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, peering at him over the rim of your red cup. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sunghoon feels the blush growing on his face; he wasn’t expecting so much of your attention so quickly. He takes a swig of his lukewarm cider, hoping if he seems drunk, it might explain his redness. “Good things, I hope,” he says, aware of the unoriginality but unable to come up with anything better.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’ve made you out to be a saint.” You’ve not once broken eye contact or stopped smiling—it should intimidate him, but instead, it makes Sunghoon feel like you’ve known each other for ages and that this isn’t your first conversation at all. He finds himself able to relax into a smile, and manages to meet your eyes for more than three seconds at a time.

“You don’t believe them?”

You pause, gaze zeroing in on him even more intensely than previously, smile turning smirk-like. Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat. Okay, maybe he’s not that relaxed. “I don’t know you well enough to make up my mind yet. But we’ll be seeing plenty of each other from now on, won’t we?”

This is exactly what Sunghoon has been warned about. You at parties, the way you look at guys, the way you talk to them. Sunghoon has been the audience of more than one recreation of such a scene, Yunjin pretending to be you, Chaewon pretending to be your “victim,” as the others liked to call them. Because once you had set your eyes on a man, he had little chance of making it out. Jay prides himself as being the only survivor, although he has to admit it’s only because Jake interrupted your conversation, telling him, “I see you’ve met my sister.” And Jay was not the kind of person that got off with their friends’ siblings, especially since his and Jake’s friendship was only a week long at that point, and he didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere in their dorm for the rest of the year just because his dick had gotten the best of him. His words. Whenever they were all hanging out together and they called you, one of the girls would inevitably ask if you had “turned any Italian boys into men” or if you had been “terrorizing the good men of Rome recently.” You would either roll your eyes or say this was not a conversation to be had in front of your brother.

Sunghoon had been sure they were exaggerating—it takes two to tango, as they say, and it wasn’t like you ensnared innocent men into your trap. They had to be willing, to want something from you just as much as you wanted something from them. He’d also gotten them to admit it wasn’t that frequent, that you weren’t looking for a new prey every party, just once in a while when you found someone you liked. (He’d been very quiet when Jay asked why he was trying so hard to defend you.)

But now that he is on the receiving end of your alluring smiles, he starts to understand how one could fall for you without meaning to. He knows he can’t — Jake probably wouldn’t take to it kindly, and he didn’t want to spoil the dynamic of his best group of friends at uni — but he has a feeling that ten minutes of talking to you would be enough to shake his resolve.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure we will. Jake said you studied a lot, but I’m sure we’ll get to hang out. All of us, I mean,” he quickly adds, lest you think he’s already asking you to hang out one-on-one. Sunghoon would not be that forward.

“Of course. I have to see if you did a good enough job replacing me for a year.” Sunghoon’s eyes widen, and before he can blurt out something weirdly laudatory like “I could never replace you, I would never even try, I don’t know you but you’re clearly far superior to me in every aspect and I could never even claim to fill your spot,” you giggle and tell him it’s just a joke. “If anything, I’m happy Jake has managed to make a new friend that he didn’t meet through me, that loser,” you say, and together, you laugh at Jake’s loserness, a topic that will never fail to amuse Sunghoon, although he’s not faring much better in that department. 

“Like, look at him right now,” you say, jerking your head in Jake’s general direction, somewhere behind Sunghoon’s shoulder—and that’s when he realizes that it’s just the two of you standing there, the others gone without him even noticing. Sunghoon turns around, finding the girls, Jay, and a bunch of other people he vaguely recognizes huddled around Jake. They all start chanting his name as he gulps down a giant red cup of beer, then raises the empty cup over his head in victory and crumples it, beaming at the people around him. 

“What is he doing?” Sunghoon asks, laughing at his friend.

“Jay called him over for a beer-off,” you explain. After a beat, you ask, “You didn’t notice?”

The implications are clear in your tone and in your eyes. In the smile playing on your lips, just shy of being a smirk. You didn’t notice because of me, is what you’re really telling Sunghoon—at least, that’s the impression he’s getting. And you’d be right. He was too busy talking to you and trying his best not to make a fool of himself to notice his friends leaving, too engrossed with you to register the sudden disappearance of four people. Across the room, where people have shifted their attention to yet another hockey player downing a sizable amount of beer, he catches Chaewon’s eyes, and she winks at him. Of course—leave it to Chaewon, to whom Sunghoon once made the mistake of drunkenly rambling about how pretty you looked in your Instagram posts last year, to give you and Sunghoon some time alone, “to get to know each other properly,” she would probably say. Although he isn’t sure that small talk over 2000s music counts as getting to know someone. According to the others, she and Yunjin started dating a month into their second year, so Chaewon has proclaimed herself as the goddess of dating and is now always trying to set people up. Sunghoon thinks she’s just living vicariously through her friends now that she has a Mrs. at home.

Because the filter usually at work between the part of Sunghoon’s brain where sentences are formed and his mouth is apparently on leave today, he says, “I do have a pretty distracting sight in front of me.” He’s immediately both mortified and impressed by this sudden bout of confidence, but then you look down and giggle, actually giggle, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and only pride remains. 

“So, Ken?” you ask, a cute attempt to change the subject, taking the fabric of the pink bandana around his neck between your fingers. Sunghoon wonders if you’re going to yank him down to your level, and he thinks he wouldn’t have much of a problem with that. 

He realizes that even though you should technically know each other’s names, you haven’t actually exchanged them, so in a confused but correcting tone, he says, “Um, Sunghoon.” He only belatedly realizes that you hadn’t gotten his name wrong, you were just making a comment on his costume, which he had completely forgotten he was wearing in the first place. Just as he’s about to backtrack and salvage what he can of the situation, you burst into laughter, hand leaving his bandana to cover your mouth as he hides his face behind his own hands, laughing along with you despite himself. 

“I know your name is Sunghoon!” you exclaim. The gratification of hearing you say his name takes away some of his embarrassment. “I’m Y/N, by the way. Not Barbie.”

Sunghoon nods. “Good to know.”

The laughter gradually dies down, but your smile stays the same; wide, bright, a smile that exposes your teeth and turns your eyes into crescents. Sunghoon can’t look away. He’s awash with nerves, your gaze simultaneously planting his feet to the ground like they’re full of lead and making him light-headed. His heart is beating so fast, he can barely feel it anymore. 

The two of you stand there, looking and smiling at each other, like in a cliché movie scene where everyone else at the party seems to fade into the background. He has no idea how much time has passed when you break the silence. “It really is nice to finally meet you,” you say, repeating your statement from earlier, as though you mean it more now. 

“It is,” Sunghoon simply replies, because he doesn’t know how else to express the relief of seeing you in the flesh after hearing about you and looking at a digital version of you for a year. The relief, but also the anticipation of what is to come now that he knows he likes you even more now that he’s actually seen you. And improbable as it sounds, you might even feel the same.

Sunghoon can already feel it. The beginning of something.

You nod towards his now empty cup. “Want a refill?”

Together, you make your way through the crowd of increasingly drunk students until you reach the kitchen, where the countertops overflow with open bottles of liquor of all sorts and paper plates with half-eaten pizza slices on them. He watches your every move as you find a cold bottle of beer in the fridge, a bottle of strawberry syrup in a random cupboard that you had to know was there, and a half-empty discarded bottle of lemonade on the counter. You ask him to tell you about last year, everything you missed out on, and so he does. He knows you’ve probably heard it all from the others before, but you still laugh and gasp like it’s the first time you’re hearing about any of it, all the hockey games they won, Jay getting food poisoning from the sketchy pizzeria he kept eating at, Yunjin almost getting into a fistfight with a man twice her size who was flirting with Chaewon. 

You assemble two drinks and hand him one of them. When he takes a sip, his eyes widen at the refreshing and sweet taste. “Good, right?” you say. “I discovered it on a trip to France last summer.”

“Thank God for France. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever enjoyed drinking beer,” he says.

“That’s probably because you can’t taste the beer at all.”

Sunghoon smiles. “Probably, yeah.”

You turn around, lower back against the counter, and take in the current kitchen population. “We really weren’t very original with our costumes tonight.” Sunghoon, who had not taken his eyes off of you this entire time, follows your gaze. He counts five partygoers dressed in some version of Barbie or Ken, and that’s just the kitchen. He doesn’t blame them—the fact that so many people came dressed in costumes at all impresses him, especially for a party on the 10th of September and not the 31st of October. The social committee of the hockey team just seems to really love themed and dress-up parties.

He chuckles, then takes a sip of his drink. It’s really nice. “Yeah, but we look the best.”

Your head whips towards him, eyes glinting with something that makes Sunghoon smile, even though he doesn’t know what you’re thinking. “Should we enter the couple’s costume contest?” you ask.

At the mention of couple, his eyes widen, his brain tricking him into thinking you’ve asked him out for a second. But when what you actually meant dawns on him, the first thing to come out of his mouth is, “There’s a couple’s costume contest?!”

“Mh-hm. The sign-up sheet should be around here.” 

For what feels like the millionth time since he’s started talking to you, his face heats up. “Are non-couples allowed to enter?”

“We’re Barbie and Ken. I’d say that’s enough of a couple, don’t you think?” 

Right. Because he had been thinking of Sunghoon and Y/N, while you obviously meant Barbie and Ken. In the contest, it doesn’t actually matter whether the contestants are dating in real life—it matters that their costumes match. Sunghoon knows that. He just needed a second.

He grins, deep dimples punctuating his cheeks. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Armed with your drinks, you walk around the kitchen in search of the sign-up sheet. You find it on a wall next to the dining table, which has been turned into a beer pong table for tonight’s festivities, and the sheet is almost filled with names already. Sunghoon can only hope that by midnight, when the contest is set to take place, most participants will have had too much to drink to remember it. You write your names on the list, and Sunghoon likes seeing his name in your handwriting so much he almost wants to take a picture.

“There you guys are!”

You both turn around to find Jake stumbling towards you, clearly more intoxicated than when he had left you half-an-hour ago. He rests his arms on your shoulders, forcing Sunghoon down to his height and making you stumble forwards from the sudden added weight. “I’ve been looking all over for you- You’re entering the contest?!”

For a split second, Sunghoon is scared he’s going to get scolded by Jake for trying to hit on his sister, but surprisingly, it’s you he narrows his eyes at. “Y/N, what are you roping my little Hoonie into?”

Sunghoon groans, face perpetually red at this point. Leave it to Jake to make him seem like a total loser. 

You frown at your brother. “I’m not roping your little Hoonie into anything.” Sunghoon wants to bury himself alive. “We agreed on doing it together. Right?” you ask, turning towards Sunghoon and batting your eyelashes at him. It makes him feel a bit better.

He turns back to Jake. “Right. We’re just joining forces to crush the competition.”

Jake scoffs. “As if.” He snatches the pen from your hands and underlines his name as well as Kazuha’s, the girl he came with tonight, three thick black lines that almost erases the names underneath them. “You can’t beat the hockey player and cheerleader combo.”

“Those aren’t even costumes, you guys are a hockey player and a cheerleader,” you protest.

“So?” Jake simply retorts, more attitude in his tone than he would have were he sober.

“So, that defeats the whole purpose of a costume contest.”

Jake knocks on your cowboy hat, and you immediately put it back in place, glaring at him. “As if Barbie was the greatest costume ever. Whatever, let’s just play beer pong so I can defeat you guys twice in one night.”

“You’re on, Sim.”

“You’re going down, Sim.”

Sunghoon had just been watching your back-and-forth amusedly when you grab his hand, leading him to the side of the table opposite Jake. His fingers tingle under your touch, but just like that, it’s gone. He’d rather keep on holding your hand than play this stupid game, but he isn’t opposed to taking Jake’s ego down a notch, either. The boy can barely stand straight, anyway, so it probably won’t be a very tough match.

Some guy he doesn’t recognize in a striped black-and-white referee t-shirt fills most cups with beer and a couple on each side with shots of vodka—he’s so earnest, Sunghoon isn’t sure whether he’s just taking his costume-slash-role very seriously or if he has genuinely been hired to look over the beer pong matches of the night. Some order in the brutish world of college parties, Sunghoon guesses.

Minjeong, Yunjin, Chaewon and Jay appear then, exchanging a quick look at the sight of you and Sunghoon together. The two former join your team, while the two latter join Jake’s, as well as other people that Sunghoon vaguely recognizes from other parties. But by the simple action of getting behind him, they become his most trusted allies for at least this part of the night.

You’re a terrible shot, but Sunghoon makes up for it by scoring almost every round. In his defense, he only misses when you come up close to him and whisper in his ear which cup he should go for. Your breath tickles his (oddly sensitive) ears and the combined scents of the strawberry and lemonade on your tongue and your delicate perfume make his head spin. He can barely think straight, so his aim is naturally thrown off—other than that, he makes Jay drink a healthy amount of beer. He almost feels bad for his friend, but he’d arrived late at the party and needed to quickly catch up with everyone’s level of ebriety anyway.

When the opposite team is down to their last cup, a lightning bolt of luck strikes you, and your ball disappears straight into the vodka-filled cup that Jake now has the honor of downing. 

Sunghoon gives you no time to celebrate, to gloatingly pump your fists in the air and point a mocking finger at your brother, because as soon as you make the shot, he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground. When you’re on your feet again, you spin around to find a proud-looking Sunghoon beaming down at you. You burst into giggles and high-five him, your palms perfectly clapping against each other, and he threads your fingers together. A current of electricity rushes through him, and for a second, he swears it’s just the two of you in this packed room.

The moment is cut short by the loud cheers of the others on your team as they shake your shoulders and raise their hands for you to high-five them too. Minjeong flips the other team off and Yunjin has to go hug Chaewon and reassure her it’s nothing personal. It’s really quite easy to make college students happy—or devastated. 

You raise your eyebrows at Jake, who’s busy glaring at you instead of accepting his defeat and taking his shot. With a begrudging sigh, he tips his head back and drinks the vodka in one gulp, the cheers doubling in volume when his face scrunches at the bitter taste of the liquor.

“Don’t act so proud,” he scolds you. “Sunghoon carried your team.”

“Maybe, but she made us win in the end,” Sunghoon retorts, putting an arm around your shoulder. 

Jake scoffs, frowning at Sunghoon’s hand placement before eye-rolling his gaze away. “Whatever.” He slides his phone out of his back pocket and smiles as he shows the two of you his screen. “Would you look at the time? The contest is starting soon.” Then, with an accusatory finger pointed at you, adds, “You may have won this battle, but I’m winning the war.”

He stomps away, presumably to find Kazuha before the contest starts, and it’s your turn to eye-roll at his dramatics. You grab Sunghoon’s hand that hangs off of your shoulders, and together, make your way through the crowd again to the garage, where the contest is taking place. All the alcohol he’s been drinking has definitely started kicking in by now, and he finds himself giggling at nothing with you.

When you reach the threshold, still hand in hand, Sunghoon stops so abruptly behind you that you almost stumble. You look back at him, then follow his gaze towards the garage and the sheer amount of people in there. Worriedly, his eyes take in every single one of the contenders. You let go of his hand and stand in front of him, placing your hands on his shoulders and putting on a determined expression. You’d almost look like a parent reassuring their kid before their first day of kindergarten if you weren’t so much shorter than him. “Don’t even worry about them, Sunghoon. We look better than anyone here.”

His eyebrows crease. “There’s like, three other Barbie-Ken couples here. Some of these costumes are so original. And do you see their makeup? Is that even possible?” he asks, staring at a couple in scarily realistic cosplay of Simon and Jeanette from Alvin and the Chipmunks, fur and all. He can’t look at them for too long without getting chills.

You shake your head. “Almost everyone here is either a hockey player or a… hockey-affiliated person. You’re the beloved and talented defenseman of the team and I’m the star player’s sister. They’ll love us,” you say with a smile, watching the worry dissipate from his features.

“We’re like nepo babies,” he whispers. His lips break into a grin when your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I don’t know how nepotism works,” he admits, smiling wider when you burst into laughter. “How do you know if I’m talented, anyway? You haven’t seen me play yet.”

Your eyes rake him up and down appreciatively. “I took a wild guess.”

Not unlike a cartoon character, Sunghoon audibly gulps. As a hockey player since his most tender age, and dare he say, a pretty good-looking guy, he is used to girls flirting with him, and he is even hit sometimes by the occasional lightning strike of confidence that allows him to flirt back (he still can’t believe he managed to call you “a distracting sight” without spontaneously combusting). But there’s something in your eyes, in your smile, in the way you talk—something about you that has his breath hitching and his heart racing. He doesn’t know if he wants to run away and hide in a corner or kiss you right then and there.

Heeseung, the captain of the hockey team, announces into a microphone (which Sunghoon wonders where they got the money for) that the contest will start now, so he can neither kiss you nor run away. Instead, he follows you to the side of the room where all the contestants, including Jake and Kazuha, wait for their names to be called out. There are so many participants, it takes way longer than Sunghoon would like for the two of you to step onto the makeshift stage. Judging by the looks on the audience’s faces, everyone is surprised to see you and Sunghoon together—the hockey community at your university may be big, but everyone knows everyone, and gossip travels fast. No one had seen you and Sunghoon together before, for the obvious reason that you hadn’t even met before tonight. But you could be sure that by tomorrow, as silly as it sounds, word will have gone around that you and Sunghoon had participated in a couple costume contest together. 

At least, you give them something of substance to talk about—as you and Sunghoon pose on stage, wearing your brightest smiles to please the crowd, you stand on your toes and press a kiss to Sunghoon’s cheek. Sunghoon’s eyes burn a hole in the side of your face but you just watch as the audience of drunken 20-somethings goes wild over something as simple as a peck on the cheek. Jake is the only one booing. 

Sunghoon is still in shock when the next couple is called forward and you have to step off. His cheeks are redder than before and he can’t quite meet your eyes. Apparently, he also goes wild over something as simple as a peck on the cheek. You nudge his shoulder. “See, I told you they’d like us.” 

He feels like a fourteen-year-old for it, but Sunghoon can’t stop thinking about your soft lips against his cheek, so much so that he barely says a word as the three judges deliberate. If you notice the sudden change in his behavior, you don’t comment on it, perhaps chalking it up to nerves. He’s glad for it—he doesn’t know if he could handle being teased about it, especially from you. Although he’s not sure he wants you to think he’s the kind to stress over a last-minute Halloween costume contest. 

In the end, you don’t win. He suspects it was a rigged contest all along: the couple in the unimpressive Edward and Bella costume are friends with one of the judges, probably leading to their anticlimactic victory. At least it isn’t Simon and Jeannette who win, or Kazuha and Jake, even less original than the winners. Anyway, Sunghoon couldn’t care any less. With your hand in his as you walk back to the main room in search of your other friends, he feels like the biggest victor of the night. He doesn’t even mind it when his teammates tease him about his costume and how good the two of you look together—the smile you shoot him makes putting up with it worth it. He tries to think straight, but between the alcohol and your proximity, he feels like you’ve cast a spell on him.

Jake stumbles into your group, three drinks drunker than when Sunghoon last saw him, enthusiastically reporting that a game of spin the bottle is about to start in one of the rooms upstairs, because what every college party needs is a middle-school game to shake things up. None of the guys seem particularly interested until Jake reveals that the cheerleaders are playing. 

Sunghoon looks down at you, laughing when he sees your mildly disgusted moue. “Don’t feel like playing?”

“Not really, no.” Your eyes linger on his face. “There’s only one person here I want to kiss, anyway.”

All capacity for thought leaves Sunghoon’s brain. He just stares back at you blankly, lips slightly agape, willing himself to say something but also terrified that whatever leaves his mouth might make him seem like the biggest loser ever. 

You couldn’t possibly mean him—but did you? Was he the person you wanted to kiss?

As these questions resound through his head, your gaze drops to his lips. There’s his answer. 

His heart beating wildly in its cage, Sunghoon decides to do one smart thing tonight and leans in, slowly but surely closing the gap between the two of you. Then a sudden vibration in the back pocket of his jeans zaps through him like lightning and he jumps back, as if startled out of the trance you had put him in. Shame flooding his cheeks, he checks his phone; it’s the stupid alarm he set himself earlier to make sure he doesn’t get home too late. Midnight, Cinderella-style. 

You scratch the back of your neck as your eyes dart around the room. For the first time tonight, you look embarrassed—Sunghoon is in disbelief at how pretty you look even then. “I, um,” he starts, clears his throat. “I have this thing tomorrow morning, so I can’t stay too long…” he says guiltily.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he swears that what he sees on your face is disappointment. It makes him want to take it all back, to stay here with you for as long as you want and forget about tomorrow morning. 

“Oh, right,” you say, nodding. “That’s fine. What thing?”

“Oh.” Sunghoon turns an impossibly deeper shade of red, further resembling the strawberry syrup the more he gets himself in these embarrassing situations with you. “Just… choir. I go to choir on Saturday mornings.” He looks down at his feet like he’s just revealed a secret, shameful part of himself.

You burst into laughter, and Sunghoon is scared for a second that you’re making fun of him, and his feelings are a lot more hurt than they should be by someone he just met. Although, to be fair, you don’t feel like someone he just met.

“That’s so cool! It must be such a nice change from all the dudes on the hockey team,” you say, a sweet, curious smile on your lips. Like you mean what you say. Like you might want to know more.

Sunghoon thinks he just fell in love.

He chuckles. “Yeah. Definitely a nice change. As much as I love hockey, it’s nice to do something calmer, you know. And I like singing. And the cakes the local grandmas bring.”

“So that’s what it’s all about, really.”

“Yep, you caught me.” Sunghoon still feels the almost-kiss lingering, a tension between the two of you that has him on edge. He feels like he’s just missed his bus because it left a minute earlier than planned. The opportunity is gone, and he would definitely mess everything up, trying to kiss you now. So instead, he decides to leave. Whatever must happen, will happen, even if it’s not tonight. You have the same friends—this is definitely not the last time you will see each other. “Well, I should probably head. I have to be up at eight tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow. The choir grandmas don’t play around.”

“They really don’t.”

“Well, see you around then,” you say, a clumsy laugh falling from your lips as you wrap your arms around Sunghoon’s neck, bringing him into a tight but short hug. You also smell good, he notes to himself. Of course you do.

“See you, Y/N.” Just as he’s about to turn away, you wrap your hand around his wrist.

“Wait. Sunghoon?” He’s only half-surprised at the immense relief he feels to hear his name on your lips. Like you, too, didn’t want to part with him just yet.

“Yeah?” he says, wishing the hope and anticipation aren’t too obvious on his face.

“Where’s that choir of yours?”

--

When Sunghoon arrives at his neighborhood’s community center, ten minutes before nine a.m., you’re already there. Despite the seven hours of sleep under his belt, he feels like he could’ve done with three more, and the singular cup of instant black coffee he had for breakfast was both atrocious and useless. But your smile has the restorative effect of two Red Bulls and a power nap. You look surprisingly bright, like you either managed to get a very good night’s sleep or are just the biggest morning person to ever exist.

He hugs you when he reaches you on the sidewalk, tighter than he probably should, but you return it. You smell like fresh soap and sugar. The two of you exchange quick greetings before he leads you inside the center. 

“I made some cookies as well.” You point to your tote bag and Sunghoon’s jaw slackens.

“You had time to bake?” 

“Kazuha made me take Jägerbombs, so I felt crazy when I got home. I thought it wouldn’t be fair on the old ladies if they did all the work.”

Sunghoon laughs. “They’re going to love you.”

You follow Sunghoon up two flights of stairs and into a spacious room with a wooden stage. There’s a snacks table on one side of the room that is almost fully decked with plates and tupperwares of all sorts, and although their contents remain covered by tin foil or lids, the coffee and hot water pots are free to use. Most of the chairs are stacked on each side of the room but a few have been put in the middle, the grandmas sitting and chatting there waving at Sunghoon as the two of you walk in. There are about fifteen people in the room so far, most of them older ladies, but not only. There’s a dad that came with his daughter, a couple of teenagers, and a few other adults. It’s quite an eclectic mix, and Sunghoon loves it.

Minjeong is here, too, which Sunghoon realizes he forgot to say until he sees the sheer confusion of finding someone you know in an unexpected place on both of your faces. She walks towards you, suspicious eyes darting between you two.

“Hey,” she says only to Sunghoon before turning to you, arms crossed over her chest. “And what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Minjeong, so nice to see you too!”

“I invited Y/N,” Sunghoon says quickly, although you did technically invite yourself. For some reason, he feels the need to defend you, even though he knows you and Minjeong have been friends for years now, and Minjeong is just always this blunt.

“I didn’t know this was the choir you went to,” you say to Minjeong.

“Oh, this?” She looks around the room. “It’s only the choir I’ve been going to since I was a kid. You’d know that if today wasn’t the first day you showed interest in it, ever.”

“I came to your concerts!”

One of the old ladies calls Sunghoon’s name from the snack table, and he is glad for the diversion. “Right. I’ll let you guys talk this out.” A hand on your shoulder, he smiles down at you. “I’m gonna say hi to the ladies over there. Be back in a minute.” He shoots Minjeong a look as if to say, Be normal. 

As he approaches the small group, one of them asks very loudly if you’re his girlfriend. They all burst into giggles, blushing and eager-eyed like they’re sixteen rather than sixty. Sunghoon would be endeared if you didn’t look so alarmed and Minjeong so horrified, both of you looking at him before turning back to each other and getting into a very heated and secretive discussion. He is bombarded with a hundred questions: what your name is, where you’re from, how did the two of you meet, are you together? No? But you’re so pretty! And he’s such a nice boy! He answers all of their queries to the best of his ability while checking that your conversation with Minjeong hasn’t turned physical—your arms are now also crossed over your chest, and you look annoyed while she looks like she’s accusing you of something, but at least, punches aren’t being thrown. 

Thankfully, it’s only a couple more minutes until the conductor calls for everyone to gather on stage, and a weight is lifted off of Sunghoon’s shoulders once the ladies’ collective attention is no longer on him. He isn’t sure where they came from, or why they’ve decided to make the choir rehearsal their hang-out spot, but there is always a group of women who sit there and knit while chatting quietly or listening to the songs, and they are sometimes joined by children whose parents are part of the choir but don’t want to sing themselves and apparently have nowhere else to go. Sunghoon had been so excited at the prospect of having you come see him that he hadn’t thought of how boring this might be for you, sitting with sixty-year-olds for two hours, listening to an amateur choir go through scales and sing corny romance ballads—they’re rehearsing for a wedding they’ve been hired to sing at. But as the minutes go by, his worry dissipates when the delighted smile on your face hardly falters. He can’t imagine that his choir is that good, but you genuinely look like you’re having a nice time, and it makes Sunghoon stand a little taller, sing a little louder. Your eyes are on him for most of the time, and he blushes every time your gazes meet, but he still can’t keep himself from looking away from the conductor to check on you every few seconds.   

Once rehearsal is over, everyone gathers around the refreshments table. When you tell Sunghoon that he looked good out there, he stuffs his mouth with banana bread to stop himself from blurting out something stupid. Your cookies are a hit, and so is everything else—Sunghoon would be more than happy to watch you eat as many baked goods as you possibly can and chat with the grandmas, but he has something to ask you. Without thinking much, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling you away from the table and towards him. The question that was at the tip of his tongue fades as soon as you meet his eyes, looking up at him like a deer caught in headlights, cheeks stuffed with brownie. You’re so cute that words fail him for a second, and when he notices the proximity between the two of you, takes a small, bashful step backwards. You glance at his hand still around your wrist, and he withdraws it like he’s suddenly been burned. 

A playful smile grows on your lips. “Everything alright?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I just, um, well. There’s a bus that takes us from right across the street directly to the beach, if you’re, um, if you’re interested. In going. With me. If you want.”

Your eyebrows cock in surprise, and Sunghoon thinks he’s messed it all up. You shoot Minjeong a quick, worried glance, then seem to think for a second. But when you look back to him, your smile is soft. “That sounds nice.”

An hour later, you’re running around together on the beach—or rather, Sunghoon is running around, and after five minutes of watching him with a smile on your face, he’s convinced you to run around with him. You’ve both long discarded your shoes and socks, jeans scrunched up to your mid-calves, grins so wide, your cheeks start to hurt. The wet sand is hard under your feet and the water cold against your skin. Sunghoon’s t-shirt sticks everywhere you sprayed water on him, and he knows putting his shoes on later will be a whole ordeal, but it doesn’t bother him. Even the gray September sky feels brighter because you’re standing with him underneath it. 

The water-splashing battle quickly has you both out of breath, and Sunghoon is ready to call a truce when you spot something behind him, gasping and running towards it. He turns around to find you picking up a bunch of sandcastle-building toys that must’ve been left behind by some kids. “I haven’t built a sandcastle in such a long time, this is so exciting,” you say, excitement written all over your face. 

As much as he loves seeing the glint of childish amusement in your eyes, Sunghoon keeps looking around in case the owners of these toys might appear out of thin air. “I feel like there’s something immoral about this,” he says, and you stop stacking sand into one of the toys to look at him with a confused frown. “Aren’t we technically stealing from some kids?”

“Sunghoon. If those kids really cared about these plastic toys, they wouldn’t have left them here.”

“What if they come back for them?”

“Then we’ll give them back. We’re not monsters.” That’s all it takes for Sunghoon to give in. He helps dig trenches around the towers you build, carving out small windows on them and apologizing profusely when he accidentally pokes too hard into one of them, destroying half of it. 

The second he notices you shivering, Sunghoon is on his feet, unwrapping the scarf around his neck and laying it like a blanket over your shoulders. “I’m going to get us something warm to drink. I’ll be back in a minute!” he announces before you can even protest, and practically runs to the nearest café. 

He only leaves you and the slightly pathetic-looking sandcastle alone for a minute, quickly coming back with two take-away cups of milky Earl Grey tea and a brownie that he couldn’t help himself from buying. The moan you let out when you bite into it, gooey, sweet chocolate sticking to your teeth, goes straight down Sunghoon’s spine, but he tries not to let his thoughts get too carried away.

“Good, right?” he asks, laughing when you nod fervently. When you laugh too, it’s a sound so sweet, it rivals the decadence of the brownie. “I sometimes make the trip all the way here just for this.”

“I thought I’d be done with sweets after this morning, but this is so good.”

“Better than Berta’s banana bread?”

“Oh, a hundred percent,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you speak. “Sorry, Berta. I’ll be thinking about this for the rest of my life.”

Sunghoon hopes you’ll remember him as the boy who’d introduced you to those brownies, if nothing else.

The two of you are silent for a little bit, but it’s a comfortable silence—something Sunghoon didn’t know was possible with someone he’d just met. This was something he loved about the sea: it allowed for some quiet. The crashing of the waves against the shore, the calls of the seagulls, the dogs barking after them—it all meant he didn’t need to fill the space with needless chatter. He could look out at the peaceful water, you by his side, and just enjoy the moment.

“I’m still so amazed whenever I come to the beach, no matter how many times it’s been.” Sunghoon’s voice is quiet when he speaks, lower than usual. It sounds a lot more intimate than he means it to be. You turn your head to look at him, silently asking him to go on. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes as he watches the water. “The town I grew up in is right in the middle of the country, so the sea is like, a five-hour drive. There was a lake nearby, but it was nothing compared to this. It might sound silly, but being from somewhere where everyone knows each other, I never realized just how big the world was until I came here and saw the sea for the first time.”

“You’d never been to the sea before coming here?” you ask, surprise clear in your voice. 

He shakes his head. “My hometown isn’t far from the mountains, so it’s a huge tourist spot both in the winter and in the summer, which meant my mom had to work even when my sister and I were out of school and could actually go on holiday. We’d go visit my grandparents and aunts when we found the time, but that was it.” He meets your gaze, a smile playing on his lips at the thought of his hometown and his family. “This is the furthest I’ve ever been from home.” 

The corners of your lips raise into a smile too, matching Sunghoon’s. “And how has that been going?”

He sighs. “It’s okay. I miss my mom and sister like crazy, of course, but they FaceTime me so much that I barely notice it. And anyways, it’s also nice to be on my own. Discover another part of myself, and all that.”

“For sure.” 

There’s a slight shift in your expression that Sunghoon catches onto, a falter in your smile and a hint of sadness in your eyes. He doesn’t want to force a topic that you don’t want to talk about, so he just gently eggs you on, in case all you need is a small push.

“What about you? I think Jake mentioned you guys growing up around here, only an hour or so away.”

At the mention of your brother, the smile returns to your eyes. You take a deep breath and think for a bit, but eventually, you start talking. Although Sunghoon’s eyes are on you, you keep yours trained on the sea. “Yeah, we did. We live just up the coast, so we were always hanging out at the beach. In a way, it’s nice having the sea here as well. It’s like-I don’t know.”

“Like having a piece of home even when you’re away?”

Your gazes meet for just a second, the surprise clear in your eyes, but as quickly as it came, it’s gone, and you turn away from Sunghoon once more. “Basically, yeah.” A sardonic smile appears on your lips. “Although the constant reminder isn’t always appreciated.” 

He tilts his head. When you don’t say anything further, he flicks some sand onto your hand and asks you what you mean by that. He looks at you with curiosity and kindness only, eager to know more about you, to let you know that you can open up to him, that he won’t judge you, but careful not to overstep any boundaries either. It seems to work.

“It might sound stupid, but back home, the beach was a place I could go to when it all was a bit too much, you know? Like an escape from everyday life. Where I could forget about all of the pressure on my shoulders.” Sunghoon hums, and you take another deep breath. “I don’t know if you and Jake talk about this sort of thing, but… our parents are barely nice when we do well, and pretty awful when we don’t reach their expectations. So we were like, constantly having to outdo ourselves just for them to say, ‘Keep it up’, or something like that. And if we did something wrong, well…”

You trail off, but Sunghoon knows what you mean. “Yeah, Jake said they barely spoke to him anymore because he decided to play hockey instead of becoming, like, a doctor or something.”

You smile, but it’s humorless. “Yep. They send him money, and he comes home for a bit over Christmas and summer break, but that’s it. I’ve gone home by myself sometimes and they won’t even mention him, it’s insane.”

“He also doesn’t talk about it a lot.”

“I know. I’m always the one to bring it up. I know it’s a sensitive topic for him, obviously, but I still find it amazing how well he deals with it. But me… despite everything, I still need their approval, you know?” you ask, and Sunghoon nods.

“That makes sense.”

You sigh. “I guess. And I’m obviously not becoming a doctor like them. Not a medical one, at least. It took a year of convincing them that doing the degree I’m doing was okay. ‘Cause at the end of the day, it’s still me filling in my university applications, and they can’t actually force me to go to medical school, but I still wanted them to be proud of me. Even if I study languages.” It’s quiet for a few seconds as you both look out at the waves crashing against the shore. When you start talking again, you look down at the sand, picking it up and letting it filter through your fingers. “So, yeah. Jake got a scholarship here, and I didn’t wanna be too far from home, so here we are. We’re so close to home, the sea I went to when I needed a break in high school and the sea I go to now are one and the same. And now it reminds me of my parents rather than making me forget about them.”

“I’m sorry for bringing you here,” Sunghoon says. “I didn’t think…”

You cut him off with a smile. “It’s okay. Now I’ve created new memories. Nice ones. And you know… wherever I am, it’ll be at the back of my mind. It’s up to me whether I let it affect my life or not.”

“Letting go of these things is never easy,” Sunghoon offers. “You also can’t blame yourself if it does affect you sometimes.”

When you look at Sunghoon, your eyes darting back-and-forth between his like they’re searching for something there, he feels himself tense up slightly. He can’t read you at all, has no idea what you’re thinking even as you smile and say, “You’re right.” Even as you silently link your pinky with his, gazing down at your hands with a small smile. He hadn’t realized how cold his hands were until this small touch, so small yet able to spread warmth throughout his entire body. When he speaks, he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes—he’s still so focused on where your hands touch, too aware of the skin of your finger right against his. Such a small, innocent touch. He can’t even begin to understand why it means so much to him.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you’re doing is super cool,” he says. “I’ve always been so shit at foreign languages, let alone dead languages. And packing your bags and going abroad for a year, not everybody can do that. Becoming a doctor might be hard, but it also takes a specific kind of person to do what you do. And what Jake does. It’s all valuable.”

“Now, if you could say that again while I record you to show my parents, please,” you say, making him laugh.

“It’d be my pleasure.”

“What about you?” you ask him after a small pause. “I can’t be the only one who trauma-dumps on the first date.”

Sunghoon’s breath hitches in his throat. He hadn’t even dared entertain the thought that this might be more than a platonic hang-out in case he was crossing a line—but you’ve just called it a date. With just a few casual words, you’ve changed the entire meaning of the hours you’ve spent together. He hopes you can’t tell how flustered it’s made him.

“Well, there’s not much trauma to dump, really. Sorry.” 

You giggle. “Don’t apologize. That’s a good thing.”

Now that you’ve just opened up about your parents, Sunghoon is scared that telling you about how good of a childhood he had might come off as insensitive—but you smile softly at him, holding his hand face-up in yours, tracing the lines of his palm with the tip of a finger, and he starts talking. “So, it was just me, my older sister and my mom growing up. My dad died when I was 2.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It is a bit sad that I don’t have any memories of him, but everyone who knew him said he was a great guy. And my mom’s had this boyfriend since I was like, 10? He’s the one who got me to start hockey. So it hasn’t been that bad.”

“Your mom must be really strong.”

Sunghoon smiles. “She is. She’s amazing. To raise two kids on your own while grieving and not royally fuck up is… well, amazing. She’s always been so supportive of us, no matter what we wanted to do. My sister did well at school, but I wasn’t so good. I never really enjoyed it, but she’s never made me feel bad about it. She didn’t mind that all I wanted to do was hit a puck around.” 

“And you’re pretty good at hitting that puck around, aren’t you?”

“I’m not so bad,” Sunghoon says, chuckling along with you. He’s about to go on, but he is cut off by a raindrop hitting his hand, then another one; before either of you know it, your clothes are soaked through. Sunghoon takes his denim jacket off, using it as a makeshift umbrella for the both of you as you run towards the nearest awning, shaking with giddy laughter until you forget about the chilly rain and the clothes sticking to your skin. When it doesn’t let up for another few minutes, Sunghoon suggests catching the bus back, and you agree. 

The heating on the bus is set on low, but it’s enough to warm Sunghoon up as soon as he steps onto it. You sit at the back in a corner of your own, multiple rows away from the other people onboard. The two of you are relatively quiet, lost in your own thoughts until Sunghoon, after much internal deliberating, takes one of your hands in his and interlaces your fingers together. You look up at him, but he doesn’t return your gaze, eyes fixed on the window to hide his shy smile and the blush slowly staining his cheeks. To his surprise, you squeeze his hand and rest your head on his shoulder. He freezes for a second, unsure how to react to your reciprocated affection, but he makes himself relax into your touch, and starts brushing his thumb back-and-forth on the back of your hand. The sudden storm has made day turn to night a little earlier today, and with the quiet hum of the bus, he finds himself on the edge of sleep for the whole ride—the only thing keeping him awake is his booming heart.

The bus is nearing his stop when the buzz of his phone in his back pocket jolts him awake. You lift your head from his shoulder, massaging your neck as you fish your phone out of your own pocket. Sunghoon, more intrigued by you than by whoever has texted him, watches as the brightness of your screen makes you wince. Once you’ve read the text, you turn towards him, sleepy eyes and sleepy voice as you ask him whether he’s seen “this,” referring to a text from Chaewon. dinner at our flat tonight!!! come whenever. bring drinks. 

“Oh, I forgot she was doing that tonight,” you say through a yawn.

Sunghoon chuckles. “Do you have enough energy for it?”

“I always have enough energy for Chaewon’s cooking.”

You and Sunghoon make a pit-stop at a grocery store to buy two bottles of white wine and the hummus Chaewon likes, then head to your flat. Naturally, questions are asked when you and Sunghoon arrive at the exact same time, but before Sunghoon can explain that you spent the day together, Minjeong’s head pops out of the kitchen door, and she asks whether you ran into each other downstairs. Chaewon is only looking at the both of you, waiting for an answer, so she doesn’t see the very pointed look Minjeong gives you, as if to say Agree with me or else. You quickly glance at Sunghoon then say, “Yeah, we just arrived at the same time.” When they’ve both turned away, you tell him in a hushed tone that you’ll ask her about it later. 

The girls are busy in the small kitchen and Chaewon insists that they don’t need any more help, so you and Sunghoon bring two chairs by the kitchen door and sit as Yunjin catches the four of you up on the most recent drama in her Law cohort. Jay arrives twenty minutes later, but it isn’t another hour before Jake shows up with the excuse that he was taking a nap.

“Someone would think you don’t sleep at night, with the amount of naps you take,” you say.

“Oh my God, I miss when you weren’t here,” Jake replies, flicking your forehead before promptly plopping himself down on the couch. “I was so hungover when I woke up. I had to sleep it off,” he explains as he grabs four cans of beer from his backpack. 

Chaewon always makes a point to ask how everyone’s spent their day, but today, she unfortunately starts with Sunghoon, so he doesn’t have any time to come up with anything believable other than the truth, which is exactly what he does—and when Jay asks, What, to the beach by yourself? under Minjeong’s heavy gaze, he has no choice but to say yes. He isn’t sure why it’s such a big deal that you spent the day with him, or why it needs to be kept a secret, but there must be a reason. He’ll find out later. When it’s your turn, you look straight into Sunghoon’s eyes as you say you spent the day at the library but didn’t get much work done. Everyone ignores Jake when he exclaims Boring! and Chaewon swiftly moves onto Jay.

But you don’t. 

Your eyes stay on Sunghoon, unflinchingly watching him, expression unreadable, and he finds himself unable to look away, even as he feels his face heat up and his stomach flip. Then you smile, a satisfied smirk like you got what you wanted, and shift your gaze to Jay, who’s going on and on about the first six episodes of Lost he binge-watched earlier and wondering why nobody had told him about this “masterpiece of a show” before. Sunghoon is too busy thinking about the way you’d looked at him and pondering all the reasons for it to listen carefully. He watched Lost when he was fourteen anyway.

All throughout the evening, as the seven of you eat Chaewon’s pasta dish (which she made entirely from scratch, and is probably one of the best things to have ever graced Sunghoon’s taste buds), drink, talk, and afterwards, play card games, every glance between you and Sunghoon feels like a secret conversation that only the two of you are privy to. No one except for Minjeong is aware that you spent the day just the two of you until now—and even she doesn’t know what it is you did. Within a day of knowing each other, you already share memories that are yours and no one else’s. Sunghoon is giddy with the knowledge, heart skipping every time your eyes meet, no matter how fleetingly. When you’re all saying goodbye, it takes everything in him not to hug you for an awkwardly long time and to tear himself away from you. 

He can hardly fall asleep that night.

--

For the entirety of the year you were gone, Sunghoon could only nod and smile while the others bemoaned your absence or commented on how much more fun it’d be if you were here (even Jake, after enough wine spritzers, would admit to missing you). He understood that the group dynamics might feel different to them without you around, but this particular set of people was all he knew, so he never minded it. It reminded him of people telling him how sad it must’ve been growing up without a father, trying to be empathetic, when he didn’t know how he could miss something he never had. 

But now that you’re here, he gets it. You add something to the group that he can’t quite put his finger on. It’s in your affectionate gestures towards Chaewon and Yunjin, in your shared sense of humor with Jay (which no one else seems to find funny, save for Sunghoon, sometimes), in your bickering with Minjeong and downright arguing with Jake. It’s a hackneyed expression, but you do light up a room—at least in Sunghoon’s opinion, you do. In your presence, everything feels not only more lively, but also more cohesive, like you were the missing piece of a puzzle. Like a historic work of art that has been returned to its rightful owner. 

Sunghoon just finds himself drawn to you, at times unable to keep his eyes off of you, and the only things keeping him from making a move are his inherent shyness and the eyes of your friends. He doesn’t want to mess up the friendship he has with anyone from the group, least of all Jake, just because he can’t keep it in his pants. He thought of Yunjin and Chaewon, how their relationship had gone smoothly from the beginning and posed no problem to the dynamic of the group, but he had no idea if this was replicable between you and him at all.

If he had to be honest, a big part of him was also just afraid you’d reject him.

Getting a read on you is hard, which doesn’t help. It’s been three weeks since the gang reunited, since that party where you met. The first semester of his second and your fourth year started a little bit over a week ago; Sunghoon sometimes worries that you think there is some big age gap between you and that you see him as a kid, even though, admittedly, two years is not such a huge difference. In those three weeks, there have been many encounters which could be seen as cases of flirting between the two of you—Sunghoon has noticed every single one of them and replayed each an embarrassing amount of times in his head. A hand carefully posited on his shoulder; prolonged eye contact; jokes whispered in his ear at a crowded house party; knees lightly touching at first, then pressed together during movie night. None of it ever fails to make Sunghoon’s heart flutter. You could breathe in his general direction and it’d make his heart beat fast enough to worry a cardiologist, so when you smile at him, it’s a small death every time.

And so he dares hope that his interest isn’t one-sided—although most of the time, he is so stuck between thinking none of it means anything and thinking every single thing you do is a sign that you like him, that he rarely knows what to think. And whenever you’ve paid him enough attention to make him believe it’s not all in his head, you do something that proves him wrong. Watching you interact with other people, he realizes that you keep good eye contact with everyone and that you’re just as touchy and playful with all of your friends. At parties, you hit it off with new people and catch up with old friends without so much as a hint of awkwardness. He watches as you talk to other guys, the same smile that has been making him weak for the past three weeks, directed towards them and not him. Sunghoon assumes you’re either really nice to everyone and oblivious to the fact that it could be seen as flirting, or you just flirt with everyone. 

In that sense, the two of you are complete opposites. Sunghoon, whose entire friend group hangs on the fact that he befriended Jay, who knew Jake, who knew you, Minjeong, Yunjin and Chaewon. Sunghoon who has spoken to maybe half of his hockey team outside of the locker rooms and the occasional party. Sunghoon who, outside of his usual friend group, has managed to make three other friends on his own in the year he’s been at university, because they had been put in a group project and magically hit it off enough to upgrade from classmates to friends. 

Then there’s you, who has to stop every thirty seconds at a party to say hi to someone you know. You, who still keeps in touch with the friends you made in a foreign country, even those who spoke broken English. You, who didn’t make Sunghoon feel like his crippling shyness was a problem when you first met. 

He doesn’t understand how everyone who meets you doesn’t instantly fall in love. 

Or maybe they do, and he’s just one of many vying for your heart. 

Tonight is one of the nights where all he can do is watch from afar as you interact with another man that he desperately wishes was him. With your lower back against the kitchen counter, drink in hand as you laugh with that other guy, eyes never leaving his face, it almost looks like someone has copied your time with Sunghoon at the costume party and pasted it onto this post-hockey game party. All you’re missing is a bright pink cowgirl hat and boots to match.

And yet, it’s his team jacket over your shoulders, his name and number on your back. Sunghoon shouldn’t feel nearly as jealous as he does.

So he does what any good friend would do, and blames Jay for reasons completely unwarranted—even now, days after receiving his advice, and hours after taking it, Sunghoon still can’t help but regret involving him at all. 

Initially, Sunghoon hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about his growing feelings for you—he’d thought that if he pushed them away and kept them to himself, they’d go away on their own. But clearly, they didn’t, seeing as how his stomach always twisted in nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing you and how he could never get through a conversation with you without blushing. So, quicker than he’d like to admit, he’d given in and told Jay about the day you’d spent at the beach and how felt about you now, thinking it was some big shameful secret that would render his friend flabbergasted. 

That was his first mistake. 

Jay wasn’t impressed. “Yeah, it’s been pretty obvious, dude,” he’d said through a mouthful of cheeseburger. It was after hockey practice, and they were sitting in the burger joint near the ice rink that had some of the best student deals in town. Jake was going on a Hinge date, and Sunghoon had lured Jay in with the promise of free food (Jay wanted to go home and game, but all Sunghoon needed to do to convince him was to say “I’ll pay for it”). 

“Obvious? How obvious? Does everyone know? Does Jake know?” Sunghoon asked, growing more agitated by the second.

“Jake is possibly the worst room-reader that has ever lived, so no, I don’t think he’s caught on. But the rest of us know. I mean, you look at her like a twelve-year-old with a crush on his English teacher,” Jay said, unceremoniously cramming fries into his mouth.

Sunghoon ignored the slightly humiliating remark, still preoccupied by the fact that he hadn’t been as discreet as he thought he had. He leant in towards Jay and dropped his voice to a whisper, even though the restaurant was practically empty, save for them and a group of rowdy middle school boys who were definitely not paying attention to them. “Do you think… does she know?”

Jay dropped his fist on the table in sudden annoyance, causing Sunghoon to jump back in his seat. “Now you’re acting like a twelve-year-old.” Before Sunghoon could defend himself and argue that he’s being completely rational, Jay launches into a surprisingly moving monologue. “It’s fine if you like her, there’s nothing to be embarrassed of. Everybody feels attraction towards other people, everybody gets crushes, it’s no big deal. Just talk to her. Worst case scenario, she doesn’t feel the same way, and you both move on, because you’re adults.”

There’s nothing worse than a friend being right about something you absolutely don’t want to hear. Sunghoon did feel like he had been carrying a horrible secret around, but Jay was spot-on: crushes are a very common, very human experience. And yet Sunghoon managed to feel like he was the only one who had ever had to go through this torture. “You say that like it’s easy,” he said, sulking.

“It is easy. You’re making it hard.”

“So what, your advice is just to confess to her?”

Jay rolled his eyes. “See? You’re saying confess like it’s some sin you have to repent for. Yeah, just tell her.”

“Just tell her,” Sunghoon repeated, looking at his friend like he was crazy. Jay just took another bite of his burger.

“Yeah, dude. It’s not even like you’ve known each other for a long time, so there’s no risk of ruining a friendship, or anything.”

“But do you even know if she feels the same way at all?”

Jay shrugged. “She hasn’t mentioned anything,” he said, and Sunghoon’s heart dropped in disappointment. “But it’s Y/N, she’ll be cool about it. And who knows, she might actually see something in you, for some godforsaken reason.”

Jay laughed at his own joke, and Sunghoon afforded him a chuckle. They moved on to other topics, but later, as they waited for Jay’s bus to come, he couldn’t help himself. “Do you think Jake will mind? If something happens with Y/N and me?”

Jay thought for a second. “I think he’d be more upset with her than with you, what with everything that happened with Heeseung... But knowing him, he probably won’t care as long as you aren’t weird in front of him.” He puts a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder and shakes it gently. “Don’t let that stop you from making a move, okay? You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.” His bus came then, so Sunghoon couldn't ask for more details about this Heeseung situation—he knew that there had been something between you and him which hadn’t ended particularly well, but no one ever really talked about it so he didn’t dare bring it up. All he knew was that it had been significant enough for Jay to mention it now, and for Jake to seem bothered every time it was mentioned.

He put all of that out of his head for the time being. In a way, he had just received Jay’s blessing; even if it scared him shitless, he could make a move. Perhaps not something as straightforward as Jay was suggesting, but something, at the very least. 

The first major hockey game of the season was that coming Friday. Sunghoon had an idea.

The morning of, he shot you a text. He tried to make it sound as nonchalant as he can, so that you wouldn’t know he spent close to an hour deleting, writing and pouring over a singular sentence. Can you meet me in front of the locker rooms 30 mins before the game? 

That was his second mistake.

You replied twenty minutes later, twenty minutes that Sunghoon spent questioning everything that had led up to this moment.

yn.sim i’ll be there!!

You even got there five minutes early. He was waiting for you, all decked out in his hockey uniform, save for the gloves and protective headgear. He was anxiously chewing on gum, heart doing somersaults inside his ribcage—a grin found his lips as soon as you appeared around the corner, the sight of you alleviating his nerves for a second, then doubling them when you came close. “Hey,” he said, voice soft and slightly trembling.

“Hey,” you simply replied, a smile on your face to match his as he took you in his arms. It was a hug that lasted a second longer than it should, but that also ended too early for his liking.

“Um, I only have a second, Coach will be wanting to give one of his pep talks,” he said when you separated. One quick glance back at the locker room doors behind him, then back at you. The tips of his ears burnt, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from furtively darting between your face and the floor. But he’d come this far, so he couldn’t back out now. He just had to get it over with. “Here,” he blurted out, holding out the letterman jacket he had been hiding behind his back. You grabbed it, eyeing him with amused suspicion at first, but surprise spreaded over your features as you unfurled the jacket.

“Your team jacket?” 

He couldn’t tell whether you were amazed or horrified. You stared wide-eyed at the jacket, at its dark green sleeves, at the four letters of his last name and the huge number 8 embroidered onto the back. Your surprise faded back into what he thought — what he hoped — was excitement as you looked at him. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling his face flush red. “Yeah, I just, you know… It’s the first big game of the year, and I thought it’d bring me good luck if a pretty girl was wearing my name…” he explained, repeating the words he’d practiced over and over, voice turning into more and more of a mumble as he spoke. He had planned on speaking with more confidence, but now, the fact that he could speak at all felt like a miracle.

A light giggle spilled out of your mouth. Sunghoon immediately took it for mockery and regretted every decision that had led him here. “Sorry, it was a silly idea, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it,” he said, reaching for the jacket. But you were quicker than him, hugging the thick bundle of fabric to your chest as you now beamed at him.

“Are you kidding? I love it,” you said, shrugging off your jacket and replacing it with his.

First, relief flooded his body, then pride and excitement — as you spun around and showed the jacket off — at seeing his name on your back, and his attempt at making a move being successful. At least, he thought it was clear what he meant by giving you his jacket to wear at his game—he could only hope you understood. “Well… I’m glad.” Your eyes met, and you both chuckled softly, gazes holding each other’s for a second too long. 

Two weeks ago, Sunghoon still would’ve been able to convince himself this was a fluke; that this was just another one of his crushes that a gentle breeze could blow away. Because after all, when Sunghoon fell in love, it usually went as quickly as it came. But at that moment, in front of the locker rooms, his mind solely on you and not the opening game of the season, he realized this was something else entirely. And whatever it was, he hadn’t felt it in a good long while.

He was terrified—but infinitely excited, too.

“Okay, I should probably head back in now,” he forced himself to say, but made no move to go.

“Okay.”

He paused. “Will you be cheering me on?”

Your smile widened. “Of course.”

He nodded slowly, upper body starting to turn away but feet still firmly planted on the ground. “Okay.” 

Another second passed, and just as he was about to actually walk away, you grabbed his hand. Before he could compute what was happening, you lifted your head and pressed a small kiss to his cheek. His hand was still in yours when you took a step back, and for once, it was you who looked sheepishly at the floor. “For good luck,” you explained. He had no time to reply—you were already walking away, only looking back once to wave and shoo him in the direction of the locker room. He chuckled and nodded, but waited until you were out of sight to head back into the locker room.

Inside the locker room, everyone was too focused on getting their head in the game to notice his giddy smile. Your lips had been warm and soft against his cheeks, a welcome repeat of that time at the costume party, but the quickness of it all had only made him want more. From that very first night he’d met you, the question of how your lips would feel on his had scarcely left his mind. This brought him a step closer to getting an answer, but also made his curiosity grow tenfold.

Thankfully, by the time his coach gathered them around for a last minute pep talk, he’d managed to put the distracting thoughts of you out of his head, at least temporarily—he’d need to play well, for himself and his team mostly, but impressing you was also a priority. 

As the captain, Heeseung said a few words. He reminded the team of how important this match was and went over the main strategy points. For the time being, Sunghoon was able to forget about his arguably unfounded resentment against the older boy and whatever it was he had to do with you. This was not the time for jealousy over someone he had no right to feel jealous over. 

A few minutes later, his members and those of the opposing team poured out onto the rink for warm-up. Sunghoon searched the crowd for your face—when he found it, you were already smiling wide and waving at him. His heart did something funny, but Jay punched his shoulder pad and he remembered what he was there for. He could get lost in the eyes of a pretty girl later, specifically when he’d destroyed the other team and shown her how good of a hockey player he was.

Every now and then as he skirted around the rink and did his stretches, he stole glances at you. They didn't last long, because every single time, you’d already be looking, as if your eyes never strayed from him. Knowing you were watching made him nervous at first, but by the end of warm-up, mainly because he didn’t have much of a choice, he’d turned those nerves into an ever stronger will to do well.

The moment the referee blew the whistle, and for the hour that followed, Sunghoon was locked in on one thing and one thing only: winning. He was only competitive when it came to hockey—he didn’t care about dying in an online battle game or losing to Jake at beer pong, but once he was on the rink, he had to win. Pride surged through him and filled every crevice of his aching limbs whenever he or one of his team members scored, and the feeling that came with a victory, with hugging his teammates in celebration or hearing the crowd cheer for them, was like nothing else he’d ever known. The other side of that coin meant that any loss was a tremendous disappointment. Getting beat at an important game could put him in a week-long funk. His sister had once carefully hinted at his self-esteem relying too much on his hockey performance, and although his first reaction had been to dismiss her, he knew she had poked at some truth there. But what could he do—on particularly lonely nights, he truly thought hockey was all he had going for him. 

To his overthinking nature, becoming so single-minded the second the whistle blows was a relief, a break from the stress of daily life. He didn’t have to worry about his next deadline or about what the guys on the team thought of him or about the inevitable phone call to his mom asking for more money for groceries. It was respite from the thoughts surrounding you that plagued him: how you felt about him, how you might react knowing what he felt for you, how Jake might react. Why Minjeong hadn’t wanted you to say anything that evening, but why Jay had told him to just go for it. Heeseung, whom he had to respect as the captain and an undeniably talented player, but also as someone who had had something to do with you, whether good or bad. All of it had been wildly bustling around Sunghoon’s mind, but once on the rink, all he had to concern himself with was the puck and getting it in the opposing team’s goal. 

And Sunghoon did just that—he scored the first goal of the game, another one in the second period, then a third during the eleventh hour, breaking the tie between the two teams. He smiled right at you after each one, just to make sure you had seen everything. He couldn’t quite describe how it felt to see you clap and cheer for him, jumping up-and-down, forming a megaphone with your hands around your mouth and yelling, “Go Sunghoon!” all while you wore his jacket. It was a separate kind of pride and satisfaction from the sort he’d get seeing anyone else cheer him on, for sure. 

The other team put up a good fight, getting in a few goals of their own and protecting their side well, but in the end, thanks to Sunghoon’s goal, it was his team that won. He took his helmet off and got his hair ruffled by half of his team, then shook hands with the other team, trying to contain his boastful smile—some ice hockey players flew off the handle very quickly, and starting a fight was the last thing he wanted.

Kids and local fans huddled by the barriers on each side of the player’s tunnel to get an autograph or a picture. People around here were weirdly attached to their university sport teams, and the athletes on teams that did particularly well — namely football and rugby — were sort of local celebrities. Their ice hockey team wasn’t quite at that stage yet, but they were placing better nationally with every year, and so the local interest had grown. More kids had started signing up for lessons, and their parents often brought them to home games. As Sunghoon chatted with men twice his age and took selfies with ten-year-olds, he tried to find you in the crowd, to no avail. He’d been hoping for a thumbs-up from you for a game well played, or even a hug, but you were nowhere in sight.

It wasn’t until half-an-hour later, after saying bye to all the fans that had waited after the game for them, listening to Heeseung and their coach congratulate them (but also remind them to not take anything for granted), showering and changing, that he got to check his phone.

chaewon we going k-bbq! u guys played well see u later at da party!!!!

Disappointment only had a second to sink to the bottom of his stomach. He’d barely finished reading the text when he was hoisted up by the shoulders. Two of his senior teammates, Soobin and Beomgyu, marched him towards the exit. “We are getting you wasted tonight, Park,” Beomgyu announced, a wide grin on his lips.

“I have a good feeling about this season,” Soobin added. Sunghoon looked back to find Jay and Jake simply shrugging and laughing at him.

Indeed, the second they got to the dorm where tonight’s party would be taking place, a beer was thrusted in his hand. It was only 7 p.m., still light outside, but that didn’t stop the team nor their friends that had come to the game. They sipped beer like it was water, so much so that two hours later, when the party started to grow, Sunghoon was already quite inebriated. It didn’t help that his cup was never empty for too long, and that he had the reassurance of being in his own dorm—it was the closest student building to the ice rink, and so was one of the prime spots for hockey parties. He could get as drunk as he wanted — or as Beomgyu wanted — and still get home in less than a minute. 

He somehow ended up in the corridor, part of a nonsensical conversation about candle-making with two guys he had recognized from one of his Phys Ed classes but could not for the life of him remember the names of. One had shared that candle-making was a big hobby of his, and it had made Sunghoon and the other unknown man lose their minds—Sunghoon had never realized how curious about candle-making he was, but he couldn’t stop asking questions. It sounded great. Maybe he’d have to pick up candle-making, too. 

Eventually, he headed back to the kitchen for a new drink. For the nth time this evening, he thought of texting you, then immediately thought against it. He wanted to know when you’d get here, but he didn’t want you to know that he wanted to know—although as the night deepened and his intoxication rose, he could remember less and less why that would be such a bad thing. He stepped into the kitchen, and going from the brightly-lit corridor to the dark kitchen with flashing neon lights made him so dizzy that he made a beeline for the couch, needing to sit down for a second.

And that was when he saw you.

Lower back against the counter, talking with a guy he’s never seen in his life. You look like you’re having fun—smiling, laughing, keeping eye contact with that guy. You’re still wearing his jacket. It should probably reassure him—his name is literally on you, what does it matter that you’re speaking to someone else? But instead, all he can think is that wearing his jacket must mean nothing to you. What was basically a confession from him seems to have fallen on deaf ears.

His friends’ words over the past year come back to him—how much you flirt with people, how it wasn’t a rare occurrence for you to go home with a guy after a party and never speak of him ever again. Was this what was happening here?

He knows it’s unreasonable, but in his drunken state, he takes it as a betrayal. Like he can’t believe you haven’t read his mind, figured out how he felt about you, and decided to give special attention to him and him only. He’s only able to take it for so long—two minutes later, he trudges out of the room, walking right past you but not looking your way.

His new mission is to find his friends, but before he’s done much searching, he hears his name being called out. Of course, he recognizes your voice immediately, but he doesn’t quite believe it until he looks over his shoulder, and there you are, face glowing and smiling wide. You’ve clearly had a few drinks, but he likes to think you’d be just as happy to see him if you were sober. He turns around to face you, watching as you narrow the distance between the two of you. He’s not in a much better state—the simple thought that you had come after him makes him forget any sort of resentment he held against you a second ago. When you reach him, he holds on to one of your arms, as much an effort to stabilize his swaying body as an excuse to touch you.

“Hey,” he simply says. He’s always at a loss for words around you, so scared he’ll say the wrong thing that he ends up barely speaking at all. He’s only sober enough to know that with all the cheap beer and vodka running through his blood, his odds of making a fool of himself are even bigger. 

“Hey. I was wondering where you were.” 

“You’re the one who came late.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “I wanted to come right away, but Chaewon was hell-bent on getting her Korean barbecue.”

“She does get cranky when she hasn’t had pork belly in a while.” Sunghoon feels like he’s just won the Nobel Prize when you let out a laugh. “Was the food good at least?”

“It was amazing. So worth getting here late,” you joke.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “I see how it is.” Then, before he can stop himself, he adds, “Then we should go there together next time.” 

Your smile changes, turning from cheerful to surprised, but amused—almost mischievous. You take a step forward. Sunghoon gulps; the gap between the two of you was narrow to begin with. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Usually, this type of straight-forwardness would have him stuttering, but drunk Sunghoon is a man sober Sunghoon barely recognizes in the morning. “Yeah. I am. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Mh-hm.”

“Nice. Okay.” For a second, you just look at each other. Another thing about drunk Sunghoon: he doesn’t feel like prolonged eye contact will make him spontaneously combust. He actually quite enjoys it. He also stumbles, even when all he’s doing is trying to stand straight. “You’re still wearing my jacket,” he eventually says, reaching out to take the end of your sleeve between his fingers.

You stretch out your arms and appraise the team jacket as if you only remembered you had it on. “Yeah. It’s comfy.”

“It looks good. You look good.”

“You’re not quite sober, are you?” you ask suddenly. 

“Is it that obvious?” When you nod, he giggles, lowering his head in defeat. “The guys made me drink so much.”

“You did score three goals after all. And you looked good doing it.”

At the praise, he stands up to his full height and places his palms behind his head in a victorious pose. “I did, didn’t I?” he says, looking off in the distance with a self-assured look that makes you burst into laughter. He drops the confident facade and laughs along with you, until somebody bumps into him and sends him stumbling forwards. If you weren’t standing there to catch him, he’d probably have fallen flat on his face. But even though he doesn’t fall, he feels all the alcohol catching up to him and threatening to come right back out where it came from. You hold him for a second, and just as you ask him if he’s okay, he says, “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

You sigh. “Okay. Where’s your room?” 

Arm under his shoulders, you let Sunghoon lean most of his weight on you as you guide him towards the elevator. It’s just one floor, but you said you didn’t want to risk the stairs with him. “Hey, who was that guy with you in the kitchen? That guy in the striped shirt? You guys seemed real chummy back there…” he mumbles as you help him out of the elevator. Even on the verge of sickness, Sunghoon is preoccupied by more important things.

“Oh, that was Jaemin.”

“Jaemin,” he echoes, more venom in his voice than needed.

You look at him, taking in his disgruntled expression, and chuckle. “Yeah, he’s having some problems with his boyfriend. He asked me for advice.”

Sunghoon almost freezes in his tracks, but you’re there to keep him walking towards his room. “Oh. He has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah…” He can tell you want to tease him about it, but thankfully, you say nothing. He’s made it clear he had gotten jealous of your gay friend—no need to spell it out in so many words. Once you reach his studio (which he’d stupidly left unlocked), he heads straight for the bathroom, locking himself in, half out of embarrassment, half because he really doesn’t want you to see him throw up. Talk about a turn-off. He leans over the toilet bowl, waiting for the vomit to rise, but nothing comes. He waits, and waits, mind completely empty, head spinning even though he’s sitting very still, when suddenly a knock on the door pulls him out of his stupor.

“Sunghoon? It’s been ten minutes. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t say anything, just unlocks the door for you. Without realizing, he fell asleep like a bored teenager in math class. “All right,” he hears you say.

He’s surprised you’re able to carry him out of the bathroom—if he was a deadweight before, by now, rigor mortis has practically set in. Despite his small student room, crossing it takes you an entire minute, and when you reach his bed, you all but let him flop on the mattress. He doesn’t mind. As soon as his body hits the bed, he feels quite snug, curling against his blanket. You start to unbutton his shirt, probably just thinking he’s already fallen asleep and wanting to make him more comfortable, but your fingers freeze when he starts giggling. Shoulders shaking with unbridled laughter, he feels as delighted as a five-year-old who just said a naughty word and made all his drunk relatives laugh at the family dinner. 

“I know I looked really hot tonight, but can we wait until I’m sober?” he asks, slurring his words slightly and keeping his eyes shut, despite the shit-eating smirk on his lips. You hit him on the chest but it just makes him laugh more.

“Bold of you to assume I’d still hit when I’ve just had to peel you off your toilet seat.” He lets you finish helping him out of his button-down. 

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks. He tries to look at you, but his eyes don’t quite open all the way, and they don’t focus properly, due to a strong mix of alcohol and inappropriate thoughts. Of you, specifically. His body feels suddenly very heavy, his want for you weighing him down into the mattress. The room is dark, your face illuminated only by the light in the bathroom and the glow of the street lights outside. You always look pretty, but your beauty is especially breath-taking right now, Sunghoon thinks. He wants to reach out and touch your face, wants to trace your jawline and know what your skin would feel like against his fingers. He doesn’t realize he’s actually doing it until he hears you inhale shakily.

The expression in your eyes is unreadable, and quickly gone, replaced by an annoyed squint. You grab his wrist gently, setting it back down next to him. “I’m gonna make you some ramen. You need to sober up, and you haven’t had dinner, have you?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. He feels rejected, and it makes him inordinately sad.

For five minutes, he watches as you rummage around his cupboards for a pack of ramen, fill a pot with water and bring it to a boil. His thoughts float back to your day at the beach, memories that he’s preciously held onto for the past few weeks. You running around on the sand, opening yourself up to him and letting him open himself up to you, holding his hand on the bus. That day, he’d really thought it would be the beginning of something new; but as time passed, he became less and less sure of himself. He’s scared it might’ve just been a fluke, and that he’d have to destroy the castle he’d built in his head. He’s seen you almost every day since, but it’s never been the same. And even if your eyes met unexpectedly sometimes, or if you went out of your way to sit next to him during movie nights, he can’t let himself go on with so few signs. Jay was right—he had to be clear about his feelings, otherwise this would go on forever. Even if it didn’t feel like it, the Earth would continue spinning on its axis if you didn’t reciprocate.

“I’ve missed you.”

You pause in your movements. “Missed me? But we’ve seen each other every day,” you say after a few seconds, still facing away from him. Your voice is softer than he’s heard it before, almost unsure of itself.

“No,” Sunghoon whines, frowning. He can barely keep his eyes open—he wishes you could read his mind so he wouldn’t have to explain, but alas. “I miss you—the you from the beach. When it was just me and you. It’s not the same with the others around.”

Silence falls over the room again. Sunghoon wonders if you’re just going to ignore what he said, until you take a deep breath, and walk back to his bed. You crouch in front of him and take both of his hands in yours. Electricity flows from where your hands touch to the rest of his body. He suddenly feels a lot more awake.

“It’s just the two of us now,” you whisper. 

Sunghoon nods. “I know. It’s nice.”

You smile. It might be the alcohol playing tricks on him, but Sunghoon swears there’s a hint of sadness in your eyes. One of your hands comes up to his hair. You thread your fingers gently through it, pushing it away from his forehead, then bring your hand down to the side of his face, your palm cupping it tenderly. Sunghoon lets himself lean into your warm touch. With his eyes closed, the darkness surrounding him makes this feel like a dream—he basks in the moment so as not to let a second of it go to waste.

“Do you wanna do something just us two this week?” you ask softly. His eyes shoot open—he needs to be sure this is really happening. He nods again, fervently this time, and it makes you chuckle. “Okay.”

“Just us two?” 

“Just us two.”

He relaxes once more. He guides your hand towards his mouth and presses his lips against your palm. Something shifts in your eyes—Sunghoon thinks the opportunity to finally kiss you has arisen, but as soon as his gaze drops to your lips, you’re back on your feet. “Let’s eat some ramen, shall we?” you ask as you head back towards the kitchen. Sunghoon tries his best (and probably fails) to not let his disappointment show.

There’s no dining table to speak of, only a low table near Sunghoon’s bed, on which you set down a wooden board and the steaming pot of spicy noodles. You hand him a pair of chopsticks and a spoon, and tell him to eat. Neither of you say much for a while, and Sunghoon grows redder and redder under your watchful gaze. He asks if you want any a few times, but you always turn him down. The silence quickly gets a little too unbearable for him, and he’s got a question burning the tip of his tongue anyway. Now’s as good a time as ever to ask it.

“Something’s been bugging me recently, actually…” You wait for him to go on. “So, at the costume party, right?” You nod. “You said there was only one person you wanted to kiss… Did you mean me?”

You tilt your head, looking at him like you’re trying to figure out whether he’s joking or not. “Yeah, Sunghoon… I meant you. Who else?”

He’s only half-relieved. “So why won’t you kiss me now?”

To his surprise, you smile. “Because you’re drunk.”

Confusion fogs Sunghoon’s brain. Is that all you’re worried about? Is his blood alcohol level the only thing stopping you from kissing him? “But I-I’m fine. I give you consent to kiss me, Y/N.” He’s dead serious, so when you laugh, it only frustrates him further.

“Finish your food, Sunghoon. We’ll see about kissing later.”

He sighs. Later he could deal with. “Fine. But I’ll hold you to it, okay?” he says, pointing a menacing chopstick at you.

“Okay.”

But Sunghoon can’t keep quiet for long—ten seconds later, he’s remembered another question he’s been dying to ask. He continues drinking his soup in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “So what happened between you and Heeseung?”

The question takes you so off-guard, you look like you would’ve done a spit-take had you been drinking water. “That’s-you know about that?”

“Well, not much, that’s why I’m asking.”

You scoff. “Why do you want to know? It’s boring.”

At those words, Sunghoon whips his head up to look at you. “It’s not boring!” he exclaims, perhaps a tad too vigorously. “Anything that has to do with you is interesting to me.”

Finally, the corners of your lips rise. Sunghoon hated the ten seconds in which you weren’t smiling. “Well, there isn’t much to say, anyway. We had a thing when we were in second year, I caught feelings and wanted more, and he didn’t. The end.”

Sunghoon freezes, staring at you with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth agape. He then sets his cutlery down neatly next to the pot of ramen and clasps his hands together like he’s in a business meeting. “So you’re telling me that he had the opportunity to make you his girlfriend and he just… didn’t?”

You shrug. “Basically, yeah.”

He hits the bedsheets next to him, huffing out in annoyance. “What an idiot.”

“He sure is,” you say. You smile to yourself as you grab Sunghoon’s spoon and try some of the broth. He wonders whether anything lies behind that smile. “But it happened a while ago. Don’t be weird with him on my account. He’s still your captain.”

Sunghoon thinks for a second. “Can I side-eye him once in a while? Or not pass him the puck during practice?”

“Sure,” you reply, laughing. You swiftly move on to other topics as Sunghoon slurps the last of his noodles, asking him about the beginning of the party and just how much his teammates made him drink. He’s recounting the shot contest they held, which Mark won with an impressive seven shots of tequila in a row — Sunghoon hopes the boy is okay now — when your phones buzz at the same time. Minjeong’s name appears on your screen, Jay’s on his, both asking where you are.

“Should we head back now?” you offer, although Sunghoon, wishfully perhaps, detects a trace of reluctance in your voice. “You look like you’ve sobered up a bit, seeing as you’re able to string more than two sentences together.”

“I wasn’t that bad!”

“I should’ve filmed you.”

It’s one a.m. when you head back down, and the party is in full swing. Pop music blasts through someone’s JBL speaker in the shared kitchen, the hallways are more crowded than the subway at rush hour, just as full of hockey fans celebrating their team’s win as students who just wanted an excuse to party, and every window is open to alleviate some of the stuffiness. They probably have another hour left before the dorm residents who decided not to join in the festivities call campus police on them.

Sunghoon is relieved to find that Jake is off with other team members, reaching levels of drunkenness that will most definitely be regretted in the morning. Technically, he hasn’t done anything wrong—he simply let you nurse him back to sobriety after he almost regurgitated his pre-game protein bar and three beers all over your nice shirt. Chaewon and Yunjin are busy making out in a corner, their lack of decorum only increasing when they’ve been drinking, but Jay and Minjeong eye you suspiciously upon seeing the two of you arrive together. You explain what happened so casually that they don’t question it any further.

Chaewon and Yunjin only tear themselves off of each other when a Beyoncé song starts playing, and they drag all four of you to the makeshift dancefloor, which is really just three meters away in the middle of the kitchen. Sunghoon is practically all sobered up by now, but he’s loosened up enough not to feel self-conscious with every step he takes; the fact that you look so happy, dancing with him and laughing at his silly moves, is a considerable bonus. He won’t drink any more, not wanting to risk embarrassing himself further in front of you, and Jay, as the group’s self-proclaimed health guru, probably had his last beer around nine p.m., but the girls, each of them with a cup of suspicious transparent liquid in hand, are getting drunker by the minute—and so is Jake, who has now joined you all on the dancefloor, if his inability to stand straight is anything to go by. Sunghoon assumes you’re also done with alcohol for the night, until you turn to him in the middle of a song no one has heard since 2015 and tell him you’re going to get a drink.

“Okay!” he simply answers, and for a good thirty seconds, basks in the blissful satisfaction of knowing he was the one you informed of your whereabouts. That is, until he realizes a minute later that it was probably a covert invitation for him to come along, which he totally missed. But when he looks over at the counter where all the drinks are, his heart drops—Heeseung is standing in front of you, pouring gin and lemonade into your cup. A flurry of emotions course through Sunghoon, emotions he has no idea what to do with, because he’s not sure they’re entirely warranted. He’s angry that Heeseung is talking to you, after what he did, confused that you’d let him; but mostly, he’s jealous. But he knows it’s only because he has no guarantee that you like him, and that you won’t go off with Heeseung, despite having just talked about how you were over him.

Wait—is that really what you said? You told Sunghoon that what happened with Heeseung didn’t bother you anymore, which doesn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t go back to him, given the chance. 

Before he can think it over a second time, Sunghoon heads over to where you and Heeseung stand. He places himself right behind you, reaching for a bottle of Coke on your side and pouring himself a drink.

“Oh, hey, Hoon,” his team captain says, clearly surprised to see him there and looking so discontented. Sunghoon can’t remember whether they’ve ever been close enough for Heeseung to call him by his nickname. “Having fun?”

“Yep,” he curtly replies, avoiding eye contact with either of you and looking out at the crowd of party-goers instead. He can feel your gaze, heavy on his face, can see the knowing smirk slowly rising on your lips. How was it that you could see right through him so easily?

“Too much dancing made you thirsty?” you ask, taking a drink from your cup and hiding your smile behind it.

He glares at you, more annoyed that his attempt at subtly sussing out what you and Heeseung were doing together was shut down so quickly than anything else. “Yep,” he repeats.

“You guys know each other?” the older boy asks, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Jake introduced us,” Sunghoon quickly answers. To his surprise, this makes Heeseung chuckle.

“Jay, Sunghoon, me… Wow, do you meet all your friends through your brother, Y/N?” he asks jokingly. Immediately, so many alarm bells ring in Sunghoon’s head—the implication that you and Heeseung are friends, the fact that he put himself and Sunghoon in the same bag, and above all, that teasing, almost flirtatious tone of his. 

He’s horrified to find you rolling your eyes playfully and saying, “I have other friends, thanks,” in a tone far too similar. At that moment, Minjeong starts yelling about how much she loves everyone in this room but particularly “you guys,” pointing to Jake, Jay, Minjeong and Chaewon, and “you guys, too!” screaming over the music as she points to you and Sunghoon.

“There’s one of them,” you say, half-amused, half-exasperated. “We should probably go check on her. See you around, Heeseung.”

“Right. See you, Y/N. Sunghoon.” 

Back to no-nickname basis, apparently.

Your group’s indicator of when it’s time to go home is when Minjeong starts one of her “I-love-my-friends-so-much” rants—if she’s that drunk, everyone else must be wasted. Indeed, Chaewon and Yunjin are holding onto each other to keep themselves from falling down, and Jake is unable to keep his head up. You, Sunghoon and Jay herd your friends outside and wait for Jake’s Uber, making sure to get him safely inside and to tip the driver generously for his pains. Jay lives nearby yours and the girls’ flat, and Sunghoon, ever the gentleman, walks you all home.

“Just ‘cause you and Jay might need a hand getting these three home,” he tells you. Yunjin, Chaewon and Minjeong are currently running around on the road, pointing and laughing at random shop names, and Jay is yelling at them to get back on the sidewalk.

“Mh-hm.”

“And it’ll be good to completely sober up before going to bed.”

“Right.”

There’s no use putting up a front with you—he’s an open book and you’re an avid reader. You don’t need to say anything to make it clear that you know it’s just an excuse to spend more time with you.

“You know, I told you not to be weird with Heeseung,” you say, gently punching him in the arm.

“Was I weird?” he asks, knowing fully well he hadn’t acted at all like he usually did around his captain. 

“You basically only spoke to let Heeseung know we’re friends. You were making yourself all tall and looking mysteriously out into the distance instead of at us.”

“But I am tall and mysterious,” he says, pride coursing through him as it always does when you laugh at one of his jokes.

“You’re probably the least mysterious person I know, Hoon.”

Hoon. How much sweeter that name sounds coming from you over anyone else.

“So you agree that I’m tall?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin on your face. A win is a win. “That’s just a fact.”

Sunghoon smiles victoriously. “I’ll take a fact. But I’m sorry if I was acting weird… I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t bothering you.”

“Heeseung is always bothering me,” you say with a sigh. “He comes up to me like this at every party. He’s just asking how I’ve been, but it’s like he’s sussing out whether or not he’s still got a chance.”

“Do you need me to beat him up? Threaten him? Dox him?”

Even though Sunghoon was only half-joking, you burst out laughing, hard enough for Minjeong to whip around and shout, “What are you laughing about?” as if you had offended her personally. At least Jay is there to make her turn around and focus on walking straight.

“I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be needed. I just don’t like talking about it, ‘cause it’s really not that big a deal anymore. It feels like digging up old bones, you know?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “I’d commit grave robbery with you.”

“You-what?”

“Nevermind. We obviously don’t have to talk about it, but I’m curious.”

You sigh. “I guess it’d make sense for you to know about this.” Sunghoon thinks he sees something like panic flash across your features, but it’s so quick and such a rare expression on you that he’s not sure whether he just imagined it. “You know-just ‘cause everyone else is aware of it, and everything,” you quickly explain.

“Sure.”

“I just… I’m sure Heeseung is a nice guy when it comes to other things, but what the girls and I have concluded is that he’s a bit of an attention whore, you know. When it comes to girls. We fooled around for a while, and he never made it official, even when I made it pretty clear that that was what I wanted. But every time we saw each other after that, he’d flirt with me like nothing had happened. I fell for it at first and flirted back, thinking he had changed his mind… but he really just wanted to make sure I was still into him.”

“Looking for validation,” Sunghoon says.

“Exactly. And when I realized that, I stopped giving it to him. I was getting tired of him anyway, saying the same thing every time. But now, I entertain him for a couple of minutes before I walk away. I shut him down before he gets a chance to do it to me.”

“That’s smart.”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “I understand the need for validation, but he won’t be getting any from me.”

Jay bravely handles the three drunkards the whole way home, letting you and Sunghoon hang behind and carry on talking. You reach the boy’s apartment first, and yours five minutes later. But when you reach your front door, Minjeong announces she needs to talk to Sunghoon. “Privately,” she emphasizes.

You give Sunghoon an amused look and shrug as if to say “She’s your problem now.” He doesn’t have time to protest before you’ve bid him goodnight and disappeared behind the door, Yunjin and Chaewon in tow, yelling good night at Sunghoon like they’re not going to see him for months. 

Minjeong places her palms flat onto Sunghoon’s torso and looks right at him—to the best of her ability, at least, considering she’s having a hard time focusing her eyes. “Sunghoon,” she says gravely.

“Minjeong?”

“Listen, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” she says, slurring her words. “You know I love Y/N, she’s amazing…”

“Yeah, she is,” Sunghoon says firmly—already, he can tell where this is going, and he doesn’t like it.

“But she’s not the best with relationships.”

“What do you mean?”

Minjeong’s hands drop by her sides and she exhales deeply. “I’ve just never seen her in a committed relationship in the-in the almost four years I’ve known her. She never lets things get serious. She’s just so afraid of being hurt, Hoon, and I-” 

A hiccup escapes Minjeong’s lips as tears start pooling in her eyes. Sunghoon has only ever seen Minjeong cry when drunk—even movies that had him sobbing barely made her eyes water. Even if she isn’t in her right state of mind, he knows it means this must be important to her. He holds her arms and tries to put on the most reassuring tone he can. “But I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“No, I know that. I’m scared you’d get hurt. I don’t want things to become weird between all of us.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “Minjeong, what-that wouldn’t happen.”

“But it will!” she exclaimed. “If something happens with you and her, and it doesn’t work out the way you want it to, it’ll make things awkward-”

“If that happens,” he interrupts, “I’ll deal with it. I won’t make it your guys’ problem. Y/N and I are adults, okay?”

“You’re like, nineteen…”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll be fine.” He takes a step back and opens the door for her to get in. 

She’s only on the first stair when she turns back around. “But, Hoon-” she tries, though he cuts her off.

“Minjeong, I promise-”

“Just don’t rush into anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Go inside.” 

She complies, giving him one last look before climbing the stairs to her apartment. Sunghoon closes the door behind her, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

--

Sunghoon is on his way home from hockey practice when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

yn are you still up for doing something this week?

He almost throws his phone in the air in celebration, as if it was a graduation cap. His Sunday was spent going back-and-forth between lapidating himself for his drunken stupidity, memories, rough as stones, hitting him in the face every time he thought of what he said and how he acted, and congratulating himself for having finally made his feelings for you somewhat clearer. Hopefully, you now know he isn’t just awkward and silent around new people—well, he is, but it’s worse with you.

She never lets things get serious.

Minjeong’s warnings echo in his head as he types a positive — although not over-enthusiastic, ‘cause that’d be uncool — answer, but he dismisses them easily. Perhaps he shouldn’t; Sunghoon is, after all, incredibly serious about any and all romantic encounters. The girl at the grocery store who reached for the same red bell pepper as him was the most serious thing to him in the world for a good ten minutes; all of his school crushes were of utmost importance to him, however long they had lasted.

So this? This is capital-s Serious. But therein lies the problem; he’s so serious about you that he’d let you not make it serious. If Minjeong is right, and you’re not planning on taking this nearly as far as he wishes for it to go, he can already tell he’ll just let you. He’ll probably be happy you wanted anything to do with him at all. 

He has ways of reassuring himself, of convincing himself he isn’t a totally lost cause. Because when Sunghoon falls in love — and he had an inkling this was what this was — it usually goes as quickly as it came. Who’s to say this time next week he won’t have completely moved on? Maybe this date that he’s agreed to will go horribly wrong, you’ll be rude to the waiter, you’ll spill tomato sauce all over your shirt, and the flame in his heart will be put out. Easy as that.

You decide to meet on Wednesday evening, two days from now. Sunghoon suggests a Japanese restaurant he likes, a place he had gone to with his mom and sister when they had dropped him off at university before his first year, and that he knows is nice enough for a date but won’t burn a hole through his wallet.

Seeing you at the library the day before is a real thrill. Nobody but you knows of your plans—at least not until he caves in and tells Jay about it, who congratulates him with a roll of his eyes and a pat on the head. All of your eye contact feels loaded with the kind of complicity that comes with sharing a secret. As much as he would love boasting about it to every soul who’d listen, this secrecy electrifies him—it binds the two of you with something much more real than before. At least, more real than Sunghoon’s imagination and one-sided feelings. He knows that your text wasn’t in any way a confession of your own feelings for him, but it’s a step in the right direction.

In the few hours before your reservation at seven p.m., Sunghoon spends so much time thinking about the date that he’s almost late for it. He thinks about his expectations, then tries to get rid of them; he comes up with ideas of what your expectations might be, remembers Minjeong’s words, dismisses them, remembers them again; he goes through scenarios upon scenarios of everything that might go wrong and everything that might go spectacularly well. He ends up with less than twenty minutes to get ready, but manages to arrive at the restaurant a minute before you.

When he sees you approaching, Sunghoon feels like one of those boys in Disney movies as they watch their girlfriend coming down the stairs in her prom dress. You’re not wearing an over-the-top poofy purple dress, but the effect is the same—his eyes are glued on you with every step you take towards him.

You grab him by the arm and lead him into the restaurant as soon as you reach him. He’s too busy taking in your appearance to be bothered by it. “Don’t look at me like that,” you chide as you wait for waiting staff to seat you. He’d actually think you were mad at him if it wasn’t for the small smile playing on your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like what you’re doing right now! You’re staring.”

Realization slowly dawns on him; your gazes have made him lose his composure too many times for him not to know what being flustered looks like. He’d be lying if the fact that it was you in this tight spot and not him didn’t heavily stroke his ego. 

“Why wouldn’t I? You look beautiful,” he says, dropping his voice to a whisper so that the approaching waitress can’t hear. Her presence saves you from responding verbally, but as she brings you to your table, you pinch his arm lightly as if to say Be on your best behavior—although Sunghoon would argue this was his best behavior.

You have trouble making up your mind about the food—you want to try everything on the menu. Sunghoon tentatively offers to order a bunch of dishes and share them. “It’s what my family always does at the restaurant, just try as much as you want and take the leftovers to go. We never ate out very often because my mom would spend so much money every time,” he recollects, smiling fondly.

“That actually sounds like a dream. My parents would never do that. It was always just eat what you got, but I’m unable to look at someone else’s food and not want to try it. It honestly should just be common practice to share dishes at the restaurant.”

Sunghoon thinks he could get down on one knee right then and there. Whenever they went out to eat, the boys would roll his eyes at him when he stole bites of their food. But you—you’re like him. He knows he’s prone to over-exaggeration, but he can’t help but feel like if you understand each other on this, you must understand each other at a molecular level.

He had expected a level of awkwardness to your date, at least at the beginning — God knows the moments in which he doesn’t feel like a mumbling fool in front of you are few and far between — but to his surprise, everything goes smoothly. There is no uncomfortable silence, all his jokes miraculously land, even the lousy ones, and you both laugh and talk and share sushi and pork cutlets like it’s the most natural thing in the world, which perhaps it is. His attempts at flirting are well-received and he only turns violently red twice when you compliment him and smile at him in a particularly pretty way.

It’s that day at the beach all over again. Always on the same page, you dip in and out of topics with a synergy he has rarely felt before. Sunghoon realizes it must be the presence of others, rather than you yourself, that makes him feel like he can’t act the way he wants to around you, makes him so nervous. Save for the moments where you make his heart flutter like a thousand butterflies’ wings, he actually feels quite at ease with you, all things considered. Of course, he still tries — and fails — to look cool for you, but he knows it comes from a place within himself rather than because you make him feel as though he has to meet a certain standard. Surprisingly, he can be totally himself, and it seems to be enough for you.

He loves his friends. He wouldn’t trade them for the world. But he’s not sure he won’t have moments where he’ll wish nothing more than for them all to go away and leave the two of you be.

You eat until you can’t anymore and are still left with enough food for another full meal. You only let him get the bill once he’s promised that next time will be on you. If it means there’ll be a next time, he’s more than happy with making that promise. The sun has set when you exit the restaurant. Sunghoon shivers as he steps outside, the temperature having gone down by at least four degrees in the last two hours.

You grab his hand; it warms him right up.

Your apartment is a thirty-minute bus ride away, but Sunghoon offers to walk you home. Anything to spend more time with you.

He spends the first few minutes of the walk worrying about his hand, whether it’s too clammy, whether it’s holding yours right, but he eventually relaxes into the touch. When a particularly chilly gust of wind blows, you drop his hand and hold onto his arm instead, inching closer to him for more warmth.  He only drank lemonade with his meal, but he feels blissfully light-headed.

Silence only arrives when you reach your doorstep. You stand in front of each other, Sunghoon looking down at his feet, you gazing out at the empty street. He knows this is the moment where he is supposed to kiss you. If there was a step-by-step guide on how to date — there probably is, but Sunghoon hasn’t resorted to such loser-like measures yet — this would probably be the moment where it would be written to just kiss her, you idiot. But nerves get the best of him.

At least, you’re there to save the day. You direct your gaze towards him, a bashful smile playing on your lips. “So… are you gonna kiss me now?” you ask, essentially reading his mind. 

He reacts immediately. “Y-yep. Yes. I am.” Heart racing, he takes a step towards you as he rests his hands on your waist. Then he changes his mind, and brings one hand up to your cheek. There’s an eyelash that has fallen below your eye; he brushes it out of the way with his thumb before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours.

In all of his late-night scenarios and daydreams of kissing you, he had never imagined something as good as this. You find your rhythm within seconds. It’s slow, almost hesitant, yet so tender, it makes Sunghoon’s heart ache. As your lips move against each other in perfect sync, as your hands find their way around Sunghoon’s neck, he realizes he should have known — this will not go away as quickly as it came.

Only when you grab a fistful of his hair, making him react viscerally and wrap his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him, does he remember where the two of you are. He leans back, then almost passes out when you chase his lips and press a shorter but just as sweet kiss there. He commits this view to memory—the smile on your lips, the glow on your face, the haziness in your eyes.

“Do you wanna come up?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately, and it makes you laugh. You grab his hand and lead him up the stairs and into your apartment.

“Are the girls in?” he asks as you lock the front door.

“Minjeong is at karaoke with her school friends, and Yunjin and Chaewon are at a dinner party somewhere.”

“Minjeong karaokes?”

“Get enough G&Ts in her and she’ll do anything.”

You turn on a small lamp in your room and take off your jacket. Sunghoon has been in your apartment before, but never in your room—at some point, he’ll spend an hour observing every photograph and trinket in detail, asking you about every backstory, but right now, he’s got more important things to tend to. His heart beats uncontrollably as you shut the door to your room and walk towards him, eyes gazing deeply into his. The corners of your lips rise when you tug at the bottom of his sweatshirt, a clear indicator that you want it off. He wastes no time in obliging.

The air is buzzing with electricity when your lips find each other again. You’re both more confident this time around, and so the kiss is deeper, your touches bolder. Everything happens quickly—one second, you’re standing in the middle of your room; the next, you’re laying on your bed, Sunghoon underneath you. 

“You know,” he says between kisses, “I’d really planned on being a gentleman and not going up to your room after the first date…”

Your lips move from his lips to his jawline, warm and soft against his skin. Sunghoon closes his eyes and lets out a low hum of approval. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” you whisper, lips brushing against his neck as you speak. “And since we’re onto confessions, I can finally say I’ve been wanting to do this since we met.”

This information sends his mind reeling. Not once had he been sure of how you felt about him — he even remembers you saying no to a kiss — and here you are, saying you’ve been wanting to kiss him since the beginning, just like he had. 

“You’re me,” he replies breathlessly.

“Hm?”

“I mean, me too.”

You pause your kisses to giggle, a sound so soft and intimate it has Sunghoon melting impossibly more. “You’re me?”

Unfortunately, he is too preoccupied by you to put a filter between the weird, half-formed thoughts in his brain and the words that leave his mouth. “Don’t question it,” he says, a smile audible in his voice, before moving his head and catching your lips. If he couldn’t stop himself from saying odd things, he could at least distract you from them.

Sunghoon thinks he’s doing a good job keeping himself together, until you roll your hips against his. It’s barely anything, but it sends waves of pleasure and anticipation through his body. His grip on your waist tightens, and when you repeat the motion, his hands sneakily find their way down your back and under your dress. Palms splayed against your ass, he brings you down closer to him. The second you moan into the kiss, he’s a goner. 

After that, it doesn’t take long for clothes to be discarded or for curious fingers to find the other’s waistbands. Your movements are hasty, messy—the tension that had built up over weeks of pining for you, after getting close to kissing you twice and thinking about it a hundred times more, it all comes crashing down in this moment, as his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, as your hands pull at strands of his hair, as your bodies gently bump into each other. If someone asked Sunghoon right now how long he’d known you, he’d say years, not mere weeks. It couldn’t possibly be real that this much desire had accumulated inside of him — and inside of you, if your broken moans and rapid breathing are anything to go by — in just over a month. 

He only slows down when he has you naked and heaving underneath him, reminding himself to savor the moment instead of rushing it. His fingertips graze down your sides until they reach between your thighs, and he marvels at the way his touch makes you shiver. His eyes are so wide with amazement at the sight of you that he probably looks like he’s never seen a woman before, but he can’t help himself—he always thought you were beautiful, but this is something else entirely. 

His first touch is hesitant, a slow upward motion of his thumb between your folds as if quite literally testing the waters. But it has you arching your back and gripping his bicep, meeting his eyes to silently plead for more. Sunghoon takes that as his green light, thumb circling your clit as his lips continue their work on your neck, on your face, everywhere they can reach. He slips a finger inside of you, then a second one, and when he is satisfied with the state he’s gotten you in, all disheveled and gasping for air, he replaces his fingers with his dick, rock-hard just from seeing and hearing you.

He slowly inches forward until he’s bottomed out, letting you adjust around him. “All good?” he whispers, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Never better,” you whisper back, smiling. You kiss him, and the tenderness of your lips on his, mixed with the feeling of being inside you, has Sunghoon’s heart constricting inside his chest. He starts rocking his hips back-and-forth into you, the side of his face is pressed up against yours, head light from the little oxygen the two of you share. It all feels oddly intimate for a first time, feels more like the kind of sex two people would have after years of knowing each other’s bodies. He moves like it’s second nature, thrusts deep and slow, trying to reach those spots that have your hands clawing at his back. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, using his free hand to push the hair that sticks to your face with sweat.

You wrap your legs higher around his hips, the shift in angle letting him go deeper. “Fuck, right there,” you say, voice strangled. Sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice—he picks up his pace, and already within a minute, starts to feel himself reaching his limit. He tries to muffle his groans against your skin, but with the way your hold on him tightens and your moans go higher in pitch, you seem to be just as close as he is. When you do come undone around him, breath hitching in your throat before you release a heavy sigh, he has mere seconds left in him. A few thrusts later, his orgasm finally releases him from the tension that had been twisting his stomach into a knot for the past half-hour. You’re both spent, but he continues lazily rocking his hips against yours chasing the last remnants of pleasure, wanting to bask in it just a bit longer. He rolls onto his back after sliding out, wrapping his arms around you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck.

His chest rises and falls as his breathing takes its time returning to normal. In a way, he’s almost relieved it’s over, like any longer would’ve actually taken too much of a toll on him. He likes the comfort he gets from having you in his arms as much as the sex itself. “I didn’t know it could feel this good,” he says, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He needs more than a few minutes to get his head back on straight and start thinking before he speaks again. You chuckle airily, he chuckles too, and within seconds, you’re both laughing for seemingly no reason. The bliss of such an intense orgasm and the lack of oxygen must have gone to your brain, too.

“Me either,” you say once the laughter dies down. When your lips find his once more, Sunghoon forgets entirely about his exhaustion and feels like he could go for a second round. “Shower?” you ask right when he realizes how sticky and smelly he is.

“Yes, please.”

He can’t keep his hands off of you in the shower, rubbing soap on every square inch of your skin when you could do it perfectly fine yourself, kissing you even when you’ve both got foaming cleanser on your faces. The taste of soap in his mouth is worth the giggles he gets out of you.

Sunghoon reaches heaven when you drop to your knees in front of him, water rushing down his back as you take him in your mouth. He’s eager to return the favor, of course, thumb flicking your clit with a speed and dexterity even he didn’t know he was capable of. If you weren’t already in the shower, you’d have needed another one.

As soon as your bodies hit the mattress, you both drift off to sleep, limbs wrapping around each other as though they had been separated for too long and finally found each other again—not to let go again.

--

When Sunghoon wakes up, it takes him a few seconds to realize that he hadn’t dreamt up last night’s events. He reaches a hand out hesitantly, still half-asleep and scared that you’ll disappear into thin air at the touch of his fingertips. But no—he feels your skin, warm and soft, and he knows this is real.

You’re laying on your side, facing away from him, so he has to strain his neck to peek at your face. You look so peaceful as you sleep—he doesn’t want to wake you up, but he can’t stop himself from wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his torso against your back, humming contentedly to himself. He presses a soft, quiet kiss to the top of your head, just because he can.

Outside, clouds part, and a bright ray of sun shines through the window, landing right on your face. Sunghoon watches as you grumble and turn around, burying your face in his chest to avoid the blinding light, but the damage is done—you’re awake. He can tell from the drawled-out whine you let out and the way you grab tightly onto his waist, as if it was his fault the sun had decided to shine right on you. 

He lets you settle in a comfortable position. Stays still as you hike your leg over his legs, then slip it between them instead; as you press your cheek against his chest, then bury your nose in his neck; as you wrap your arm around his waist, then move it to thread your fingers through his hair, until you give up on falling back asleep altogether. “It’s so bright in here,” you mumble in lieu of a good-morning greeting.

You can’t see him, so Sunghoon smiles and tightens his grip around you—one arm circling your shoulders, the other, your waist. Skin to skin. “We forgot to close the blinds yesterday.”

“It’s okay,” you say, sighing. You press a kiss to the base of his neck, right between his collarbones, then lift your face to look at him. “How are you feeling?”

This is what it feels like to wake up next to her, Sunghoon thinks. He’d thought about it so many times: what you would look like first thing in the morning, what you’d say to him, what it’d feel like when your eyes met. If you’d be a slow sort of morning person, cuddling in bed with him until the very last possible second, or if you’d be up and about as soon as you woke up. If you’d be grumpy. If you’d want coffee. If you liked morning sex. 

It seems to be a recurring theme that Sunghoon’s imagination never quite lives up to reality. Your sleepy eyes boring into his, struggling to stay open, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck; your skin, so warm and so soft, your scent, so intoxicating he can barely think straight.

You’re better than a dream.

“I feel great. Do you feel great?”

“I feel amazing, thank you so much for asking,” you say, burrowing yourself impossibly closer to him.

The two of you stay like this for a while, talking about your plans for the day and begrudging how little you want to go about them. Sunghoon wishes this could go on forever, but then his stomach growls so loudly, his face turns red from embarrassment. He hadn’t even noticed how hungry he was. 

“You’re me,” you say, laughing, and Sunghoon can’t help but join in. “Is it crazy to have last night’s leftovers for breakfast?”

What Sunghoon hears is that you want him to stay; that you don’t want to part ways just yet.

“If by crazy you mean the best idea ever, then yes.”

“Amazing, because I’ve been thinking about that curry all night.”

“Really? I was thinking about something else,” he says, burrowing his face in your neck and leaving warm kisses there. 

You hum and lean into his touches, leaning into his touches. Chills run down his spine as your nails graze his sides. “There might’ve been other things occupying my mind, too.”

And just like that, breakfast is postponed to thirty minutes later.

--

After that night, Sunghoon forgets how to act right.

His mind has never been so singularly taken up by sex in all of his life. It was already preoccupied with you most of the time, but now that it has more material to gnaw on, it’s practically started to eat away at him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen each other every day since, or that at every chance you get, you smile knowingly at him or try to get him to play footsies with you. Of course, he loves every bit of attention that he gets from you, but whenever he feels his heart get carried away, Minjeong’s words come back to him in a panic, and he remembers that he has no idea what it is that’s happening between you and him. You could be stringing him along, for all he knows, or you could be as into him as he is into you and just letting things happen. Unfortunately, just letting things happen was not something Sunghoon was good at—if things weren’t written black and white, he’d find a way to overthink even the littlest of details. Like how you’d kissed him for a good five minutes before letting him leave your apartment, otherwise known as the least platonic parting to exist, or conversely, like how you’d sometimes take hours to reply to texts.

If he was already a mumbling fool in front of you before, his condition has only worsened now. He tries his best to be normal and not make you or anyone in the group feel weird, but the fact is that you rocked his world and now he can’t look you in the eyes and not remember how it felt when you touched him or the sounds you made or the way you looked. It’s all playing in a loop in his mind and the only way he knows how to control it is by limiting his interactions with you, which doesn’t even work that well. 

The first couple days, you seem amused by his shyer-than-usual demeanor, but you quickly grow confused more than anything. Sunghoon won’t sit next to you, only speaks to you when necessary, doesn’t seek you out outside of a group setting. He tells himself he just needs some more time to be able to be around you casually again, but before that happens, one day at the library, you make a point to ask him if he’ll come help you get drinks for everyone from the dispenser machine. He knows it’d be too odd to say no, so he follows you.

He presses the buttons for everyone’s order (a Sprite for him, Diet Cokes for the girls, a Red Bull for Jake who has a midterm tomorrow and nothing for Jay who only swears by his disgusting herbal infusion) as you lean against the machine, arms crossed over your chest as you stare at him.

He has never felt so awkward in his life.

“So…” he starts although he has no idea what to say—he hopes something will just appear in his mind and that it’ll alleviate the tension. However, you seem to have other plans.

“What the hell, Sunghoon?” you say, taking him aback. When he glances at you, you don’t seem angry—just genuinely confused. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

“I haven’t!”

“Sunghoon,” you say sternly. He gives in right away.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just-I didn’t know what to do. After we, you know…”

“After we had sex?” you say, then burst into laughter when he looks around the room to make sure no one’s heard. His cheeks heat up.

“Yes, after we had sex,” he whispers.

He pays for the drinks and picks them up. When he looks at you again, your smile has completely died down, and worry has settled into your features. “Do you regret it?” you ask, voice now as low as his. As if it hurts to say the words too loud.

Panic overcomes him, and he almost drops half of the drinks as he shakes his head. “No, of course not! I’m really sorry, Y/N, I never meant to be weird about it, I was just trying to wrap my head around everything, and I just… Well, I just didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

You nod, taking his words in. “That’s fine. I get it. I just wanted to say, you know, it doesn’t have to change anything. We can still be friends and all. Like you said, it shouldn’t make things weird.”

Sunghoon’s stomach drops. He knows you’re trying to make him feel better, but you’ve inadvertently said the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. He doesn’t want things to stay the same, or for you to stay friends. For him, things can’t go back to normal after that night — whatever normal means for the two of you — and he was foolishly hoping that you felt the same.

But clearly, you want to let the whole thing die and pretend like it never happened. And whether it’s a good thing or not, his feelings for you have grown so much, he’ll just let you lead him anywhere. Even if that turns out to be nowhere. 

So he conjures up the most convincing smile he can, hands you half of the drinks to carry, and says, “Yeah, sounds good.”

--

After that conversation, Sunghoon doesn’t think anything else will happen between the two of you. You had sex, you talked it out, and that’s the end of it. But then, it turns out that both of your last midterms are at the same time, in the same building, so you invite him to celebrate with pork belly and some drinks. Sunghoon is finishing his second beer when he starts to feel like he’s on that date again, laughing for no reason, butterflies in his stomach every time his gaze catches yours. You lean on your hand as you listen to him talk about a stupid memory from his childhood and he thinks he’s never seen anyone as pretty as you. 

The sun has long set when you say, “You know, it’s Wednesday today.”

He’s not sure what you’re trying to get at. “Yeah?”

“Minjeong’s out at karaoke tonight.”

With these simple words, all the images of you that Sunghoon had finally managed to banish from his mind come flooding back, and he is not even surprised to find himself half-naked in your bed thirty minutes later. So much for staying friends—one time is one thing, but Sunghoon knows he’ll never be normal again after a second time with you.

It’s not a long time before he finds himself in your room again. Every item of clothing between the two of you is gradually discarded while you kiss, lips growing more impatient with every inch of bare skin uncovered. He reluctantly lets you go when you suddenly giggle and say that you really need to pee, watching as you grab his t-shirt off the floor and put it on, just in case Minjeong comes home. You wear it like it’s yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world that you’d be wearing his clothes. An indescribable feeling washes over Sunghoon at the sight, so intense he feels tears welling behind his eyes. Like something he’s been yearning for is finally at the grasp of his fingers; like it might slip away at any moment. 

His feelings must’ve transpired in the way he was looking at you—when you meet his eyes, your expression shifts slightly, and you quickly slip out of your room. He tells himself to reel it in. Get it together, he thinks. Or you’ll drive her away. 

A wave of tiredness hits him in the minute that you’re gone, probably due to all that soju and beer. “I’m back,” you whisper, but he doesn’t move, only opens his arms wide for you to get back into bed with him. It’s like a weight is lifted off his heart when he feels you against him again. You’re back. Your face is fresh, as if you’d splashed it with cold water, but when he slips one of his hands underneath your (his) t-shirt, your skin is still just as warm as before. Far from the fuzzy, tingly feeling he had gotten when you’d woken up together the other morning, now, he feels his desire for you deep in the pit of his stomach. The kind of hunger food couldn’t satisfy. “I missed you,” he whispers, voice low and gravelly. He reacts immediately when you squirm against him, tightening his grip around your waist and pulling you to him.

“I was gone two minutes.”

“I mean these past few days. I was starting to think I’d dreamt you up.” His hand on your lower back sneaks its way up between your bodies until it finds your breasts, cupping one of them with his palm before taking your nipple between his thumb and index, gently twisting. It pulls a half-gasp, half-moan from your throat, and the sound goes straight to his dick. “But you’re real, aren’t you?” 

“Very real,” you reply, a tremor in your voice. He’s barely touching you, and you’re already having trouble breathing. Sunghoon smiles at the idea of him having as much of a hold on you as you do on him.

“Good,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a growl. In one quick sweep, he pushes you down so your back is against the mattress, resting his palms on each side of your head.

He’s inside you within mere minutes. He’d wanted to hold back a bit, but you whispering Just put it in after thirty seconds of his fingers loosening you up was enough to convince him. His mind is already fuzzy with remnants of alcohol, and his overwhelming desire for you only makes matters worse. He barely has any control over his movements, rushed and sloppy, but as he drives himself deeper into you, your moans increase in volume. He only later realizes how tight his grip on your hips is when he sees two small bruises forming on the skin there. 

He comes quickly, probably embarrassingly so, but he can’t bring himself to care—he’s got other things on his mind. He’s not even bothered to discard the condom as he makes his way down your body, lips around your clit before you’ve even had the time to register what was happening. You cry out, a sound that Sunghoon works to pry out of you over and over again. Even when your thighs start shaking and you squirm away from him, he doesn’t relent. He’s just as desperate to make you feel good as he was desperate chasing his own pleasure earlier. He hooks his arms around your thighs, bringing you down to him and ensuring that you can’t get away. One hand still in his hair, the other clutching the bed sheets, you’ve turned your face sideways into the pillow so that your moans come out muffled. He is only satisfied when you’ve reached your second orgasm. 

As your breath slowly returns to normal, Sunghoon makes his way back up your body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. You clear your throat of its dryness and burst into soft, quiet laughter. “What’s funny?” Sunghoon murmurs, lips against your neck. 

“Nothing,” you say, still laughing. “That was just really, really nice.”

Sunghoon smiles. “I’m glad,” he says before kissing you, lips moving slowly against yours.

As he lays against you, the top of his head under your chin and your fingernails grazing along his back, a weird feeling overcomes him. Sunghoon is usually a pine-from-afar sort of guy, with at least five instances of hanging out that could or could not be a date before making things any sort of official. The pining has been a constant with all of his crushes. He’s gotten to the hanging out stage a couple of times, but the officialising has only happened once. Despite its low success rate, it’s a cycle Sunghoon feels comfortable with, and he’d imagined the rest of his romantic encounters would follow that pattern. 

But this is completely different. Of the three times you guys have met separately from your friend group, already two times have included sex. This isn’t a stage Sunghoon usually reaches before at least a few months and it disorientates him. What does it mean? That you like him so much, you decided to skip all of the steps and jump straight into the thick of it? He is reasonable enough not to delude himself into such a thought. He likes you a lot—that much he can be sure of. He’s liked you since the moment he laid eyes on you, even if the reason eludes him. Something in the way you smiled at him, the way you took him in stride as if you’d known him forever. When he thinks back to that party, he can’t believe it started out as the two of you being strangers. Even now, feeling your warm skin against his, it feels like a lie that just two months ago he hadn’t even met you. 

What he can’t say with total certainty is that you like him the same amount. Or that you like him any amount, really, although in his naivety he doesn’t understand how anyone could be this intimate with another person without liking them at least a little bit. And he doesn’t just mean the sex. He means this. The silently laying in each other’s arms, the soft kisses, the caresses wherever hands can reach. Eating post-sex snacks together, laughing as you watch the first episode of each other’s favorite sitcoms (Brooklyn Nine-Nine for him, Pen15, oddly enough, for you). Falling asleep together, cuddling the entire night then waking up and diving right back into each other’s embrace. 

After an entire day spent in rumination, Sunghoon’s still not sure what to make of it all.

All he knows is that when he DMs you that night, asking you how your day went, he goes through every emotion between anxiety, self-hatred and indifference in the five minutes that separate his text from your reply. He’s never been so happy to hear that someone couldn’t concentrate in class because of him.

--

Sunghoon has always been obsessed with the way couples stand together in public. 

Every time, it takes everything in him not to stare, because he wants to take in every little thing they do. He has that practically everywhere he goes, wanting to stare at people just to see what their deal is, but he is never quite as simultaneously fascinated and envious as when he spots a couple. But he knows staring isn’t the socially appropriate thing to do, so he either steals glances or watches for a little bit then pretends they aren’t there. He can’t help himself—even if they aren’t holding hands or obnoxiously making out in public, it’s still visible to anyone with eyes that there is something tying these people together. It’s in the way they stand near each other, their bodies turned inwardly, as though enveloped by a bubble containing just the two of them and no one else; in the way they look at each other, their eyes never straying from the other’s face as they talk, intimacy showing itself even in a loud, crowded room. Sunghoon craves to find that proximity, to be able to touch and be touched so softly, every graze of a hand purposeful and unconscious at the same time.

It’s the first of November already. The Weather app, as it tends to do, has deceived you; so instead of a walk on what was supposed to be a sunny day, you find yourselves in a busy café near the University, the air outside too chilly even with your scarves and gloves. You’re waiting for your order at the end of the counter — a mocha for him, an oat flat white for you — when he notices it. Your body is fully facing him, you’re distractedly playing with the hem of his sweatshirt, and you’re not looking at anything but him as you rant about that annoying classmate of yours that goes by a self-made nickname and always talks over the tutor. In this light, the two of you are like the couples he’s always longed to be—the simple thought makes him want to cry. As more and more often is the case these days, you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

It’s been around two months since you first met and in that time, although Sunghoon is lucky not to have enough fingers to count the number of times you have seen each other one-on-one, not much has happened. Minjeong, who had understood what was going on the first time she saw the two of you eating leftovers from the Japanese restaurant on the couch at 10 a.m., has grown accustomed to his presence in the apartment and even sometimes sits down to watch a movie with the two of you—a movie that Chaewon would usually have forced you to watch in the living room instead of the privacy of your bedroom, so that everyone could join. Sunghoon is just glad Minjeong has stopped silently scolding him with her eyes every time he comes out of your room. She never mentions that night when she essentially warned him against you after the party. 

Jake seems to be the only oblivious one in your group. Yunjin and Chaewon have eyes like hawks and horrifyingly vivid imaginations when they put their heads together, so they were probably already making plans for your wedding and fighting for the title of godmother when you and Sunghoon met at the beginning-of-semester party. They cornered him once at a party and forced him to spill the beans and spare no detail, because you apparently were “denying everything, but we know there’s something going on.” Jay is still Sunghoon’s go-to person when he needs advice concerning you, although the older boy doesn’t understand why it has to be so complicated and always tells him to “just tell her how you feel,” which Sunghoon will not do unless there is a gun to his head. But Jake just seems happy to see his friend and his sister get along this well—no matter how many times you wear his jacket at their games or disappear at the same time at the end of parties, he doesn’t grow suspicious. If he does, he doesn’t mention it to Sunghoon, at least.

Between the two of you, not a word is spoken about the nature of your relationship, which remains unbearingly undefined. For a while, he weakly convinces himself that he doesn’t need to have that conversation with you. He’s young, he’s free, he should be able to enjoy casual sex without putting a label on it. The main problem, though, was that the sex could not be further from casual, at the very least not to Sunghoon.

He has never known anything quite like it. In mere weeks, you’ve both mastered the art of pleasuring each other. He understands your body like it’s his, knows what each of the sounds and expressions you make means. He knows where to touch you to have a kiss go from light-hearted to dizzyingly intense, how to move his mouth to have you arching your back and holding onto him for dear life. And you—he thinks your skin must be laced with cocaine, the way he can never get enough of it. 

But it’s always the moments afterwards that get him in his head. To him, casual sex means getting dressed the minute it’s over and going off to do other things, which is the absolute opposite of what you do. Whether it’s falling asleep together or spending Sundays in bed, you always stay together afterwards, curled up in each other’s arms as you talk away the hours, conversations interspersed with slow, lazy kisses. He’ll say things like, “You’re so pretty,” or “Why do you smell so good?” because he’s so smitten with you that he can never stop himself from uttering every compliment that flashes through his brain, but the things he really wants to say are harder to speak out loud. Even just a What are we?—three simple words that he can’t bring himself to ask, too scared it’ll ruin everything. 

Arguably worse is that sex isn’t even a requirement for when you and Sunghoon see each other. He goes on walks with you whenever you’ve spent too much time in the library and need some fresh air. You go shopping with him when his department throws a fundraiser and he needs a formal outfit. He cooks you your favorite meal when your period is particularly nasty. You sneak into the ice rink after his practice and let him ‘teach’ you how to skate, even though you already learned how with Jake when you were kids. Even mundane moments become fun when spent with you, and you share so many hobbies and interests that you never run out of things to do or talk about.

And yet, it feels like one step forward, two steps back with you—if you let him close one night, you’ll run away the next. A week will pass without you seeing each other outside of the library or group hang-outs, and if Sunghoon asks you out, you’ll say no, usually blaming the amount of work you have. He gets it—due to the nature of your degree and your being a fourth-year student, your workload is much heavier than his, with essays, translations and oral presentations due every other week. And that’s not even including midterms and finals. But still, he doesn’t see why you would need to stay at the library for ten hours straight for days on end. He’d start worrying about your health if you didn’t at least relax on weekends. 

So while Sunghoon wants nothing more than to go all in with you, he senses you holding back. He notices you avoiding eye contact during particularly intimate moments, and when you look at him perhaps too fondly for your liking, you quickly catch yourself and resume your neutral, sometimes almost cold expression. When he tries to broach more personal, sensitive topics, you always find a way to change the subject or turn the conversation towards him before you get too deep. 

As time passes, and especially as exam season nears, he can tell there’s something that you’re not telling him about. His suspicions are confirmed when you come back from a weekend at your parents’ house. He’s also been away for an out-of-town hockey game, and because he hasn’t had much time to text you (and because their team won, so he wants to show off a little), he’s particularly looking forward to seeing you again that Monday. It’s only been three days since you’ve last seen each other, but he misses you like crazy. 

But the minute you’re back, you bury yourself in work like never before, often waking up at ungodly hours and staying at the library until midnight. More than once, he stays behind with you, long after the others have gone, reminding you gently every hour that it might be time to go home and get some rest. The moments you actually agree are few and far between, and although he sticks it out at first, sleeping with his head on the table until you tell him you’re ready to go, your stubbornness soon starts frustrating him, and he ends up leaving when he gets too tired. He knows this is important to you, but he doesn’t understand why you have to go to these lengths—you’d still easily be one of the best students in your class without all this exertion. And despite his many attempts, you won’t tell him what’s wrong, won’t even admit that something is wrong—you keep repeating that “it’s just what exam season is like.”

When he asks your friends about it, they seem just as confused as he is. One evening when you have plans to order some food and watch a movie at your apartment, he shows up at the agreed time, but you’re nowhere to be found. Thankfully, the girls are there to let him up and not leave him standing outside in the rain. You don’t pick up when he calls you and call him back a minute later, apologizing profusely but still saying that there’s something you really need to finish first. If it was only a one-time thing, it wouldn’t make him as angry as it does—but this has been going on for almost two weeks now, and Sunghoon is close to boiling point. 

The fact that it’s been months since your date at the Japanese restaurant, and the only thing that you’ve said about what was happening between you and Sunghoon “didn’t have to change anything.” The fact that you’re essentially each other’s boyfriend and girlfriend without the label or the reassurance that comes with it. The fact that there’s something clearly bothering you but that you won’t tell him about it. The fact that this something is effectively coming between the two of you. Sunghoon was originally more worried about you than anything—now that studying has taken obvious precedence over him in your list of priorities, he’d be lying if he said his ego wasn’t wounded. He isn’t asking to be the number one most important thing in your life, and he knew before even meeting you that high academic performance meant a lot to you, but he likes to think he deserves at least a little bit of your time and attention. 

Except, does he really? It’s not like you’re actually dating.

There’s a pang in his heart as he remembers this fact that he should never have forgotten in the first place. It hurts—and so perhaps, he’s less patient than he ought to be.

“Whatever, Y/N. Don’t worry about it, just let me know when you have time for something other than getting As.”

He hangs up and meets your flatmates’ worried eyes. 

“She still at the library?” Chaewon asks, tone delicate as if trying not to scare off a wounded animal. Sunghoon nods, a deep sigh escaping his mouth. 

“She always studies a lot,” Minjeong starts, “but this is something else.”

“Have you guys tried saying something?”

The girls nod. “Even Jake has talked to her, but she won’t listen. And he usually always gets to her,” Minjeong says. 

He goes home soon afterwards and spends the rest of his evening in rumination, torn between his worry and his anger towards you—emotions which only increase as more days pass, and he sees less and less of you. Your behavior was already concerning while preparing for your exams and final assignments, it gets even worse when exams actually do start. He doesn’t hear from you for an entire week, and the one time you miraculously agree to a short group hang-out in the form of getting coffee, you’re only half there, physically present but mind far, far away. You barely react when the guys tell you about their victory at the latest hockey game—which you didn’t attend, as well as any other game recently. 

No matter how much he tries to put it out of his mind, to focus on his own exams and hockey games, you stay at the forefront of his thoughts. The hockey team is away for another out-of-town game when he decides to broach the subject with Jake, with whom he’s sharing a room. The entire semester, he’s been careful not to raise Jake’s suspicions about the two of you, both out of consideration for you, who’d mentioned you didn’t want your brother to know what was going on, and for himself, who would also rather Jake not know, at least not until your relationship became official. Which it never did. But now that all he gets from you is radio silence at a time when you’d usually be an hour into a FaceTime call, he can’t help himself.

Jake is just coming out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, when Sunghoon takes his shot in the dark. “Have you heard from Y/N recently?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can, pretending to not be avidly waiting for his friend’s reaction by keeping his eyes on his phone.

“Y/N?” Jake echoes. “No, not really. Why?”

“Just ‘cause I haven’t seen her around much. I’m wondering if everything’s okay.”

“You mean her staying at the library all day?” Sunghoon nods; Jake sighs. “Yeah, she’ll snap out of it soon enough. She gets somewhat like this every time exams come around, but even I have to admit it’s pretty tough this time around. The last time I saw her like this was way back in high school, and that’s because our parents were watching right over her shoulder. It’s been better in university thanks to the distance.”

“So this has to do with your parents?”

“Oh, one hundred percent. She’s always wanted to do well at school, but she only gets this obsessive when our parents are involved.”

“I guess this did start after that weekend when she went home…” Sunghoon muses absent-mindedly. It could’ve passed off as an off-hand remark, but Jake pauses in his movements and looks at him warily.

“Yeah, she did… You noticed that, huh?”

Sunghoon pauses. This whole time, he was sure Jake was oblivious to anything happening between you and him—but he might have underestimated his friend. Like brother, like sister; he can hardly read either of you when he really needs to. Jake might genuinely be surprised that Sunghoon remembered your whereabouts that weekend, or he’s onto him. “I guess I did,” he finally says, going for as noncommittal an answer as he can.

Jake says nothing for a bit, and Sunghoon thinks he’s managed to get through the conversation without raising too much suspicion—until a minute later, when Jake speaks again. “Do you… like Y/N?”

Sunghoon freezes, snapping his head towards Jake, who’s lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His first instinct is to deny, but there’s no point pretending anymore. It’s one thing keeping it from Jake—lying to him about it is something else entirely. It’s an uncomfortable conversation, but it must be had. “Yeah, I do,” Sunghoon replies, guilt clear in his voice, more because he’s only now admitting it to Jake than because of his feelings themselves.

A shaky breath comes out of Jake’s mouth, as if this was the exact answer he had dreaded. “Right, okay. Since when?”

“Since I met her, basically.”

Jake’s head whips towards Sunghoon, and their gazes meet awkwardly. “Since that party in September?” he asks, shock written all over his face. Sunghoon nods, and to his surprise, Jake bursts out laughing. “Don’t tell me it’s because you accidentally matched costumes?”

Sunghoon looks away, frowning. “That might’ve helped things along,” he mumbles, embarrassment washing over him as Jake’s laughter intensifies. At least he was taking it well—a bit too well, perhaps.

“You’re so predictable, man,” Jake says when he’s calmed down, wiping a tear from his eye. 

“How did you know, anyway?”

“You’ve been pretty obvious with it recently,” Jake replies after a few seconds. “I could tell you were a bit shy around her at first, and when it got better I just thought you’d become friends or something. But when she showed up with your jacket at every game and you never left her side at parties, I assumed something else was going on. You’ve always been staying behind at the library these days, and I know you don’t have that much work.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “I guess I haven’t been trying hard to hide it lately.”

“Yeah, why would you hide it in the first place? You could’ve just told me.”

“I didn’t want to make things weird.”

Jake frowns. “It wouldn’t have been weird. If anything, hiding it makes it weirder.”

“I just thought, if one of my friends had a crush on my sister, I’d probably rather they hid it. Like, I don’t need to know about that,” Sunghoon says, and it makes Jake laugh.

“Dude, Y/N and I are only a year apart. Do you know how many guys have come up to me asking me for her number or advice on how to ask her out? It’s been, like, one every few months since middle school. Guys here especially have no shame telling me how hot they find her.”

Sunghoon makes a face. He doesn’t disagree, but he’d never go out of his way to tell your brother how exquisite you looked in certain outfits. “That’s gross.”

“Yeah, it is. But you’re my friend, not some greasy rando, so I trust you. If anything, I’d probably have to tell her to be nice to you, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah, you could say that again,” Sunghoon grumbles, then realizes his mistake immediately, eyes widening.

“What do you mean?” Jake asks, sounding genuine at first, but when Sunghoon stays quiet for a couple seconds, debating whether he should just lay the truth bare, Jake sits up on the bed and repeats his question, his tone much warier this time around. Sunghoon glances at him then looks away guiltily.

“Well, to be completely honest… We’ve sort of been seeing each other, kind of. But it’s complicated.”

Jake flops back down on his mattress with a grunt. “Who else knows?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with his hands as if suddenly very exhausted.

“Everyone…”

“Everyone?!”

“Well, Jay, Minjeong, Yunjin and Chaewon.”

“So everyone.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Great.” Jake sighs. “Since when?”

“Since October,” Sunghoon mumbles, feeling guiltier than ever. He’s belatedly realizing that it would’ve been much easier to have everything out in the open from the get-go, both with you and with Jake; now he’s both stuck in situationship limbo and has to face the consequences of keeping something this important from one of his closest friends. “Are you upset?” Sunghoon asks, feeling a bit like a ten-year-old.

“Kinda, yeah, but more at her than at you. I’ve told her not to go after anyone from the hockey team.”

“‘Cause of Heeseung?”

“Yeah. God, that was messy. He gave her mixed signals for so long, I could barely talk to him without thinking of her crying for so long. And now he’s the one who can’t quite look me in the eye,” Jake says, shaking his head at the mere thought of his captain.

“Was it that bad? She made it seem like it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Really? It upset her for a while though,” he says, then turns his head to look at the ceiling again. “I guess that’s not so surprising of her. She sometimes likes pretending she doesn’t have any emotions, even though I’m pretty sure she has more than most people.”

“Huh.” That would explain some things, Sunghoon muses. Emotions are not a topic that comes up very often with you, and every time he’s gotten an inkling of them, you seem to shut it all down immediately.

“But you know, I’m more surprised than anything. About… about it all, really. Not just that you’re only telling me now, but that it’s lasted this long. She must really like you.”

“You think?” Sunghoon says, his face brightening with hope, the words slipping from him before he can stop them once again. He shrinks when Jake laughs at him.

“Look at you. Down bad, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“But yeah, dude. I’ve told you about this. I’ve never seen her in a relationship, ever. Says she doesn’t have the time,” Jake says, air-quoting you. “I’ve only had the displeasure of seeing her go home with one-night-stands. You know that since she started college, she’s had a rule that she’d only see someone three times and that was it?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, so she wouldn’t catch feelings. I’m telling you, she’s crazy. So you must be special.”

Sunghoon can’t stop the smile from spreading on his lips—special. But it doesn’t make him feel that much better, either. “It’s not like we’re actually dating, so I’m not sure how special I can be…”

Jake’s head turns to look at Sunghoon again, but the younger boy keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling fan above him. “What’s happening between you guys?”

A blush creeps on Sunghoon’s cheeks. “Is this something you really want to talk about?”

“Well, spare me the gruesome details, please,” Jake says, chuckling, “but yeah, I would like to know what’s going on with my best friend and my sister.”

“I’m your best friend?” Sunghoon says, grinning as he meets Jake’s gaze, who rolls his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “Well, I didn’t think it would happen more than once-”

“What would happen more than once?”

Sunghoon pauses. “Well, you know…” Jake gives him a look as if to say, Well, no, I don’t know, so Sunghoon is forced to go on: “Sleeping together.”

“You guys slept together?!” Jake exclaims, sitting up on his bed once again.

“Yeah, what did you think?”

“I don’t know, just that you were going on dates, hanging out one-on-one, or whatever…”

“Well, we were.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Jake says, waving his hand in front of his face like swatting a fly away. “So, not just once, then?”

“No. And I thought it’d be a one-time thing, ‘cause a few days afterwards she said something about it not having to change our friendship…”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. But then it did. Happen again, I mean. And it’s been happening frequently since. But we’re not… dating dating. We haven’t had that conversation.”

Jake frowns. “Why not?”

Sunghoon releases a shaky breath. Why not, indeed. “‘Cause she hasn’t mentioned it. And I’m too scared to do it.”

“What are you scared of?”

“The typical stuff. What we have now… it’s not what I want, but it’s managed to not disrupt the group, you know. I’m scared that if I tell her how I feel, it’ll make things awkward between the two of us, and between all of us by extension.”

“Well, it might,” Jake says after thinking for a few seconds. “I wish I could tell you with certainty that she’ll like you back, but I honestly can’t. As obvious as you were towards her, she was not giving anything away.” Sunghoon chuckles, more out of self-deprecation than anything. This was not the pep talk he had hoped for. “But, I can tell you that she won’t be the type to make things awkward. You have nothing to risk by telling her, because in the long run, you’ll be better off that way. I know you, Sunghoon. You’ll be miserable if you can’t be fully yourself with someone.”

Decidedly, Sunghoon’s friends had a way of telling him the exact opposite of the things he wanted to hear while being completely right. He wishes things with you could stay the same — minus the overworking yourself and ignoring him in the process — and that he wouldn’t have to do anything that might make them change. But just as Jake said, he’d also reach a point where he couldn’t take it anymore—a point he was already inching closer and closer to with every passing day. He likes you enough to let you not define the relationship, but he likes you too much to let it go on. He likes you too much to not be able to tell you, and show you, and remind you of it every day. He hated having to hold back, and he hated feeling you holding back. He wanted to give you his all and he wanted all of you, too, not just bite-sized portions of you.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I haven’t been able to talk to her lately, but I’ll have to tell her soon enough. When her exams are over, I guess.”

Jake sighs. “Yeah. I don’t know if there’s any getting through to her right now.”

“She’s blown me off so many times! I don’t know what she’s doing, spending so many hours in that library. I’d go insane.”

“She’s a perfectionist,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I’ve talked to her about it. When it comes to school, she needs everything to be as flawless as can be. She spends hours re-reading and editing her work. It’s not good.”

“Not really, no.”

“But she’s only got a week left. I’ll try to convince her not to go home for too long, and it’ll be better after the holidays. Then we’ll make sure there’s not a repeat of this next exam season.”

He thinks of Christmas break and of not seeing you for two weeks; of next semester and going through all of this with you a second time. The uncertainty, the fooling around behind your friends’ backs — although that might not be needed now that Jake is in on it too — Sunghoon’s not sure if he can go through it all again. “Yeah, we will.”

--

They lose their game the following day. They had an amazing run, either winning or tying every game so far; this loss is not enough to make them drop significantly in the rankings, but it’s enough to demoralize Sunghoon. It couldn’t have come at a worse time—between you and this failed game, his self-esteem is taking a real hit.

He dared hope for some comfort from you once he was back, but in vain. He doesn’t know why he imagined your attitude might’ve changed overnight, and when he texts you asking to hang out, the same old sorry I can’t atm fills his phone screen. And just like that, as strong as his feelings for you have been all this time, so is his resentment—unwarranted, perhaps, but he thinks he deserves better than this, and he’s both angry at you for not giving him anything and at himself for letting it happen.

Now, he’s the one who spends hours working himself to the bone in the ice rink, who’s clearly preoccupied with other things when everyone gets together, and who doesn’t even show up to the party the whole group goes to when you’re all done with exams. The last game before winter break is in two days, and he doesn’t want to waste a day nursing a hangover when he could be practicing.

That night, he thinks everyone is out at some random club downtown, so he does a double-take when it’s past eleven p.m. and you show up at the rink. He’s skating laps, practicing his speed and his goal-shooting, only noticing you when you’re standing in the middle of the rink. He almost skates right into you.

“Y/N?” he asks, not completely sure you’re not just a figment of his imagination. He’s so exhausted, he wouldn’t be surprised if he were dreaming you up.

“Jay texted me.”

“Oh. Why?” He’s out of breath, and the words come out blunter than he intends them to.

“Because it’s almost midnight and you’re still here,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s a hint of a smile on your lips, but your eyebrows are furrowed in what looks like worry. It’s the first time Sunghoon’s seeing you concerned over something other than an assignment. 

He shrugs and resumes his laps, slower this time, forcing you to keep turning on your feet. “I’m practicing. There’s a big game coming up.”

“Which is exactly why you should be resting, like everyone else on your team right now.”

He resists rolling his eyes. “Why would I rest when I could be getting better?”

“Because you need rest as much as you need practice. You won’t be any use on the rink if you’re too tired to play properly.”

“And I won’t be any use if I can’t shoot properly, either.”

“Sunghoon, you need a break. You’re clearly exhausted-Will you stop it?” you suddenly snap. “I’m trying to talk to you, and I’m getting dizzy.” 

Your small outburst only has him growing more agitated, and even though he does stop, it’s more so you can see the annoyance on his face than anything. “You know, this is a bit rich coming from you, Y/N.” He knows this is not the right time to bring this up—if he has grievances against you, he shouldn’t be bringing them up when he’s already frustrated. He’s well aware of this, but he can’t help himself.

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who spends twelve hours a day in the library during exams and does not budge even if I tell you you should go home.”

“That’s different-”

“How is it any different?” he interrupts, voice rising. “You don’t listen to me when you overwork yourself. I don’t see why I should.”

“So you realize that you’re overworking yourself?”

“Of course I do! But I have to.”

“No, you don’t-”

“Y/N, please. I have to win as much as you have to get the top grades. Is it actually necessary? No, but you know how shit it feels not to.”

“And it’s exactly because I know that feeling that I’m telling you to stop. You’re just feeding into it.”

“So are you, staying until 2 a.m. in the library. You’ve never once gone home when I asked you to.”

“Again, that’s different-”

“How?! How is it different? Please enlighten me, ‘cause they’re the exact same thing to me.”

You sigh. A sudden sadness appears on your face. Sunghoon is torn between wanting to see this to its end and taking everything he’s said back. But he keeps quiet, and your eyes, when they meet his again, harden. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.”

As if you couldn’t say your next words while looking at him, you tear your gaze away from his face. “Because I’m actually concerned about you, here. The only reason you want me to stop and go home is so we can fuck.”

Sunghoon is so astounded that all words fail him—he stares at you, mouth wide open like you just shot him. After a few seconds, all he’s able to come up with is an incredulous, “What?” His voice is a mere whisper. 

“You heard me,” you say coldly.

He closes his mouth and swallows. “So… you’re the one who’s worried, and I’m only after sex?”

You glance at him. “Yeah.”

A chuckle escapes Sunghoon’s throat, then another, until laughter spills out of him uncontrollably. He feels like the world is upside down. How could you have lived the same thing and come out of it with such different perspectives? Your account of his intentions with you is so ridiculous and unfathomable to him that he can’t do anything but laugh.

You seem taken aback at first, but your surprise quickly turns into annoyance. “Something funny?”

“Hilarious, actually,” he says, holding his stomach. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. All he finds at the end of his amusement is anger, bright red and hot. It’s not an emotion he feels often, its rarity only serving as an intensifier—he starts making his way out of the rink before it can explode and hit you in its wake. “Well, that’s convinced me to call it a day. So you got what you came for, I guess.”

His fingers tremble as he undoes the laces on his skates and puts his sneakers on again. You stand by the door of the rink, holding onto the frame as you look at him, that same sad look still on your face. “Hoon,” you say, voice weak. What would usually have him melting only has his anger flare harder.

“Don’t. For the first time ever, I actually really don’t want to talk to you right now.” He stands up, gives you one last harsh look, and turns away. He only halts right before exiting the bleacher area, and after a couple seconds of thinking, turns back around. “Oh, but don’t worry, I’ll let you know when I want to fuck again. Since that’s all this is, clearly.”

--

It seemed to you no one thought you were good enough for Sunghoon.

Only Yunjin and Chaewon seemed excited at the prospect of the two of you getting together, or at least getting to know each other, but they were also the type to coo at dogs in the street and tear up at the sight of old people holding hands; Minjeong was apprehensive from the start, and made it clear; Jay was indifferent; Jake was oblivious for a while. Sunghoon was…

What was Sunghoon?

Someone who had come out of nowhere, shaken up your routine and messed with your head. That’s what Sunghoon was. He didn’t seem apologetic in the slightest.

Maybe it was your fault for not opening up to the people closest to you and letting them think you were some kind of no-strings-attached one-night-stands-only emotionless maneater who had been single for as long as they had known her, who would be seen with someone new every few months, and never for long, who, as far as the eye could tell, only used men for sex. Maybe it was their fault for never trying to dig deeper.

No, okay, it was definitely your fault.

Based on your conversations with your friends, they thought Heeseung had broken your heart, and you had never bounced back properly. He’d hurt you so much, you couldn’t fathom a real relationship anymore—you could only be with someone casually. Which wasn’t so far from the truth, but what Heeseung had done was much worse than just breaking your heart. He’d confirmed what you already knew of yourself: you want too much. You want what you can’t have, what you don’t deserve.

From the moment you met Park Sunghoon, you knew you didn’t deserve someone like him. Minjeong seemed to agree, and when she saw you and him together at choir that Saturday in September, three months ago already, she made sure you knew her thoughts on the matter.

“This is so… unlike you,” was the first thing she’d said after she pulled you aside. 

“What is?”

“This,” she repeated, waving her arms around. “Being here. Coming with him.” She pointed at Sunghoon, whose hair was being ruffled by one grandma and his cheek pulled by another. He kept glancing back worriedly at you—you liked him so much already. “See? You’re smiling at him,” she said, making you realize a sappy smile had started growing on your lips at the sight of him. Your face dropped and you scoffed at the disgust in her voice.

“Yeah, some of us like to smile. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Y/N, you know what I’m trying to say.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.”

She sighed. “You don’t do this. You don’t meet a guy and show up to his choir practice the next morning. What’s happening?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. Had you known your presence would be questioned like that, you might’ve thought twice about coming. “Can’t a girl enjoy a choir without getting interrogated these days?”

“You’re avoiding my question! Listen, Y/N. Sunghoon is not the kind of guy you usually go for. He’s-Stop. Don’t smile at me like that.”

“If you like Sunghoon, you can just tell me. You know I wouldn’t stoop so low as to go after a guy my best friend likes.”

“So you are going after him?”

“So you do like him?”

Minjeong shook her head violently and put her hands on your shoulders, staring into your brain as if trying to make you see some sense. Calmly, she said, “No, I don’t. Sunghoon’s nice, but he is so far from my type. He’s too… nice.”

“You mean he doesn’t wear leather jackets or ride a motorcycle?”

“That was once. But no, he doesn’t do that. And what I’m trying to tell you is that he’s not your type either.”

“And how have you gathered that?”

“Because so far, you’ve only wisely chosen guys who are as detached and emotionally stunted as you.”

“I’m not-”

“But he’s not like that, Y/N. He’s the bring-home-to-your-parents-for-Christmas type. Not the hump-and-dump type.”

“I’m starting to get offended by this conversation.”

“All I’m saying is, don’t go breaking his heart. Or yours, for that matter. It pains me to say but I care about both of you very much and I don’t see this going anywhere good.”

You shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Was her opinion of your romantic tendencies — or lack thereof — that bad that she couldn’t even recommend you to her friend? You felt like a chastised child whose mom told you you couldn’t get the toy you wanted. Despite being well aware that you weren’t the most committed when it came to relationships, you still felt like she was going overboard. Just because nothing had stuck so far didn’t mean it wouldn’t now—she was acting like you went around playing with people’s feelings for fun.

“Jesus, this is my second time seeing him. I just wanna see what his deal is. I’m not breaking anyone’s heart, okay?” 

The choir conductor had called out for everyone to gather on stage then, and that was the end of that conversation. You still remember how funny of a thing it was, seeing Sunghoon in his nice shirt and trousers, his hair falling into his eyes, singing diligently with the choir, when just the night before he had been playing beer pong dressed as Cowboy Ken. In this new light, you understood why Minjeong was so adamant about him not being your usual type, and why the grandmas were fussing over him. You hadn’t known what had pushed you to invite yourself to this rehearsal, and even then as you sat there, you weren’t sure what you were doing or why you couldn’t stop smiling as you watched Sunghoon sing. 

Time made things clearer, starting with that afternoon at the beach. The salt in the air that day had clouded your thoughts, covered them with a thin layer so that your usual reluctance to share anything remotely personal had dimmed. Or maybe it had had nothing to do with the air and everything to do with the boy sitting next to you on the sand, the way words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could think about them and were only met with understanding and empathy on his part. For once, you didn’t feel the need to guard yourself, to adapt your words and actions to the person in front of you. It was something you didn’t know was possible with a near stranger—perhaps because Sunghoon felt nothing like one.

He made you feel things you hadn’t felt in a long time; things you had been craving to feel, needed almost as much as oxygen. Being with him felt like breathing again. But you had been underwater so long, being on land again felt foreign, scary, and you couldn’t help but dive back into safe waters, coming up for air once in a while.

Whether he had intended to or not, Sunghoon had started to scratch at your surface, until he’d burrowed a small hole—shallow, but enough for cracks to appear, cracks you were quick to put back together as best as you could.

So when his gaze was too tender, his touches too gentle, you bristled. You went away, because you were afraid of what might happen if you stayed. The more you wanted to give him, the less you gave him anything at all. Your own desire overwhelmed you. His letterman jacket was warm around your shoulders, you proudly walked around with the four letters of his last name on your back, but you couldn’t get out of your mind how cold it would be if it was one day ripped away from you. 

You thought of Heeseung, how disillusioned you had been when you thought you had finally met someone who would love you the way you had always yearned to be, only for him to toss you away when you started asking for too much. You thought of your friends in middle school, how it seemed that no friendship could be more wonderful until you overheard them talking about you at a sleepover, about how clingy you were. You thought of your parents, how they had only bestowed kind words upon you when you performed well in your role of perfect daughter, of academically gifted child. How they hadn’t even glanced at any of the drawings you’d done of the four of you, mother, father, son and daughter holding hands with a bright yellow sun in the corner of the sky. How they had pushed you away from their bed when you seeked some comfort after a terrible nightmare. How they had never bothered to hide their disappointment when you came home from school with anything less than an A. How they had shunned your brother for not going down the path they had envisioned for him, how hard you had to fight to make them accept yours was not a worthless one.

Even your best friend seemed to think you were unable to receive affection of the likes of Sunghoon’s—but what you were afraid of was that he wouldn’t handle the amount of affection you knew you were able to give. In a way, that was what had drawn you to Sunghoon in the first place—from the moment you’d met him, you had been able to tell there was something of you in him. It seemed to you he had a heart that was overflowing with love, love to give, love to spare on whoever would have it. In his words, you were him. Nevertheless, your fear of getting hurt overrode your desire to feel Sunghoon’s love, and you didn’t know whether you would be able to revert to your nature after having spent so much time perfecting your new facade.

You knew what it was like to be cold. And so you prematurely braced yourself for it by pushing away Sunghoon’s warmth. If it was going to happen at some point, like Minjeong had hinted it would, might as well get used to it, right?

Except the cold never came. Sunghoon kept on burning relentlessly, no matter how much wood you fed his fire with—you could cling to him for nights on end or ignore his texts for days, without fail, he’d welcome you with his usual, unwavering warmth. He allowed you to bask in it, to momentarily let down your defenses. But something always happened to make you raise them back up—Minjeong would eye the two of you suspiciously, Heeseung would post on Instagram (Is one of the girls on slide five his new fling? Are they serious and it wasn’t that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, it’s that he didn’t want one with me?), or your mom would text you to ask you whether everything was okay.

Yet increasingly, you suspected there was something behind Sunghoon’s warmth, something you had missed, something that was tricking you. He looked at you like you had hung the stars in the night sky, yes; in public, a knowing look from you was enough to have his face turn bright red, and in private, one simple touch had his chest heaving, yes; he expressed disappointment every time you turned him down for a hang-out. Your attachment to him grew, and it became harder to put what the two of you had into words.

It wasn’t just sex—it couldn’t be. It ran deeper than that. You knew what relationships that consisted of just sex were like, and this wasn’t that, it was too good, too intimate to be just that. But you weren’t a couple, that much was clear. Only four other people were aware something was even going on, your brother not included, and you acted as regular friends in front of everyone. Jake had insisted you didn’t fool around with another member of his hockey team because his relationship with Heeseung had already deteriorated enough, he didn’t need to be on weird terms with anyone else on your behalf, so you were not keen on letting him know about what you got up to with Sunghoon. Anyway, even if everyone on earth was in on your shenanigans, you and Sunghoon hadn’t convened on what it all meant. Who knew what was going on in his head? You were no stranger to how deceitful men could be when they were after certain bodily pleasures. Unless Sunghoon said it in so many words, multiple times, you would not be a hundred percent sure he wasn’t only looking to get laid, or wanted someone to act like his girlfriend without the label and the obligations that came with it.

Because you basically were acting like his girlfriend, and he like your boyfriend. You always went to each other. Always, only each other. Whether he needed a second opinion on an outfit, you needed a rant session about your dissertation, either of you a really good orgasm, it was each other you went to.

You waited for him to initiate a conversation about the status of your relationship like one waits for church bells to ring at the turn of the hour—you knew it was coming, but the sound might be too much to bear. And the longer you had to wait, the more you dreaded it. Because how would you react when the time came? You didn’t trust yourself not to run away; neither did Minjeong.

The cold hadn’t come yet. You couldn’t let yourself feel the warmth unreservedly. It was all unpleasantly lukewarm.

Then you went home for a weekend.

It was a good friend from school’s birthday, and despite having spent a lot of time with Sunghoon at the expense of studying, you had done well this semester and thought you deserved a break. After having been away for so long, you had started to underestimate the power of your need for your parents’ approval over you. One small instance that your brother and many other people would’ve brushed off easily was enough to set you off—that same cold look of disappointment when you decided to be honest and told them one of your courses was deadly boring all while being unnecessarily complicated and you had received a low B-grade in it. They barely spoke to you for the rest of the evening.

Exams were a mere few weeks away when you got back. You buried yourself in work, forgot everything and everyone else, even Sunghoon, even yourself.

The cold hadn’t come yet, so you sought it out for yourself.

At the same time, you hadn’t indulged in enough introspection to realize how frustrated you had been at Sunghoon for not trying to create defined boundaries around your relationship. You were unable to do it yourself, you unrealistically wanted him to do the work for the both of you, you got upset when he didn’t. What you were able to do was make up reasons why he wasn’t giving you the what are we talk—he doesn’t like you that much, he just wants sex, he’s settling for you until he finds the next best thing, the real thing. This wasn’t leading anywhere, so you cut it off before he could.

You set foot in the library at seven thirty a.m. on a Monday and every following day of that week, then the next, then the next. He managed to pull you out every now and then—you weren’t that strong against his big pleading eyes, his soft messy hair, his warm hands that entirely covered yours. 

Oftentimes, you were too tired at the end of a long library day to have sex. Sunghoon never held it against you—he seemed more than happy to cook you dinner, let you fall asleep halfway during a movie you had chosen, and cuddle all night long. But your body burned with resentment at his mere presence in your bed, in your home, in your text messages. Who was he to stop you from studying, from achieving your goals, to distract you from that top grade just so he could get off? Even your friends and brother weren’t trying so hard to make you take breaks. The worry that furrowed his eyebrows, which you used to want to see fade away with a caress of your thumb, now infuriated you to no end, it seemed — to you — put-on. He kissed your neck and you wanted to push him away instead of melt into him like you had before.

It was his turn to leave for a weekend for an out-of-town hockey game, and you convinced yourself his absence came as a relief. But on the Sunday evening they got back, as you came out of the library, you spotted your brother waiting right outside of the building.

“Why is it so hard to reach you?” he said when he saw you in lieu of a greeting. “What’s the point of having a phone if you don’t even use it? I called you, like, five times.” “It was on airplane mode.” He rolled his eyes so hard, you could almost hear them moving beneath their lids. “What have you done to Sunghoon?” You stopped dead in your tracks. “Sunghoon? What about him?” you asked, chest constricting at the mere thought of him and at the implication that something had happened to him, even if you were the cause. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but it was clear the truth had been revealed to Jake, and for some reason, it didn’t surprise you. You knew they roomed together and assumed Sunghoon must’ve told him. You tried your best to take it in stride. “I thought we said the hockey team was off-limits after Heeseung,” he said sternly. “Also, Sunghoon, of all people?” he adds before you can say anything. “That’s like, my bro. And he’s the nicest guy ever. Not the perfect pick for one of your victims, I must say-” “Oh, please, he’s not a victim. He’s a consenting adult.” “Then why is he so upset over you spending more time studying than with him?” “That’s the male ego for you, Jakey.” Your brother sighed deeply. “He’s really hurt, Y/N. If you were going to reject him, you could’ve done it nicely.”

You frowned. “Who said anything about rejecting him?”

“You’ve shut him out. You’ve shut all of us out.” Jake was staring at you, trying to get you to look at him, but you kept your gaze on the ground and kicked non-existent pebbles around, hands hiding in your coat pockets. “You might not have meant it as one, but he took it as a rejection.”

You scoff. “There was nothing to reject. It’s not like we’re actually together.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling me anything was going on, by the way.”

“It wasn’t any of your business.”

“It is, ‘cause it concerns my sister and my best friend.”

“He’s your best friend?” you echo, a teasing smile on your lips. He rolls his eyes again.

“God, maybe you guys aren’t so bad together after all. But Y/N—I’m serious. You need to do something.”

“Why can’t he?”

“Because you’re the one who’s been fucking around.”

Ouch. “You’ve known about this whole thing for what, two days, and you’re already blaming me for the fact that it’s not going perfectly? How little do you think of me?”

“I don’t think little of you, Y/N, I just know you have a track record of not being serious about relationships.”

Your body tensed up. Maybe it had been a particularly long day. Maybe it had been a long time coming. Tears well up in your eyes—a sight you’ve not let your brother see in many, many years.

“You know what, fuck this, Jake. I’m stressed enough as it is. I’ve done my best with what I have, and you don’t get to pin this on me. As if I was the only person in that relationship. If Sunghoon has a problem, he can take it up with me directly.”

You walked away. Jake called after you once, and when you didn’t come back, caught up with you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t wanna upset you. I just-I hate seeing him hurt, you know? And you too.”

“I’m glad my feelings are of some importance to you.”

“Of course they are,” Jake said, too concerned to detect the sarcasm in your words. “And you’re right, I’ve only heard Sunghoon’s side of the story. But it really sounded like-”

“Listen, Jakey, I really don’t wanna do this right now. Let’s talk about it when exams are over. I can’t have anything else taking up mental space. I mixed up my Greek third declension endings earlier.”

“God forbid.”

After some arguing, Jake let you off the hook—“Just for now,” he said. You’d get him to recount his and Sunghoon’s conversation in excruciating detail later.

You come out of an evening of contemplation resenting Sunghoon for bitching about you to your brother, of all people. As if he had been begging on his hands and knees for your devotion, as if you had been cool-headed and detached and not thinking he’ll ask me to be his girlfriend any second now every time you spent time together. You told yourself you were well and truly done with him for the time being. If there was anything to salvage, that was future you’s problem.

But late on Thursday evening, Jay sent you a voice message, something he only did when he was gravely drunk, shouting over loud chatter and rap music that Sunghoon hadn’t shown up to a party and was apparently still practicing. You’d caught wind of their loss at the game, and even though your heart had swollen with concern for Sunghoon, very well aware of how important winning was to him, you’d managed to squash it down. You had bigger fish to fry, namely, an Italian written exam that made up 75% of your overall grade for that course. But after ten minutes of re-reading the same three lines of an article from Republicca, you couldn’t get the image of Sunghoon skirting endlessly around the ice rink and potentially hurting himself out of your head. You told yourself you only had this one exam left and plenty of time to revise for it, packed up your things and headed for the rink.

It was past eleven p.m. when you got there. The rest is history. 

Your grievances came out in an ugly way, but Sunghoon’s refusal to listen to you got the best of your nerves, and although you really did feel that your worry was more genuine than his, you didn’t truly believe that all he wanted from you was sex—at least, you hoped it wasn’t. It was the first time you ever saw any sort of negative emotion on Sunghoon’s handsome features, be it anger, sadness or pain. It tugged at your heartstrings, made you want to wrap him in your arms and get him away from whatever it was that tugged his eyebrows into a frown—even if that was you.

Now, as if the water has inched up your ankles and frozen over, your feet stay planted on the ice for a while after he’s stormed off. You don’t even realize you’re crying until a hot, salty teardrop falls on your lips.

Your feet regain control of themselves, and they seem to move of their own accord as they guide you right in front of Sunghoon’s dorm room. You’re barely conscious as your knuckles rasp against the door, and the tears that had fallen back behind your eyes spill out once more as soon as your eyes meet his. He’s just come out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around his hips, another one that he uses to dry his hair. His movements stop when he realizes who’s standing at his door, mouth falling slightly agape, chest visibly rising and falling. He’s so beautiful, you feel your heart breaking all over again.

Sobs pour uncharacteristically out of you, so much so that you have to hide your face behind your eyes. He ushers you in, holds you tight as everything flows out, the stress, the resentment, the loneliness, the longing. How could he be so close yet so far away this whole time? Did he want those miles of distance between you, or had you forced them upon him?

Sunghoon smoothes your hair down and shushes you, telling you it’s okay and that he’s here, voice strangled as if he’s on the verge of crying, too. A part of you still feels angry towards him, but the bigger part of you knows only he can give you the comfort you need.

“I missed you,” you say when you’ve calmed down partly. You only realize how true those words are once you’ve spoken them. You’ve missed waking up next to him, watching trashy reality TV together, taking coffee breaks that lasted too long in-between study sessions. You’ve missed the scent of his hair, the scent of his skin, you’ve missed watching the way his back muscles shift at the slightest of movements, feeling the weight of his head as he lay on your chest. All for a bunch of As you would’ve gotten without exerting yourself so much anyway.

“I missed you too, baby. Where did you go?” Just like that, you break down again, and he dissolves into apologies. “You’re here now, it’s all that matters,” he whispers against your hair.

“You didn’t see them, Hoon. You didn’t see the way they looked at me,” you say, struggling to speak, unsure you’re even making any sense but unable to stop. “I got As in everything, I worked so hard. Just one B, one week where I had four things due at the same time. Their faces, Hoon, like they were thinking, what was the point of letting me do this degree if I wasn’t even going to excel in it?”

“But you do excel in it, Y/N. You’re amazing at what you do. And even if you weren’t, you love it, and that’s what matters the most.”

“Not to them, it doesn’t.”

“Then forget them.”

“I can’t, Hoon,” you say, voice trembling. “I just can’t. I need them to be proud of me.”

“Isn’t it enough to be proud of yourself?”

“I wish it was.”

“Does it help if I tell you how proud I am of you and of how hard you’ve worked?”

He doesn’t see it, your face is still hidden in the crook of his shoulder, but a small smile makes its way to your lips. “A bit.”

“Then I’ll tell you everyday until you don’t need their approval anymore. They don’t deserve you, Y/N. They don’t even see what an amazing, beautiful, smart daughter they have. Or her sort-of-okay brother.” You laugh, and so does he. Sunghoon’s words and soothing touch against your back already alleviate the weight on your heart. “But I see it.”

You lift your head to look at Sunghoon. His eyes are glassy. “You see how amazing, beautiful and smart Jake is?”

He laughs again as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, exactly.” The way he looks at you makes you wish you could go back to the day you met him and right all of your wrongs. No more hiding or running away. You only want to stay under that gaze of his. But sadness soon replaces the joy in his eyes. “You mean so much more to me than you give yourself credit for, Y/N. This has never been just about sex for me. Not even for a second.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what has it been about?” 

He frowns like a student in an advanced math class who’s just been asked what three plus three is—isn’t it obvious?

“I love you.”

Your eyes dart between his as if searching for any trace of deceit there. Of course, you don’t find any—because there hasn’t been any since the start. You’d let your own fears invent things that weren’t there. Your lips tremble and you find yourself bawling on his shoulder once more, your tears like a well that digs deeper and deeper so as to never run out of water.

“I hope these are good tears,” Sunghoon says light-heartedly, but you can detect the nervousness behind his words. You nod your head vigorously, willing yourself to say something back, but your tears overflow, make your breath hitch.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” you manage in between sobs.

“I didn’t think it was the kind of thing you wanted to hear,” he explains.

“I was waiting for you to say something.”

“I didn’t know. I thought I was being obvious enough.”

“You probably were. I was the one who couldn’t see it,” you admit.

“I thought you didn’t want me like that.”

“I thought you didn’t want me like that.”

Sunghoon chuckles, a sound of relief. “I’ve wanted you like that since the start.”

“I think I have too.”

“You think?”

You lift your head again and when your eyes meet Sunghoon’s, it feels like coming out of your hiding place hours after the round of hide-and-seek was over. He hadn’t forgotten to come and find you. He was waiting for you to reveal yourself.

Which goes against the rules of hide-and-seek, but you don’t blame him.

You smile; he smiles, deep dimples carving crescents into his cheeks. “I love you, too.”

You hadn’t realized how cold your hands were until Sunghoon found them.

--

Everything after that was a blurry mess of tangled limbs, warm kisses, happy tears and relieved laughter.

Your touch had always been intoxicating, but Sunghoon was particularly sensitive to it that night. The mix of not having felt you close in weeks and the heightened emotions driven by your confessions made his skin tingle everywhere it came in contact with yours. He’d never slept so little without regretting it in the morning.

It goes without saying that most of the night was not spent talking, but you still had things you needed to discuss. The two of you laid out all of your fears, and Sunghoon was immensely relieved to finally get a glimpse into that mind of yours. He made you promise to always tell him what was going on, and he promised you you’d never be too much for him. Always just right.

Now, he gets to wait outside of your exam hall with your favorite flowers in hand, to put his arm around your shoulders during movie nights instead of holding your hand beneath the blanket, to kiss you over the barrier at the end of a hockey game he won. Heeseung’s narrowed eyes at the sight of the two of you is an added bonus.

You text him that you’ll hang around the locker rooms after the game so that you can head to the party together. The end of December is nearing and you can’t wait for the new year, for twelve whole months of not hiding your feelings for Sunghoon from anyone, not even from yourself, least of all from him. At least, that’s what you told him in a sappy, drunken voice message at two a.m. the previous night when the girls made you drink a bottle of prosecco to yourself—their way of congratulating you for an arduous but successful exam period.

He steps out of the locker rooms with Jake and Jay. You’ve never looked quite as pretty, face lighting up as you spot the three of them, his jersey on your shoulders. You’d worn it during your last exam—“I thought it might bring me luck to wear a pretty boy’s name on my back,” you’d told him, to which he’d replied that it was good practice for when you actually took his last name. You’d looked away, fighting a smile.

Now your smile is full-blown as you look at him, but the downside of being an official couple is that Jake has now more material to tease the both of you with.

“Oh my God, you waited for me, what a sweet sister I have been blessed with!” he exclaims, arms outstretched as he barrels towards you.

“Fuck off, Sim,” you say but accept his hug nonetheless. “Nice game.”

“I know.” He pulls away and ruffles your hair. Jay nods at you like you’re someone he shared a class with back in second year and not his friend of almost three years.

As if on cue, just as Sunghoon reaches you and envelops you in a hug, Jake turns around and yells loud enough for all the players spilling out of the locker rooms, “And don’t forget to wear protection! I’m not ready to be an uncle yet.”

“That’s disgusting, Jakey,” you yell back, and he smiles proudly. Sunghoon had never thought the day would come where you’d initiate a kiss in a room full of people—he’s on cloud nine when you take his head in your hands and press your lips to his, murmuring praises about how well he played.

“It was all for you, baby,” he says, trying to appear cool even though a blush is creeping up his ears. 

“Not for the recruiter of the national team?” you asked with a smirk.

He smiles, shrugging. “Maybe a bit for him too. You’re the one I want to impress.”

“Consider me impressed.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him a second time.

You head towards your friends, hands warm against each other.

--

In classic mysterious Jay fashion, he organizes a New Year’s Eve party that he can’t attend himself.

He’s on holiday in some exotic country halfway across the world with his family, but he’s offered up their house for a celebration and tasked Jake with making sure no one trashes anything.

The party started three hours ago, and you’re sure it’s in full swing by now—you’re sure everyone is having a jolly old time, getting drunk enough to welcome the new year with a hangover, searching the crowds of people for the person they’ll want to kiss at midnight. You’re sure that people are having so much fun that whoever notices your and Sunghoon’s absence might think you’re missing out.

And maybe you are—but there’s nowhere you’d rather be than where you are now, straddling your boyfriend’s lap in the backseat of his car. He’s a little bit tipsy, you’re a little bit tipsy, it’s obvious in the way you kiss each other, messy, impatient, interspersed with giggles and with perhaps too much tongue. Your hands are not much more polite, harshly grabbing at his hair just the way you know he likes it, and neither are his, having snuck their way underneath your black satin dress long ago already.

When Sunghoon pulled you away from the party, you’d appropriately exclaimed, “But the party?”, to which he replied, “Fuck the party.” It wasn’t like him to curse, or to have anything but a bashful smile on his lips, like a guilty dog who’d been caught doing something it knew it shouldn’t, even though he was just standing there, so when you see his stoney expression, you think something serious must’ve happened.

The something serious turned out to be “that guy who was touching your shoulder.”

Clearly, it’d take Sunghoon a little bit more time to be entirely secure in your relationship. In the meantime, you didn’t mind letting him fuck his jealousy away.

Although he’d been the one to whisk you away, you’re the one who finds yourself begging for him to speed things up. Your flimsy thong does absolutely nothing, so you’re basically grinding yourself bare against his clothed erection—and it’s not like the fabric of his suit trousers is very thick, either. A girl can only put up with so much dry humping before having her boyfriend’s dick inside of her goes from being a want to a need.

“Need you, Hoon,” you coo against the shell of his ear. A few words usually do the trick, but Sunghoon has other plans tonight.

“What do you need, baby?”

“You.”

“I’m right here,” he says, punctuating his words with a squeeze of your ass.

“You know what I mean,” you say, practically whining.

“I’m not sure I do, actually.”

You pull away and, looking at him directly, say, “God, Sunghoon. I want you to fuck me.” His shit-eating grin simultaneously makes you roll your eyes and goes straight to your core.

“That I can do.”

He keeps one hand on your ass as he loosens his tie first, then undoes his belt and trouser buttons. His slacks and underwear pool around his ankles, and all he needs to do is hike your dress up around your hips and push your thong to the side. You wrap a hand around his dick, but your mind is too hazy to do much with it—he’s started rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb, the pressure and speed as perfect as it always is. You let your forehead fall against his shoulders and moan unabashedly, thankful he decided to park the car far enough away from the house.

“You like it when I touch you like this, baby?”

“I love it, Hoon.”

He hums his approval. “You’re so perfect. So perfect and so wet for me, isn’t that right?”

You start to say “yes,” but you interrupt yourself with a gasp. You hold onto Sunghoon’s arm, feel his muscles move under your palm as he slips two fingers inside of you without warning. “Please,” you choke out, a tight knot already forming in your stomach.

“Please what?”

“Need you. Need your dick, baby.”

He smiles as if endeared, but his words couldn’t be more different. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before going off with some random guy the one minute I was somewhere else.”

“He’s just-fuck, Hoon, he’s just a mutual friend of Jay and I. Fuck, right there, baby.” Forming coherent sentences when Sunghoon’s fingers flick against that perfect spot deep inside you again and again is no easy task, but you need to defend yourself.

“Right there?” he echoes, voice a whisper against your ear. When you nod, eyes shut tight, he slips his fingers out. You look at him, betrayed. “That’s too bad. Why don’t you ask him to touch you right there, hm?”

You don’t know how much of his jealousy is put-on to get you to beg and how much of it is real. You make a mental note to have a conversation with him about this later—right now, you don’t mind playing along if it means your boyfriend will deign to fuck you. You know he wants to, he’s just making you work harder.

You move your hand up and down along his dick, brush his reddening tip with your palm every now and then. “He couldn’t touch me like you, Hoon.” You lean in and trail kisses along his neck, his jawline, his ears. “Can’t fuck me like you, either.”

With exams, hockey matches and any other responsibilities out of the way for winter break, the two of you had had an obscene amount of sex in the past couple of weeks. You’d done other things, of course, namely having much-needed conversations with each other, your friends, your families. Sunghoon’s mother was overjoyed at the news, glad her “duckling had finally met someone” — her words — and his sister kept stealing his phone from him to talk to you when you were on FaceTime. You and Jake had gone home for two days for Christmas, and although Jake had needed to pep talk you into it for over an hour, you managed to tell them that you wouldn’t stand for being belittled for your life choices anymore.

But in-between these conversations, you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. You’ve grown more comfortable with each passing day, both of you bolder in vocalizing what you want and how you feel. And so, you quickly found out that your Sunghoon, your shy, sweet Sunghoon, got off like nothing else on salacious words. In line with his possessiveness, he loved hearing about how he and only he could do these things to you; in line with your need for validation, you could practically come from hearing his praises alone.

“That’s right, baby.” Like the gentleman he is, he fishes out the condom wrapper he had gotten ready from his trouser pocket, tears it open with his mouth and rolls the condom on with one hand, his other one still preoccupied with you. “Come here, my love,” he whispers, his sweet tone worlds away from his previous teasing, almost cocky one. He grabs your hips, guides you closer to him and lines your entrance with the tip of his dick. He lets you go at your own pace, rubs your thighs soothingly as you sink down onto him slowly and adjust to his size. You throw your head back, mind hazy with pleasure as you move your hips back-and-forth against him.

“You feel so good, baby. You’re doing so well for me.” His words make you pick up your pace, and you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers grabbing at his hair and sides of your faces pressed against each other as you start lifting your hips and sinking back down. Sunghoon’s hands hold your ass tightly, guiding you up and down. It’s hot in the car; sweat runs down your hairline and your back, air is running low, the windows are fogging up, but it only adds to the dizzying bliss growing in you. Even the seatbelt receiver digging into your knee doesn’t bother you.

“Feels so good, Hoon,” you moan.

“I know, baby.”

Your hours of studying everyday means your thighs aren’t the strongest—good thing for you that your boyfriend has enough stamina and strength for the both of you. As soon as he feels you tiring, your rhythm becoming slower and more irregular, he picks up your slack. One hand on your back, one arm around your waist, he presses you close to him, his hold on you so tight you can barely move. He bucks his hips harshly into yours, faster and faster, making you cry out with every brush of his tip against that spot deep inside of you. Your whole body shakes with pleasure as your moans grow higher and louder, until the tension in your stomach hits its apex and unravels. A gasp leaves your throat as you come around him, but he’s unrelenting, the overstimulation quickly making tears form in your eyes. Strings of curses and praises of how perfect you are spill out of Sunghoon’s mouth disorderly as he reaches his own end.

Together, you take your time catching your breath, his fingers roaming your back while you trail soft kisses all over his face and neck. “My pretty baby,” he whispers, and it makes your heart swell with so much affection for him that you press your lips to his, shutting him up in case he says something that actually has you exploding.

You wish you could spend some more time just the two of you before returning to the party, but when you check your phone, it’s already five minutes to midnight—he puts his clothes back on as you fix your hair in a rush, Sunghoon helping you wipe away traces of mascara under your eyes, and together, run back to the living room where everyone has gathered. You find Minjeong, Yunjin, Chaewon and Jake, who has Jay on FaceTime. It’s only five p.m. where he is.

Everyone counts down from ten together. The first thing you do in the new year is kiss Park Sunghoon—and you’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do, too.

© asahicore on Tumblr, 2024. please do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works. support your creators by reblogging and leaving feedback!

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz @jakeflvrz (ask to be removed/added!)

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

➸ masterlist

“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

➸ masterlist

[diremoone]

quiet kisses | r. sukuna

prompt 2 — “I’ll kiss you anywhere but under the mistletoe.”

requested by @yuujispinkhair :: Heyyy babe, your Christmas prompt post is so cute 💗💗 If you feel inspired, can you please write a little something for Sukuna + prompt 2 or prompt 7 (whichever you prefer)? 💗💗

a/n: AHHHH thank you so much for sending this in Winter! 🤩 I can’t tell you how much I nearly exploded seeing your request in my inbox! I went with prompt 2 because that’s the one my brain started working for the fastest. I hope you like it and I did your request justice :3

w — alcohol mention, fluff, everyone is 20+ in this fic, modern AU, mentions of prompt 7 heehee, softie! sukuna, sukuna cooks at the end lmao but it’s not related to the chef! sukuna fic

[ Christmas Prompt List ]

[ Christmas Event Masterlist ]

Nobara putting on this Christmas party was anything but unexpected. She was a party girl at heart, but nothing like what you’d see at a frat house or a club. No, she was the party master (or so she likes to call herself). And you kinda had to agree. Her parties weren’t over the top, but they definitely were anything but boring.

This time was no different: catering, along pizza and wine delivery, along with some of the more higher-rated Christmas movies playing on the TV with English Christmas music playing on the background, just loud enough that it wasn’t obnoxious.

You knew your boyfriend had to agree, even if he hated attending social events and parties.

What an introvert, you muse to yourself. You wonder how many people realize that as much as Sukuna seems like it, he doesn’t actually like parties. Nor anyone but himself and you at said parties.

You and Sukuna are off to the side against the bar that separates the kitchen and living area, deep in your own little world of each other. You’re leaning on him, his big arm wrapped around your shoulders comfortably.

You nudge him. “This isn’t so bad. See!”

Sukuna scoffs. “That’s what you said when you forced me into that Santa costume last year.”

“But you had some fun, didn’t you?”

“In the suit? No. Terrorizing children in it? Absolutely.”

You slap his chest. He catches your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. You grumble. “You idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he remarks with a grin.

Suddenly, like magic, the party suddenly gets loud. Jingle Bells comes on the playlist set up, and everyone has begun to sing as loud as they possibly can. Sukuna grumbles and plugs one ear with a finger, rolling his eyes. He keeps on ear open, and you know it’s just to listen to you as you attempt to sing your way through the giggles.

When the song ends, everyone cheers. Sukuna unplugs his one ear and sighs, taking another sip of the hot chocolate you’ve made for him. They all quiet down, giggling and giddy from the sudden excitement of the old but catchy tune.

But why is everyone now looking at his and your direction?

And then everyone starts chanting: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You and Sukuna look up at the same time, seeing a mistletoe being hung over your heads by a fishing rod, but none other than the Party Master herself. Nobara grins sadistically with an evil glint in her eye.

Sukuna cusses and downs the rest of his drink before saying, “I think that’s our cue to leave. Nice party, Kugisaki.”

You attempt to down the rest of yours before he grabs your hand with his bigger one and leads you out the front door, almost stumbling over your own two feet.

Behind you, everyone complains about Sukuna being a “party pooper” and leaving. Before you two leave, he turns back to them and gives them the finger.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if we weren’t the only couple here. Maybe Geto and Gojo should finally shack up,” Sukuna says with an evil grin. The two men next to each other go redder than tomatoes in record time. Sukuna isn’t done though, looking at his little brother. “And maybe you and Fushiguro should finally get a room, too, baby brother.”

The chaos from your boyfriend’s words gives you the chance to leave without trouble, the two unspoken couples now being the main attention of Kugisaki’s evil fishing rod-mistletoe.

Maybe they’ll be together come New Years, you think happily.

Sukuna drives you both home. One hand on the wheel, the other intertwined sweetly with yours. But by the time you get home, you’re halfway asleep in the car, hot cocoa being the perpetrator of your tiredness. You attempt to blink and wake up, but Sukuna’s gruff, “Stay put.” halts you as he turns the car off, keeping his keys in one hand.

You have no idea what he’s doing until he opens your door and slides his arms under your back and legs. You squeal and giggle as he effortlessly picks you up from your seat.

“Goddamn, you got the giggles tonight,” he mutters.

Like he’s done it a thousand times (he’s at least done it a couple dozen), Sukuna unlocks the front door with you in his arms with pure ease. He carries you over the threshold like a husband would his bride and doesn’t set you down. He hoists you up, readjusting your position closer to his chest. And then you see the cunning look in his eyes.

“Sukuna, what are you— mmph!”

He dips his head and captures your lips with his. He’s warm, so warm and comforting. You feel so safe and loved in his hold and damn do you love him. Your arms naturally tighten their hold around his neck as you two kiss in your home.

When Sukuna pulls away, he chuckles. You’re slightly breathless from the sudden kiss, but grinning nonetheless.

“You couldn’t do that at the party?” you inquire curiously.

“I’ll kiss you anywhere but under the mistletoe,” he replies honestly. “Especially at a party in front of people. Not my thing to make such an intimate spectacle of ourselves.”

Your heart flutters and overflows with love at his desire to keep his affection solely for your eyes to see. Sukuna has never been one to kiss or do intimate things in public beyond hand holding or wrapping his arm around your shoulders. For him, he considers that to be sacred; any acts of love he prefers to be behind closed doors, kept between the two of you and not in front of people to be fawned over or talked about.

“You really are the sweetest man I’ve ever met,” you say. “I’m so lucky. I really got the best man ever, didn’t I? Thanks, Universe.”

Your boyfriend’s cheeks tint red. A rare sight.

“Fuck. No, I’m the lucky one.” Sukuna gives you a fat smooch on the lips, the adds, “But I don’t have the universe to thank. I got you all by myself.”

You toss your head back and laugh at his indirect proclamation of arrogance. Or maybe it was just unshakable confidence, who knows?

Sukuna sets you down on the couch and asks, “What do you want for dinner?”

You think for a moment before replying, “Didn’t you say wanted to make some penne vodka the other day? That sounds good.”

“Penne alla vodka,” he corrects you with a stern eye.

You toss your hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.”

But as Sukuna gets to work on the dish, you can’t help but stare at him as he works. He could be a master chef like Gordon Ramsey, if not better. But you’re kinda glad he’s not, not if you get to see him in your kitchen every night.

Yeah, you’d trade any party and PDA for his quiet kisses and love at home any day.

taglist:

@vagabond-umlaut | @poe-daydreams | @heresan @thedovahqueen | @lotus-n-l0ve | @chiyoso | @miraclecherryblossomsblog | @unbreakableblueheaven | @marscatbutler | @vanillabloo | @wo-ming-bai | @visionsofmagic | @tohsri | @lilacliliess | @bub-ss | @missmuffinr

[hotvintagepoll]

hotvintagepoll Hot Men Tournament rundown thoughts

I promised a final recap post and here it is! I'll try to cover the questions I saw the most as we closed out the bracket, reveal my ✨secret faves✨, and talk about the biggest surprises and turnarounds I saw in the brackets.

Yes, this will get silly.

ROUND 1

As I've mentioned before, I worked off submissions for who to include in the bracket, so if your fave was missing—that's why. I used submitted pics when I could, but many submissions didn't have one, so I tried to find decent ones in the couple of days I had to prep the first round (I didn't always succeed). By decent, I mean pics where 1) I could see the hot man's face, so not too much moody lighting, and 2) hopefully conveyed something about his vibe, even if it was a funny thing (yes, I showed Howard Keel in full Shakespeare get-up—I'm not beyond putting up a pic because I think it's funny). I didn't know all of these hotties going in, so some I had to guess with, but when I could I tried to pick shots that had a touch of the humor, class, or genre of the hot man.

For Round 1 and Round 2, I grouped the hotties by each decade, so only '60s actors ran against '60s actors, '50s against '50s, etc. Male beauty standards shifted pretty dramatically over the sixty years this tournament covers, and I didn't think it was fair to pit dramatically different styles of beauty against each other immediately.

I pitted hot men against each other based on opposing energies—hot vs cold, elegant vs rough, comedy vs drama, etc.. I wanted the polls to be interesting and I've never liked brackets where everyone is clearly in different "lanes" until the finals! I also wanted to make polls where I couldn't tell which way they would swing, so by setting matchups that felt opposite but equal, I got to be surprised by the bracket results too.

The only reason we had any three-way matchups is because the amount of men submitted didn't round to a nice bracket number. I don't like them generally and find them really hard to balance.

Secret faves from Round 1—I am a James Coburn girlie and knew he would die immediately, so that was not a shock but a bummer. I similarly knew Robert Preston is only magical to people who have seen him do His Little Dance Routines in That One Iowa Musical, but it would have been nice for him to last longer.

Surprises—Jeremy Brett was a last-minute add and I didn't think he really had a shot, so I put him in as a third wheel on the Sean Connery/Dean Martin matchup. Little did I count on the Granada girlies. (Always count on the Granada girlies.) The Elvis/Peter Falk poll was the first one to gain any momentum—Elvis was winning for the first 24 hours but then, my god, did Peter fight back. I didn't expect the Tab/Toshiro poll to make that bad a mincemeat out of Tab—people have different tastes, and I thought the people who like blonde sunny All American white boys might turn out for The Blonde Sunny All American White Boy. Sorry, Tab. I hope you've peeled yourself off the sidewalk by now. And, of course, I was SHOCKED and APPALLED that James Cagney would be obliterated by, of all people, Mr. Bing Crosby.

SHADOW BRACKET

The fervor of the Harold Lloyd and Fredric March people inspired the shadow bracket, and I couldn't be happier at the way it's gone. You were right, the original photos I had for them did suck. Cunty Harold Lloyd in his little life guard uniform was a revelation.

ROUND 2

For Round 2 I'd gotten a better sense of who was doing well and who was not, so a little of that came into play, but I mostly paired on vibes again. (I genuinely think this is a good way to make a fun, challenging bracket.)

Secret faves—Noooo not hot dilf Dick Van Dyke don't take my hot inventor dilf away uwu!!! (He was up against Marlon Brando. I would have been shocked if he'd won but for a minute there, a glorious second, it was possible.) I am also a big old softie for David Niven's particular brand of repression to the point of volcanic rupture, but he is one of many hotties who does not look good without moving and speaking so I figured he would be going.

So much beef—hey! hey you. I ran a poll asking if we are horny for dancers. Yes, was the resounding poll response. Where, then, did all the fucking dancers go? This round we lost Donald O'Connor, Fred Astaire, Harold Nicholas; Sammy Davis Jr., Danny Kaye, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby all sneak into this category as well, by token of having been in the kind of big MGM bang-a-pan-and-put-on-a-show beloved bedlams we all watch at Christmastime. Round 2 voters HATED musical matchups. Except for one.

The one—SOUND OF MUSIC, the voters said, WE LOVE SOUND OF MUSIC. we will KILL the man responsible for salad dressing because of the SOUND OF MUSIC. every other dance man can die but THIS man dances a FOLK DANCE with JULIE ANDREWS in a GARDEN. I did not go into this poll with strong opinions about Christopher Plummer or Paul Newman but my god did I leave having heard all of them.

Surprises—James Edwards/Anthony Perkins matchup was a nail biter! Conrad vs Oscar kept me up at nights. Surprised to see Basil Rathbone survive against Sabu Dastagir—both very fetching, but Sabu had some top-tier propaganda. Cesar Romero put up a surprisingly stiff fight against Cary Grant (an omen for things to come).

Oh horrors—horror heroes surprisingly fell all over the place. I was sure either Bela Lugosi or Turhan Bey would sweep their three-way matchup, but Michael Redgrave of all people carried through; Boris Karloff went down against Johnny Weismuller (while holding hands with fellow fallen hottie Fred Astaire), but at least we got his guacamole recipe before he went. Delighted to see that the Venn diagram of the coalitions who support horror hero Vincent Price and funny lil guy Donald O'Connor is a circle.

Secret faves pt 2—oh yeah, I fucking love Danny Kaye and Donald O'Connor. RIP funny lil kings.

ROUND 3

For some reason this was the hardest one to make matchups for. Oh no, all the men are hot.

Secret faves—Michael Redgrave i love you SO much you're SUCH an idiot, how did you make it as far as round 3. I want you to sweep the whole thing but you should NOT be surviving this. I love you, here's a kiss, go home.

Surprises—Marlon Brando is gone! Errol Flynn is gone! Christopher Plummer exhausted himself beating the organic oreos man to death and goes out with a whimper. Beginning to actually see the roots of #mifunesweep as Tyrone Power, a hot man very different from Burt Lancaster, who was in turn very different from Tab Hunter, also gets swept under the wheels of the unbeatable toshirobus. Conrad Veidt finds that no amount of purring svelte eccentricity compares to the people who will fuck a young Lt. Columbo.

SHADOW BRACKET 2

Cannot believe it but Veidt loses this one too. Perkins sweeps and becomes Prince of the Shadow Realm!

ROUND 4

At this point I've set a formal bracket that I'm following.

Secret faves—this isn't secret anymore, but losing Jimmy Stewart hurt.

Surprises—The Gene Kelly/Jeremy Brett matchup was the diciest one all round, moving back and forth between the two by sometimes .01%. Far more surprising, however, was Cary Grant getting eliminated before the quarterfinals. Grant has never been my type, but he is famous for being THE type, so while the writing had been on the wall the whole tournament—how on earth did Michael Redgrave even get 36% in his matchup?!—seeing Grant go down was a SHOCKER. Other fallen hotties included Gregory Peck, James Dean, Harry Belafonte, and Sessue Hayakawa. Peter Falk finally met his match in Omar Sharif.

QUARTERFINALS

Secret faves—I don't know if it counts as a secret fave, tbh, as my horses in the race really went out with Stewart, but I do have a soft spot here worth mentioning. Here's my childhood dog, Keaton.

The resemblance is truly striking, and yes, he was short, fast, and not prone to smiling.

Surprises—I couldn't predict how any of these matchups would go down, but I was most interested in Keaton vs Sharif, as they are both SO hot in SUCH different ways.

SEMIFINALS:

This was such a good batch of semifinalist contestants. By this point I think we could all tell Mifune was unstoppable (though I thought Sharif might give him a run for his money), but I really didn't know which way Robeson vs Poitier would flip.

FINALS:

I wanted Sidney Poitier to pull a last-minute sweep out of nowhere, but alas, Toshiro is just THAT GOOD (maybe. I will admit that I find Toshiro's domination a little hard to believe, given the variety and hotness of all his competitors; the man is hot but all these men are hot). I'm still happy with how the tournament went.

FINAL MEDITATIONS:

Biggest shock of a dropout: the loss of Paul Newman

Biggest "you people have no taste": the loss of James Cagney

Biggest victory: Paul Robeson making it to the semifinals over often-assumed champion Gregory Peck

Biggest coalition who deserve justice: dancing men

Biggest ask character: vents anon (currently eating Laurence Olivier)

Biggest, uhh, anything: how many of you are here! I genuinely thought it would be me and 10 other people voting for the whole tournament. I'm thrilled it took off like this!

I think that's everything, but I'm happy to answer addl asks. And THANK YOU to everyone for your tags, rants, impassioned propaganda, beautiful pics, and love for the hot men! See you for the ladies!

[eiloveir]

→﹐naruto imagines !

naruto men’s responses to “what are we?” ── 𝑖.

genre: fluff, angst, romance

characters: hatake kakashi, uchiha obito, uchiha itachi

warnings: relationship dynamics, angst, toxicity, emotional neglect

author’s note: inspired by a pinterest post i came across.

hatake kakashi

you guys were friends, but he treated you so much more special than the others. his gestures and attention made you feel something, and you loved imagining what it could mean. that’s why you found the courage to ask.

“what are we?” you locked eyes with him, gathering every last bit of courage you could find within yourself. there were so many reasons you’d held back, paralyzed by fear — fear of the unknown, fear of what might go wrong, and perhaps most significantly, fear of rejection. yet every gesture he made, every word he said, seemed to carry a message meant solely for you. each action he took filled you with hope, as if he was yearning for you to ask the question you’d been waiting to ask for so long.

as courage welled up within you, you knew that this was your moment — now or never. now, with your courage gathered and your heart thrumming in your chest, you could feel the weight of years of unspoken words pressing down on you. this was it — the moment you’d been waiting for, the opportunity to finally voice the question you’d kept within.

kakashi’s gaze fixed on you, with an expression that betrayed no emotion. his eyes held no sign of what lay behind them, making your heart thrum with anticipation. you were unable to predict his response, or even what answer you longed to hear. moments of silence passed, stretching into what seemed like an eternity. finally, his eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his voice a soft whisper as he asked, “are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

he moved closer, closing the distance between you completely until he stood directly in front of you. leaning in even closer, his face now just inches from yours, he gently met your eyes, his gaze searching deeply as if trying to read your very soul. with a smile on his lips, he repeated, “you’re asking me, what are we?”

his hand moved gently, tenderly brushing away a stray strand of hair from your face. his touch lingered on your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth on your skin before he withdrew his hand. in a whisper even softer than before, he questioned, “you really don’t know?” he took another step closer, closing the gap between you until you could feel the heat of his body and the intoxicating scent that surrounded him. his touch was tender once again as he tucked the same strand of hair behind your ear, “after all this time?”

a shiver ran down your spine at his words, and you looked away, feeling a rush of emotion. “i…” you began, but the words caught in your throat, your heart pounding with a excitement and anxiety.

he moved even closer, closing the last bit of distance between you, and gently pressed his body against yours. his breath caressed your skin as he leaned in, lifting your chin upwards to meet his gaze. his voice was low and intimate as he repeated his question once again, “you want to know what we are?” he paused, searching your eyes for a moment before continuing, “we’re more than just friends — much more. deep down, you know it, don’t you? what’s happening between us goes far beyond mere friendship.”

uchiha obito

you two were just a “one call away” from each other, reaching out only when the heat of the moment struck. you weren’t friends, nor were you lovers, so what exactly did you have?

you were quiet, lost in your thoughts, as you watched obito light a cigarette immediately after your intense moment. he inhaled deeply, the cigarette’s tip glowing softly in the dim light, and then exhaled, sending a plume of smoke into the air. your eyes wandered over his naked body, partially covered by a blanket, and your mind swirled with questions. why did the two of you always end up in situations like this? for the past year, you had been indulging in these intimate pleasure, calling each other whenever the need arose, seeking peace in each other’s touch. yet, despite the time and intimacy shared, you were still uncertain about the nature of your relationship.

obito leaned back against the headboard, taking a long drag on his cigarette. his other hand absentmindedly traced patterns on the sheet beside him. he glanced at you, his eyes taking in the details of your exposed skin in the silence that enveloped the room. the only sounds were the faint rustling of the sheets and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

he exhaled another cloud of smoke, breaking the silence that enveloped the room. his gaze shifted to you, studying your pensive expression with curiosity. he, then, took another slow drag on his cigarette before speaking again, his voice a low rumble in the still air. “you’ve been unusually quiet since we... well, you know.” he paused, watching as your thoughts continued to unravel in your head, and then continued, “care to share what’s going through that mind of yours?”

without warning, he shifted on the bed, leaning closer to you. his eyes locked onto yours, it was filled with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. the silence between you stretched on, punctuated only by the rise and fall of his chest.

obito took another pull from his cigarette, the tip glowing brightly as he did so. his fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket, tracing feather-light patterns over your bare skin. he exhaled a long stream of smoke before speaking, a frustration creeping into his tone, but his voice still maintaining his calm. “c’mon, say something, did i do something wrong?” he muttered, and there was an unexpected vulnerability in his voice. his eyes never once leaving your face as he waited patiently for your response.

his touch continued to rove sensually over your body, evoking feelings of desire. you inhaled deeply, struggling to find the right words to express yourself. in that moment of hesitation, pleasure threatened to sweep you away, but the need to respond to him overpowered all else.

as the torrent of words tumbled out of your mouth, spilled forth unfiltered and raw. you stumbled over your thoughts, struggling to articulate what you really wanted to say. “you—what do you think—like—what are we?” you managed to sputter, the words escaping your lips before you could properly collect your thoughts. the question hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, as you anxiously awaited his response, unsure of what he would say next.

the question lingered in the air like a ghostly presence, its silent echo filling the room with anticipation. you watched intently as his expression morphed from a blank slate to one of calculation, his eyes narrowing as he carefully considered his response. time seemed to slow as he methodically weighed his words, casting furtive glances back and forth between your gaze. just when it seemed like seconds had passed, he broke the silence, his voice cutting through the stillness with precision. “you tell me, what do you think we are?”

he moved closer, body pressing intimately against yours, the heat and hardness of his muscles against your soft curves. his warm breath caressed your skin, his voice a low, sultry whisper that sent shivers of desire coursing through your body. “describe us, to me. tell me what you think we are.”

uchiha itachi

you felt something real—something was definitely there between you two... at least, that’s what you had expected.

“you’re back...” you managed to say through your trembling voice after several moments of silence. each word came out hoarse and heavy — it struggles to escape the tightness of your throat. your heart ached at the sight of him, and a bitter lump formed in your throat. his face remained emotionless as he took a step forward, his eyes scanning over you for any sign of change. “why did you come back?” you asked, your hands clenching tighter into fists as you fought back the tears threatening to spill.

his response was silence, a deafening quiet that filled the air between you.

as the silence between you extended, the pain in your heart tightened like an iron vice, clawing at your soul like a ravenous beast. no matter how hard you tried, the words caught in your throat, refusing to surface. He stood there stone-still, his face an emotionless mask, and in that moment, he could have been carved from granite for all you knew. and you cannot stay still and the dam broke, as the words you were trying to hold back spilled out in a whisper. “you never stay,” you managed to force out.

“say something. don’t just sit there and stare at me.” your voice quivered, the desperation bleeding through as you longed for a response. though you couldn’t tell what you wanted more: an answer or for him to remain as stoic as he was so you could hate him forever.

his icy eyes bore into yours, his gaze as intense and unyielding as winter’s relentless chill. with a casual detachment that belied his demeanor, the stillness that surrounded you both intensified the silence, broken only by his almost emotionless question. “what is it you expect me to say?”

you felt a shiver crawl down your spine at the sound of his voice, its chill as deep and impenetrable as the arctic. even after all these years, his detached tone hadn’t thawed even a fraction, remaining as frost-bitten as ever. he never let his guard down, never allowed even a glimpse beneath the stony facade. this coldness of him was what hurt the most—the knowledge that you couldn’t breach it, couldn’t reach the vulnerable part of him hidden behind the barrier.

your eyes, tear-filled and weary, met his gaze, the pain in your heart growing with every moment as you struggled to understand his actions. “itachi,” you said, your voice trembling, the weight of your emotions like a physical presence, “you appear out of nowhere, spend nights beside me, only to vanish before i wake up. you sit there for hours, watching me in silence, never revealing your thoughts or feelings. now tell me, what the hell are we?”

“i don’t think we are anything,” itachi’s words echoed cruelly in the otherwise silent room, the weight of his response hanging heavily between the both of you. the chill tone in his voice was enough to freeze any warmth in your heart. you could hardly believe what you were hearing, yet there was no mistaking the cold truth of them. you stood there, feeling as if he had just stabbed you in the chest with a dagger of ice. “we’re not together, we’re not a couple. we don’t have anything. you know that.”

your voice quivered with pain as you confronted him, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. “why do you keep doing this to me?” you choked, voice breaking from the outburst. “why do you keep coming back if all you’re going to do is remind me time and again that we're nothing?” you couldn’t understand his behavior, why he would come back to you only to keep insisting that there was nothing between you. it was like a game, a cycle of disappointment that left your heart battered and bruised.

itachi’s gaze remained steady, his expression still unreadable. he paused for a moment as his words hung in the air — and you saw an expression of him, far from the usual demeanor he has — hesitation, and it was enough to give you a glimpse of something more beneath the surface. it was as if for a moment, the mask he always wore had slipped, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once again by the chilly indifference. “i don't know why I keep coming back here,” he admitted, his gaze still fixed on you. “i just—”

“you just?” you waited anxiously for his response, hoping he would say something in regards to this matter — that he would give you some understanding of what was going on in his mind.

itachi remained silent for a long while before finally speaking, his voice retaining its emotionless tone. “i just can’t seem to stay away.”

[minisugakoobies]

Paradise | JJK - Fourteen

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: drinking, references to blow jobs that happened like 60 seconds before the chapter starts, Jungkook's a bit possessive, Jin's a bit jealous, mentions of pregnancy, references to sex, 2021 AMAs Jungkook is the wedding visual, special guest stars Woosung and El Capitxn

Word Count: 7.5k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!

A/N: Happy two years of Paradise!! 🎉 Two years ago today, I posted the first chapter of what was going to be a five-part series. So to say I can't believe we're here is really no joke!! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, reblogged, sent me asks or DM'd me about this series - this is all because of you! 💜💜💜

Unbeta'd as usual. Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! Taglist is open. 💕

Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist ♦️ Next Chapter

Turns out that impulsiveness looks pretty good on you. 

Or so you think to yourself, catching your reflection in the mirror of the men’s room as you leave Jungkook to collect himself after giving him the best blow job of his life (your words - although, based on the look on his face as you’d swallowed, you might not be far off). 

You hadn’t planned on dragging him into the bathroom like that, but upon seeing him walk out onto the terrace in that grey belted suit, looking like an absolute dream, well, you simply could not help yourself.

You also hadn’t meant to tell him you missed him last night. But you had, because you did. God, when had you turned into this - this massive simp? It was only yesterday morning that you’d woken up in Jungkook’s embrace. You’d barely spent 24 hours apart - so why were you so desperate to get back into his arms?

Of course, none of this matters right now. There are only minutes to go before the ceremony begins, and you need to pull your head out of the clouds and get back to Jennie and the others. Starting by escaping the men’s room sight unseen.

“YN!” 

Or not.

As soon as you close the door, you hear Jin’s voice calling to you. He’s standing at the other end of the little hallway, near the entrance to the reception room.

“Hey,” you reply, trying to be the most nonchalant you’ve ever been in your life, as if you weren’t just gagging on Jungkook’s dick in a public bathroom. 

Jin smiles as you approach, but there’s a gleam in his eye that makes you nervous, and you’re so busy trying to come up with a valid excuse for why he saw you emerging from the men’s room that you apparently forget how to walk, trip over the hem of your gown, and crash directly against his chest. 

“Easy, tiger!” he laughs, arms locking around your back as he helps you stand back upright. “I’m used to ladies throwing themselves at me, but only you’ve taken it literally.” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re pretty sure he’s not lying about fighting off admirers, given that he looks like a supermodel in his crisply tailored tuxedo. His bowtie is a little crooked thanks to being squashed by your face during your ungainly landing, so you gently fix it, and Jin thanks you with a soft grin. 

“I left my glasses at home, so tell me - did I just see you leav-” Jin suddenly stops in the middle of his sentence, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. “Oh. Nevermind, I see.” He takes a step back, arms falling from your waist.

Another hand slips into yours. 

Jungkook didn’t wait very long before following you out of the restroom. He squeezes your hand as you glance at him, but he stares directly at Jin, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes narrowed, lips pursed tightly as if - as if -

Oh, shit. 

“You left this behind, jagiya.” Jungkook turns to you, his face shifting into a softer expression as he produces your clutch like some sort of trophy. You must’ve left it on the counter. “Did you want me to hold it during the ceremony?” 

Your brain is lagging severely at the moment, trying to process two major facts at once. Fact one: Jin obviously realized that you were with Jungkook in the bathroom. Fact two: you completely forgot to tell Jungkook that Jin would be at the wedding. Which, given the events of the last 24 hours, it’s understandable that it slipped your mind, but this isn’t how you’d expected to officially introduce them. And he doesn’t exactly look thrilled to run into him now. 

On top of that, Jungkook has asked you a question. And is now waiting for an answer, while Jin watches in polite silence. 

“Um. Yes. Sorry, yes, can you keep an eye on it for me?” 

Jungkook nods, tucking the clutch into his jacket and patting it lightly. “Of course,” he says, nodding solemnly, as if you’d just asked him to protect precious goods and not a cheap bag full of tissues and mints. 

Jin clears his throat lightly. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, Jin, this is Koo- Jungkook. Jungkook, Jin.” 

Of all the ways for these two to meet, this might not be the most embarrassing, but it’s definitely up there. There’s still a bit of Jungkook’s taste lingering on your tongue as the two men shake hands, Jin wincing slightly. 

You try to quickly fill Jungkook in. “Jin’s the best man.” 

“Sure am.” Jin grins. 

“He and Yoongi grew up together,” you add, ignoring Jin’s little interjection, knowing that Jungkook didn’t miss it based on the way his jaw flexes violently, as if he’s gnashing his teeth. 

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook. That’s quite a grip you have there.” Jin slides his hands into his pockets. “YN’s told me a little about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Jungkook replies, inclining his head slightly. His hand returns to yours, fingers locking firmly. “Wish I could say the same, but YN never mentions you.” 

You try to control your face as you look at Jungkook. What did he just say?

Jin just grins wider. “So… she said you’re a dancer?” 

“Yeah, I'm a dancer. But I’m also an artist,” Jungkook replies, chest puffing out slightly. 

“Yes! You should see his work, Jin. He’s an incredibly talented painter,” you add, and the corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smile. “I might actually have a photo on my phone…” 

Jungkook doesn’t give you any time to check. “Y’know, I think I’ve heard of you. You’re a cook, right? I think my halmeoni watches your show.” 

If Jungkook intended that as a jab, Jin shows no sign that he felt it. “Well, technically, I’m a chef. And a restaurateur. But yes, I do host a successful cooking program - actually, it’s about to be turned into a series for a major network.”

“Right. So like I said. You cook.”

Jin’s the one twitching now, his eyebrow rising slightly at Jungkook’s blasé tone. But rather than looking annoyed, Jin looks amused. Meanwhile, Jungkook is still glowering. You, though? Your smile feels a little strained as you try not to react to the snarky shots being fired off around you. Jungkook seems more rattled than you’d expected by Jin’s presence. You’ve never heard him talk like this. 

“You’re right, I do cook a little,” Jin laughs. “I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it. But YN could tell you, since I’ve cooked for her a few times.” He glances at you, the sparkle in his eye you’d noted earlier back and twinkling a little too merrily for your comfort. “From what I remember, she’s been pretty satisfied every time.” 

And you’d thought this couldn’t get any more awkward than running into Jin post-beej. How silly of you. 

Jungkook’s fingers grip yours tighter. “And yet not satisfied enough to ever bring it up. Huh. Sounds like it was kinda forgettable.” 

Jin’s eyes flicker to yours questioningly and you cringe, still struggling to come up with anything to say that could make this conversation less tense. At this point, you’d be better off wishing for the ground to open up beneath you, as useless as your brain is being.

Jin coughs. “Anyway, YN, Yoongi asked me to tell you to tell Jennie that the officiant is running a little late. Nothing to worry about!” he adds hastily upon seeing your concerned face. “Just caught in traffic. But on his way.” 

Great, another thing for Jennie to stress out about. “Okay. I’ll let her know.” 

Guests are starting to fill up the rows of chairs on the other side of the glass wall. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lisa heading towards you, waving your bouquet. Thankful for the interruption, you stretch out your hand. 

“Come on, we’re cutting it close on time!” she announces. “Hey, what happened to your lipstick?” 

“Uh…” Rather than answer, you opt for escape, tugging on Jungkook’s hand lightly to urge him to follow you. “One sec, Lis. Come on, Jungkook, let’s find you a seat.” 

“See you at the altar!” Jin calls behind you, and you wince, feeling Jungkook stiffen momentarily. 

There’s an empty chair on the end of a row on the bride’s side. Jungkook folds himself into it, placing your clutch delicately on his lap. 

“Um, so, we already took photos earlier, so I’ll just come find you after the ceremony.”

“Okay.” Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, nodding. 

An unsettling feeling comes over you. Should you apologize for not telling him about Jin? Or say something about what just happened in the hallway? What did just happen, anyway? 

Through the glass, you can see Lisa waving, pointing at her watch. Shit. Whatever happened, you’ll just have to talk about it later.

As you turn to leave, Jungkook grabs your wrist. He threads his fingers through yours, pulling you closer to him, until his lips brush your cheek. “See you soon, jagiya.” He gives you another soft smile, sunlight sparkling in his eyes. The angry scowl from the hallway is nowhere to be seen. 

Your head is a mess as you follow Lisa. How had you not mentioned to Jungkook that Jin would be here? Damn, maybe he was right - maybe you really never talk about Jin. 

Both men had warned you when you started dating them that they could get competitive. Apparently that meant passive aggressive disses and weirdly possessive behavior. If this is how the two of them are going to behave, you’re in for a long day. 

A small room cordoned off from the rest of the rooftop restaurant has been turned into the bride’s waiting room. Jisoo’s doing a last pass on Jennie’s makeup when you arrive. She takes one look at you and reaches for a tube of lipstick sitting on the makeshift vanity. 

“Babe, what happened to you? You look stressed.” 

Rosé hums in agreement. “I expected you to stumble in here looking more satisfied than that. You dragged Jungkook away at lightning speed!” 

“Pucker up,” Jisoo orders you, and you obey, letting her fix your lips. 

“Mmm, well, I found her talking to both Jungkook and Jin in the hallway, so maybe that has something to do with it?” Lisa pipes up, eyebrow raised. 

“Oh shit, did something go down?” Rosé asks, a little too excited for your taste. 

“Well, actually,” you start to say, then shake your head. This is the last thing you need right now. This day is too important to be derailed by your love life. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Oh, but Jin did say that the officiant’s running a little late, Jennie. He’s on his way, so there’s no need to panic, but the ceremony might start a few minutes later than planned.” 

“Oh, see, Jennie? I told you there was no reason to worry - now you’re not the only one who’s late!” 

“Jisoo!” Lisa hisses. Rosé covers her mouth to suppress her giggles. 

Jennie, who has been sitting silently since you walked in, inspecting her appearance in the makeup mirror, lets out a strangled sound that’s a cross between a laugh and a wail, and buries her face in her hands. 

“Girl, please do not make me fix your makeup again,” Jisoo pleads as she crouches next to Jennie. You pull up a chair next to her and sigh, rubbing Jennie’s arm lightly. 

“Ji’s lame attempts at humor aside, how are you feeling?” you ask.

Your best friend is absolutely radiant in her white gown, dark hair tumbling in gentle waves down her back as she turns to you. 

“I’m still okay. I know things were a little… dramatic yesterday, but really, I’m okay today. You guys don’t have to keep asking me how I’m feeling.” Jennie clasps your hands, giving you a soft smile. “I’m excited and I’m nervous but more than all of that I’m ready to marry the love of my life.” She pauses. “I think maybe I should use the bathroom again, though. I guess I have some time.” 

“I’ll help you,” Lisa volunteers, gathering Jennie’s train and following her out of the room. 

You’re quiet until the door closes behind them. “Okay, was anyone else expecting her to freak out about the ceremony starting late?” 

“She’s keeping it together, somehow,” Jisoo shrugs. “I think she’s still a bit in shock, honestly. But she’ll be okay.”

“She’s fine, as long as no one mentions anything about the you-know-what,” Rosé informs you, crossing her arms as she glares at Jisoo. 

“You don’t have to censor yourself when she’s not in the room.” Jisoo rolls her eyes. 

Your friends fall into their usual bickering, but you’re too deep in your thoughts about Jennie to bother telling them to knock it off. Maybe Jisoo’s right and she’s still adjusting. Just another reason to try to stay focused on her and make sure everything goes perfectly for her and Yoongi.

It’s the least you can do for your friend, after the day she had yesterday.

Yesterday

Friday morning brings you a sweet surprise. You weren’t expecting to wake up with Jungkook in your bed. He spent most of the night making you forget all about Taehyung’s joking offer to drop to his knees at your promise to help him, doing such a good job that you’d almost forgotten your own name, too. You’d figured he’d slip out in the middle of the night after you’d fallen asleep. 

You were wrong. He’s still here, all messy bedhead and sleepy eyes, laughing quietly about alarm clocks and wrapping you up in his arms. He follows you like a puppy as you start your morning routine - into the shower, back into your room, and then into your kitchen - and honestly it’s no wonder that you decide to take the day off to spend it with him. The thought of repeating yesterday and hanging out with him all day is too tempting to refuse. Even though you’ll see him pretty much all day tomorrow at the wedding - look, if he’s down for it, then why not?

And then somehow the universe decides that your day has only been maybe a solid eight out of ten so far and decides to kick it up a few more notches, by offering you a possible life boat off the sinking ship that is your job. 

Hey YN!

I know this is ridiculously fast, but my company has an opening, and I think you’d be great for the job! Long story short someone unexpectedly quit yesterday, so now we have a position we  need to fill immediately. I hope it’s okay, but I’ve given your name to our VP in charge of hiring and she’d like to bring you in for an interview! She asked me to reach out and see if you’d be all right with coming in next week - I know that’s fast, but this is for a new project that’s being rushed to production so we really need someone to crunch some numbers ASAP! 

Let me know if you’re interested!

Best,

Wendy

As if that’s not enough, Jungkook offers to help you practice for the interview, and suddenly you can’t see through the hearts in your eyes. Could he be any sweeter? You thank him, and he kisses you, and you melt, lost in his warmth. 

Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality. “How many more emails do you need to answer?” 

“Um…” you stare at your laptop. “Let me just respond to Wendy and then I’m done.”

“Cool.” Jungkook stretches. His t-shirt rises with the motion, his Adonis belt briefly visible, and you know he’s caught your stare when he smirks. You quickly turn back to your computer, but he just wraps his arms around your shoulders, catching you in a back hug.

“I’m gonna go home and take off these dirty clothes,” he murmurs, teeth nipping your earlobe. “Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.” 

“Fuck,” you breath. Jungkook laughs, obviously pleased at the effect he has on you. He’s such a tease sometimes. You’re trying to figure out how to flip the tables on him when your ringtone starts trilling.

Be still, my heaaaaart…

“Oh god, I bet that’s my boss, wanting to talk me out of taking off.” You frown as you check the screen. “Shit, it’s Jisoo. I gotta take this.” 

“Hey, do you have a second?” Jisoo’s voice comes through a little strained. And loud. She’s talking over some sort of high-pitched wailing. It takes you a minute to figure out that it’s a person’s voice making that sound.

“Ji! What’s going on? Wait, what’s that sound? Is that Jennie? Is she crying?”

“Yeah, that’s Jennie. She’s - she’s had - well,” Jisoo sighs. “Look, I’m over at her place because I wanted to treat her to a manicure today because I know she’s been too busy to schedule one and you know how she gets about her nails so I thought it would be a nice surprise but when I got here - oh, you know what, this is not important to the story, why am I telling you this?” 

“Just get to the point, Ji!”

“I’m trying! I’m sorry, it’s been a big morning and - what?” There’s a muffled conversation happening suddenly, and you stare blankly at your computer as you wait for Jisoo to return. You don’t know what the hell is going on, but you don’t like any of it.

“Just ask her to come over!” you hear Lisa say in the background. Lisa’s at Jennie’s, too? 

“I was getting to that!”

With a frustrated sigh, you try to get Jisoo’s attention. “Okay, okay, I’m coming over!”

“Do you mind? I know you have to work-”

“No, I’m not working today, I….” You pause, knowing that Jungkook’s just in the kitchen, likely able to hear everything you’re saying, not wanting to embarrass yourself by admitting that you took the day off just to be with him. “It’s a long story, I’ll explain when I get there.” 

You don’t end up explaining anything once you arrive. That’s because as soon as Lisa opens Jennie’s door, she greets you with a tiny white stick bearing two little pink lines. Rosé is right behind her, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” Lisa grins, throwing her hands in the air. “Baby Min, coming to you soon!” 

You frown, glancing over Lisa’s shoulder. “Where is she?” 

The sound of Jennie’s crying gets louder as you approach the master suite. When Lisa stops outside the bedroom closet, you grab her arm. 

“Before I go in there - are those happy tears or sad tears?” You’re pretty sure you already know the answer, but you need to know what to expect. 

Lisa grimaces. “Somewhere in the middle, I think.” 

Jennie’s curled up beneath the hangers of clothing stuffed into the closet that she shares with Yoongi. She’s wearing one of his oversized hoodies, sniffling into the black material as Jisoo, smushed into the corner beside her, carefully untangles herself. 

“Tag, you’re in,” she says, taking the hand you offer to pull her to her feet. 

There’s not a lot of room for you but you squish yourself in as best you can, and immediately tuck Jennie against you. Jisoo closes the door behind you. 

“Hi, babe.” 

“Hi,” Jennie’s voice is wavery and small, so far from her usual confident, cheerful tone, that it hurts your heart. “Did they tell you?” 

“I saw.” 

Jennie settles against you, hiccuping slightly through her tears. “This wasn’t part of the plan.” 

“I know.” 

Jennie has been mapping out her and Yoongi’s future pretty much since the day they met. They both want to start a family, but Jennie insists that they enjoy their honeymoon period first. And she’s determined to make tenure at the school where she teaches before taking time off to have kids. She wants to have it all, but at her own pace and on her own terms. Which means timing everything out so meticulously. So carefully. 

Gently, you brush a lock of hair from her wet cheek. “So… do you know how…” 

Jennie sighs. “Pretty sure it was the night of my bachelorette party. I came home and Yoongi asked how it went and um, I kinda couldn’t stop talking about my lap dance.” Your friend’s face flushes at the memory, and you bite back a grin. You’ll have to tell Jungkook he left a lasting impression. “And Yoongi… well, you know how he gets competitive sometimes?” 

You can’t help it. You burst into laughter. 

“Yoongi gave you a lap dance?!” 

“God, I wish I’d seen that,” Jisoo says from the other side of the closet door. “I’d love to know if he’s got moves.” 

In all your years of friendship, you’d never known Yoongi to do more than a simple side-shuffle whenever Jennie would drag him onto a dance floor. The thought of him performing an erotic lapdance is too much for even your overactive imagination to conceive.  

Jennie just smiles to herself. “Believe me, he does.” She glances at you shyly. “He’d kill me for telling you this but… you don’t think Jin choreographed his routine all by himself, do you?” she laughs, referring to the night Jin danced for you, and your brain breaks a little trying to picture Yoongi doing the same moves. 

The closet door flies open. 

“I’m gonna need to hear every last detail about that,” Lisa proclaims. 

“Same,” Rosé adds, and Jennie laughs for the first time since you arrived. She sits up, dabbing at her face with the sleeves of Yoongi’s hoodie. 

“Ugh, my face is going to be so puffy tomorrow.” 

“No, it won’t. We’ll take care of you,” Jisoo promises, already on her feet. “I’ll go raid your kitchen for supplies. Do you have any cucumbers?” She’s gone before Jennie can answer, Lisa scrambling behind her.

“Anyway… we always use protection, but you know how they say it’s not 100% foolproof? Yeah, turns out they’re telling the truth.” She stares at her sweater paws, suddenly forlorn again, and you give her a tight squeeze. 

“I’m sorry, babe. I know this is… a lot.” 

“Yeah. And I just…” You don’t say anything, just wait patiently until she finds the words she’s searching for. “I just feel like a failure. You know? Like, it’s so stupid, but…” She shrugs. “I feel like everything’s ruined now.” 

“Oh, Jennie, no!” Wrapping both arms around her, you sigh. “Accidents happen. That’s life! You can make all the plans you want but you can’t control everything. There’s chaos everywhere! And even if you do your best to avoid it, sometimes it gets through. And it’s not always bad! I mean… look at me and Jungkook. He came out of nowhere. I didn’t plan to start dating him and Jin at the same time. I didn’t know it was gonna get serious. I thought…” you trail off, realizing you’re making it about yourself. “Sorry, this is not about me.” 

“No, it’s ok, finish your thought. Tangents and diversions are good right now,” Jennie informs you.

You bite your lip, weighing your words. “Back when Jin and I met, when you introduced us, I just thought… this is it. This is my chance to have what Jennie and Yoongi have. Something real. Something safe and steady.” 

Jennie nods, encouraging you to continue. 

“And then Jungkook… he’d always been so close but I’d never gotten to know him. He came in and opened my eyes to another possibility. To something exciting and different and - and passionate, and, oh god, I sound like a shitty romance novel, don’t I?” Burying your face in your hands, you laugh. 

“No, go on!!” Rosé says. 

“I’m just trying to say - plans don’t always work out. But that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. And sometimes, the unexpected can be exactly what you want. Or need.” 

Jennie sighs, and you can feel her relaxing against you for the first time since you sat down beside her. 

“I hear what you’re saying. And I’d like to believe that. It’s just… really difficult for me to accept that I’m not always in control.” 

“That’s a fucking mood,” Jisoo says, returning from the kitchen with a mug of tea in her hand. Lisa carries a bowl of some sort of cucumber concoction, and the two of them settle on the floor outside the closet. 

Rosé scoots across the carpet until she’s close enough to take one of Jennie’s hands. “Back to your chaos, if that’s what we’re calling it. Is it too soon to ask you what you’re gonna do?” 

Jennie groans, pulling the oversized hood over her head. 

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.” 

“I just want to get through the wedding,” Jennie states, voice muffled by the soft fabric. “I’m getting married tomorrow! And I don’t want anything to - to ruin it. Or make things weird, or more stressful than they already are. I mean, fuck, I think my halmeoni is already upset that we’re not doing a traditional wedding. Imagine if she finds out I got knocked up before marriage!” 

“Okay, then we’ll make sure no one finds out tomorrow.” Lisa glances at everyone and you all nod in a wordless pact. “We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure your day is as perfect as you’ve planned. You know we will!” 

“Does Yoongi know?”

Jennie peels her hood back to look at you. She shakes her head. 

“I took the test this morning, after he left for work. I’ve been so busy lately that I didn’t even realize I was late until today! Ji was the first person to find out when she showed up, and then she called the rest of you.” She pauses, fiddling with her sleeves again. “I think I’m going to wait to tell him until after the wedding. We’ll need to have a serious talk, and there’s too much going on right now.” She glances up. “Is that - do you think that’s okay?” 

Once again, she seems lost. This time, when you go in for a hug, Rosé joins you. 

“Babe, you can tell him whenever you’re ready! It’s your body.” 

“Yeah, but we’re in this together…”

“And you’ll be in it together still, no matter if you tell him today or tomorrow or next week.” Jisoo declares. She holds the mug out to Jennie. “And we’ll be here too.” 

“Yes. Maybe this is good chaos. Maybe it’s bad. It’s up to you to decide how to react - how to move forward. Whatever you decide, you know we’ll be by your side the whole time,” you declare, your sentiments echoed by the other girls. 

Jennie blows lightly on the steaming drink. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys,” she says, choking up slightly, and everyone else starts talking at once. 

“You deserve the world!” Rosé coos. 

Lisa shakes her head. “We’re the lucky ones, babe, having you in our lives!”

“How’m I gonna depuff your face if you keep crying?” Jisoo tuts. 

You just rise to your feet, laughing. “Come on. Ji said something about manicures earlier. Let us pamper you today, so you’re ready to knock Yoongi off his apparently very talented feet tomorrow.”

NOW

The officiant is only a few minutes late, and the ceremony goes off without a single hitch. You and the other bridesmaids join the groomsmen flanking Yoongi at the altar. In addition to Jin, there’s Yoongi’s brother Geum-jae, and two of his friends from work, Yi-jeong and Woosung.

As a string quartet plays the wedding march, Jennie walks down the aisle, beaming more brightly than the sun, and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s face, bearing such an openly reverent expression that it makes your eyes flood with tears. The officiant begins his speech, and Jennie and Yoongi stare at one another as if the rest of the world has fallen away, with nothing left but the two of them and their love.

Watching them almost feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn your face to the rows of guests, searching without thought for Jungkook, smiling when you find him already gazing your way. Your chest nearly buzzes as warmth spreads there, matching the glow in his eyes. 

Because Jennie and Yoongi chose to take photos before the ceremony, there’s no cocktail hour after the ceremony. Instead, everyone is seated for dinner. The happy couple sits at a table for two on a small dais in the front of the room. 

There are no tables large enough for the entire wedding party. There are also no seating arrangements for all of you, either. Jennie had worked very hard on the seating chart for all of the guests except the wedding party. (“You guys figure it out. I’m tired.”) So you quickly claim a seat at one of the two empty tables left open, with Jungkook taking the spot next to you on one side and Jisoo the other, with Rosé next to her. 

As the wait staff brings out the first course, you slide your chair a little closer to Jungkook. “Hey. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that Jin would be here.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Jagi, it’s ok.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure it is,” you reply. “That was not the way I wanted to introduce the two of you. It was, uh, not ideal.” 

Jungkook’s silent as he sips his water. He works his bottom lip between his teeth again, and you wish you could see inside his head, could get some sense of what he’s thinking, because sitting here waiting for him to say something makes your stomach churn a bit.  

Finally, he sighs, reclining back in his seat as he looks at you. “I’m sorry if I made that uncomfortable. I wasn’t expecting to see him.” 

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t mention he was part of the wedding. Truly, it slipped my mind.” Repeatedly. You bite your lip, struggling to figure out what to say. This doesn’t have to be a thing, but you also don’t want them at each other’s throats all night. “But there’s no reason it has to be weird or ruin the night. Because I’m here with you, Kookie. Not him.” 

Your pulse begins to pound. It’s like you’ve just laid your heart on the line. Jungkook’s furrowed brows relax, doe eyes blinking slowly as he absorbs your words. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You turn to find Jin standing with a hand on the empty chair across from you. 

Jisoo lets out a tiny “Yessss, game on,” and you covertly kick her under the table. 

“Uh, I think Lisa is going to -” Glancing around, you don’t finish your sentence as you spy your friend sitting with the groomsmen. Oh, right. Lisa has her eye on Yi-jeong, having basically all but explicitly called dibs that morning when she saw him in his tuxedo. You can’t really blame her. “Nevermind.” 

“Please, join us,” Jungkook offers, gesturing to the table. He says it so kindly that you can’t help but gawk at him in surprise. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but his palm rests on your thigh, rubbing lightly. Reassuringly. 

Your heartbeat returns to normal as Jin smiles. “Thanks.” 

Despite the ceremony being so modern, Jennie and Yoongi opted for more traditional dishes for dinner. For several minutes, there’s mostly an easy silence over the table, as everyone enjoys the janchi guksu and banchan in front of them, only the noise of clinking utensils filling the air. Well, that and the sound of the servers running back and forth to the bar, trying to keep up with drink orders. 

Jisoo, as usual, is the first one to break the silence.

“Okay, Jin, professional opinion on the guksu?” 

Jin chews thoughtfully for a few minutes. “I think they went a little heavy on the spicy soy sauce in the broth, but the noodles are just as tender as the ones I make. Oh, but you’ve had my noodles, YN, what do you think? Do they compare?” 

All eyes focus on you, including Jungkook’s. You swallow quickly. “Um, I think these are just as good! And I really like the broth, to be honest.” 

“You do like it spicy,” Jungkook murmurs under his breath, quiet enough that only you can hear him, and when you glance over, you’re met with that teasing smirk of his. It’s back again. For some reason, that’s more comforting to you than Jungkook’s hand on your thigh. Your heart does a somersault. It’s getting a real workout tonight. 

“You know, I never really thought about it, but it must be hard for you to eat in public. People are probably always asking you for your opinions on their food, or tips on how to make it better,” Rosé says. 

Jin shrugs. “Comes with the territory, I guess. I’m not gonna complain if people value what I think - and I’m always happy to help anyone improve their skills.” He swirls his wine glass before taking a sip. “But I suppose there can be a downside, too. Sometimes I just want to enjoy a meal without being asked to provide a full critique.” 

“I can understand that,” Jungkook replies. Again the other heads at the table swivel. 

“You can?” 

Jungkook nods. “Yeah. Like, right now, I bet you’re all expecting me to be the first on the dance floor, right?” He laughs as everyone suddenly becomes very interested in their meals. “It’s okay. That’s how it is whenever I’m out with friends. I can’t just sit at the bar and have a drink. And I definitely can’t just sway with the crowd. Everyone expects me to show off.” 

“I mean, I’m definitely hoping to see you turn up,” Rosé confirms, and Jungkook laughs again, gesturing at his point being proven. 

“Sure, that sounds annoying. But outside of going out with your friends, how often are you in a situation where you’re asked to dance? People stop me everywhere. When I’m out shopping. When I’m on a plane. I even once had someone ask me for deglazing tips while I was at a funeral! It’s not quite the same as being asked to do the robot at the club.” Jin shakes his head dismissively. 

Rosé mumbles, “I thought you weren’t gonna complain…?”

The two men eye each other for a few seconds as you hold your breath. Then Jungkook huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s not the same. That sucks, dude.” 

You exhale, settling back in your seat. 

Jin just hums, eyes darting back and forth between you and Jungkook before he speaks. “I suppose it’s just a small price to pay for being so successful.” He tips his wine glass back, emptying it. “Where are the servers hiding? I need a refill.” 

“See, this is one of the benefits of being a financial analyst - absolutely no one wants to talk to me about what I do,” you grin. 

“That’s because no one understands what you do,” Jisoo declares. 

“She’s right.” 

“Thanks, Rosé.” 

Jisoo points her spoon at Jungkook. “Okay, but real talk, you are going to dance tonight, aren’t you? You wouldn’t deny us a show!”

“Ji, we just had an entire conversation about this!” you groan, throwing your hands up. “Can you not?”

“What? I’m just saying! The man is a born performer. Right?” 

She looks at Jungkook, who nearly chokes on his wine in his haste to answer.

“Uh. Yes?” 

“Right. So there’s no way you’ll leave us disappointed.”  

“Let me get this straight - if Jungkook doesn’t dance for you, you’ll be disappointed?” you ask. “Hold on while I call Jimin and Taehyung real quick. Wait, sorry, I mean Min and Tae.” 

“All I know is suffering,” Jisoo sighs.

“Oh, relax, Kitty Cat,” Rosé giggles, nearly doubling over at the confused look on Jin’s face. 

As Jisoo loudly laments her choice of friends, Jungkook bends towards you, mouth brushing your ear. 

“Don’t worry, jagi, whether or not I dance here, you can still have a private performance later. I’d never deny you.”

Heat works its way through your body as you shift in your seat, squirming slightly from the low rumble of his voice and the promise laced within. There’s a sudden prickling at the nape of your neck, that nagging sensation of someone watching you, but when you follow the feeling and glance over at Jin, he’s staring at his empty wine glass. 

The tapping of a fork against stemware draws your attention to the married couple’s table. To your immense relief, Yoongi and Jennie had decided to nix the best man and maid of honor toasts, opting to say a few words themselves. Normally, Jennie does all the talking for the pair, but to your surprise, Yoongi rises to his feet, and the room falls silent.

“Jennie and I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for coming. It means the world to us that you took the time out of your busy lives to celebrate with us.” He glances down at his bride, who smiles back, and Yoongi’s gummy grin gets bigger than you’ve ever seen it. “As you all know, Jennie and I have been together since our first year of college. We’ve been through so much together - college, grad school, finding jobs, losing jobs, moving from apartment to apartment - but we weathered it all, because we always had each other.” 

Jennie’s cheeks are wet as she smiles at her husband. Yoongi takes her hand. 

“Jennie, I don’t know what life has to throw at us yet, but I want you to know that I’m never worried, as long as I have you by my side.” He presses a kiss to the back of her hand, and there’s a chorus of awwww’s from the guests, including yourself. Jisoo rolls her eyes, but they’re already spilling over with tears, and you poke her in the side as she laughs.  

“Here’s to you, my love. And to all of you with us here tonight. We can’t thank you enough for your love and support. Geonbae!” He raises his glass.

“Cheers!” his brother shouts, and the cry is echoed around the room as everyone raises their glasses to the couple. 

Just when you think you couldn’t be happier, once again you feel a hand slip into yours, pressing palm to palm, fingers threading through. Jungkook doesn’t say a word, too busy clinking his drink against everyone else’s, but his hand tightens around yours when you look at him, and you feel as though you could float right through the ceiling if it weren’t for his strong grip. 

To think that you nearly hadn’t asked him to come here with you. What a mistake that would’ve been. Thank god you’d ignored the constant fear and doubt in your head and listened only to the steady sureness of your heart. 

You’re getting better at it.

YESTERDAY

After you coax her out of the closet, you and your friends turn Jennie’s apartment into a mini spa, trying to help the bride-to-be relax. By mid-afternoon, as everyone is giving each other manicures, you realize that the window on your day with Jungkook is swiftly closing, so you text him to let him know you won’t be coming home any time soon. 

Not long after that, the door to Jennie’s apartment opens, and Yoongi walks in, trailed by Jin. 

Jennie greets her fiancé happily, hugging him with her hands held straight out so as not to smudge her pretty new pink tips. “You’re home early!”

“Couldn’t focus. Decided to call it a day.” As ever, Yoongi seems completely unfazed to see you and your friends at his apartment. Sometimes you wonder what it would take to ruffle him. Probably something extreme like the zombie apocalypse. “Figured I’d grab my stuff and then get some dinner with Jin.” 

Although they weren’t holding to every tradition, Jennie had insisted that they spend the night before the wedding apart. So Yoongi would be crashing at Jin’s tonight. 

Jin nods at the sound of his name. “By ‘get some dinner’, he means ‘take advantage of his friend’s restaurant and score a free meal.’” 

“As if you weren’t the one who offered,” Yoongi drawls, ignoring Jin’s squeaky chuckling.

“Sounds good, baby,” Jennie smiles as Yoongi presses a kiss to her cheek before he shuffles down the hallway towards their bedroom. “Do you guys wanna get some takeout?” 

While Lisa, Rosé, and Jennie argue about what they feel like eating, Jin catches your eye. “Hey, you got a second?” He jerks his head towards Jennie’s kitchen. Rising from the couch, you follow, closing the door behind you. 

“What’s u-oh!” Your question becomes an exclamation when Jin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, long arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you tight. 

“Just wanted to get you alone,” he says, nose brushing yours as he smiles. “Hi.” 

This is where the butterflies should come in. Standing this close to this incredible specimen of a man, this paragon of perfection, would normally send them flittering through you. Shivers should be running down your spine. Any number of excited reactions should be happening right now. 

Right. 

Now. 

Except… they’re not. 

“Hi,” you echo, grinning a bit weakly. Jin doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong with your smile, locking his hands behind your back. 

“I heard you got some good news today.” 

Your eyes widen as your stomach goes into freefall. 

“You know?” 

How? How on earth could he know about Jennie being pregnant?? Shit, did Lisa leave the pee stick out somewhere? Jisoo told her to put it -

“Of course I know! It’s my show.” 

“It’s your show?” What the fuck does that mean??

Jin honks in delighted laughter at your obvious confusion. “The interview Wendy emailed you about - that’s for my show! The one Nosh picked up?” 

The room tilts as gravity returns your stomach to normal. “Oh! Oh, wow!” Of course. The new project Wendy had referenced - it was Jin’s cooking show! “Wait, so we might be working together?” 

“Yes! Er, maybe! I don’t know how closely or whatever, but basically, the Nosh execs told me Wendy’s firm is responsible for budgeting and figuring out revenue streams and - and that’s really all I remember, sorry.” He laughs. “Most of what they said went straight over my head, to be honest. But I spoke to her on a conference call today and she told me they had an open position for the team that’s assigned to my show, and she’d asked you to interview.” 

“Wow, that’s really…” you trail off, lost in thought. “Isn’t it… the other night at the networking reception, weren’t you saying it might be a travel show?” You have a vague memory of Jin telling you what he wanted to do with his show if it got picked up by a network.

“That’s right. I pitched it as an exploration of local delicacies that often get overlooked by tourists. I’ll be going around the country, visiting tiny, off the beaten path restaurants and bars, and learning how to make their favorite dishes.” 

Traveling for work. That was one of the perks Wendy had rattled off when she’d given you the sales pitch for her company. So, if you got this job, did that mean you’d be traveling with Jin? 

Your mind is already wandering, thinking about what this new job might entail, when Jin brings a hand up to cup your face. His thumb traces your jawline. 

“Wouldn’t it be amazing? You and I, on the road together. Me, discovering new meals to cook for you…” His voice drops, a low murmur meant only for you to hear. “Maybe picking up some new dance moves to show off…” 

He rolls his hips slightly, jostling you right out of your tumultuous thoughts. 

“Doesn’t that sound good?” 

“It does,” you reply, mouth moving on autopilot, not waiting for your head to decide if it agrees. 

“I know I haven’t had the time to take you out properly, and I’m sorry for that. But this is my chance to show you that I’m still in this.” He sucks in a deep breath. “I like you. And I’m hoping it’s not too late for me to say that.” 

If this were a romantic movie, the music would swell now, strings soaring as he tips your mouth towards his. It’s a perfect moment, lush lips caressing yours, sweet and unhurried, lingering like he doesn’t care if anyone else walks in. 

It’s a perfect moment, for sure. Just, not for you. 

“Jin,” you begin, stepping out of his embrace, “I need to tell you something.” 

A/N Pt. 2: To be continued!! (Sorry, the chapter was getting a bit long and this felt like a natural stopping point… what do we think so far??)

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[teez-the-time]

Strawberries and Wine

Pairing: Consort! Seonghwa x Emperor! Fem! Reader

Genre: fantasy, romance, smut

Synopsis: as an Emperor, you liked to indulge in the pleasantries of life. The shiniest jewels, the best wines, the tastiest delicacies. But in the years of your reign, you had never found something as exquisite as the lips of Park Seonghwa.

Warnings: switch! lean dom! reader, switch! sub lean! Seonghwa, masturbation (f and m receiving), oral sex (f), breast play, piv sex, riding, dry humping, grinding, a lil food play, alcohol consumption (no drunk characters), pretty vanilla actually, body wordship, my characters are whipped as usual, pls tell me if I miss something

Wc: 9.1k

Taglist: none

A/N. What's this? Me actually posting a fic? Make a wish, people, cause a miracle has happened. Anyway, I humbly offer you this Hwa x reader fic, I hope you enjoy it. Please pretend that I actually know how to write smut and that I don't suck at it. Also, let's pretend this isn't totally inspired by the Webtoon, "Men of the Harem". Go read it if you haven't. Any like, comment, message, reblog, etc. is highly appreciated. My DMs are open as always. See you later!

XOXO

-May

“I believe that was the last engagement for the day, Your Majesty,” your trustworthy secretary, Marquis Kim Hongjoong, announced.

You rolled back your neck, releasing little pops of accumulated stress from the long day. Your eyes almost cried in relief when you closed them for more than a couple of seconds, having been subjected to the harsh candlelight for hours. “That is good to hear. It’s already very late. You may be excused, Hongjoong, and thank you for today”.

Your secretary stood up beside your desk, slightly bowing his head as he held a thick stack of papers underneath his arm. “If my services aren’t required any longer, then I’ll be on my way, ma’am. Have a pleasant night, Your Majesty”.

For a couple of seconds, only Hongjoong’s steps could be heard in your office room. You were putting away letters, documents and your beloved stationary when a little note tucked away in one of your drawers reminded you of something.

Poor Hongjoong had a hand on the door knob when you called out for him. “Wait, Hongjoong!”

“Yes, ma’am?” he inquired after being stopped seconds away from freedom. He looked worried from your sudden abrasiveness.

“I had almost forgotten to ask,” you explained, “did you inform Lord Park Seonghwa of my visit tonight?”

Hongjoong wanted to sigh from relief, as well as laugh at the mention of your little appointment with the young noble, Lord Park Seonghwa. “Yes, Your Majesty. His Grace and his entourage were made aware of your intentions of passing by tonight”.

“Good, good.” You spaced out and forgot to add something else to that sentence, but was suddenly called back to Earth when you saw your poor Hongjoong still standing by the door like a dog waiting to get out. “Now you are truly dismissed. Sorry to keep you here”.

“No worries, ma’am,” he assured you, finally leaving you alone in your office. Just you and your thoughts of that commitment with none other than your adored Park Seonghwa. At last, something exciting in your day after many hours of meetings with your court, and mountains of papers with budgets, reports, complaints and many more.

God, you thought, it’s depressing to still be thinking about work. I guess it's inevitable if you want to run an empire.

You finished picking up after yourself and blew out what remained of the candles. They had just been replaced that day, but you would need to call for someone to put even more the next day. 

I guess I will have to set aside a budget for candles.

The halls of the palace were considerably more empty in the late hours of the night, but that didn’t stop you from running into several maids and guards on their nightly duties. They all bowed to you and waited until you were far enough to continue with their tasks. In those moments, you thought that, no matter how bothersome and grueling your responsibilities could get, at least you didn’t have to stand up for hours on end or wash silverware in the middle of the night.

Near your chambers appeared to be the busiest. You opened the door to find your maids awaiting to assist you in your nightly routine. They curtsied at your arrival, and hastily dragged you to your vanity to begin dressing you down.

“Look at these hours!” one exclaimed while removing the pins of your hair, “Your Majesty must be so tired after such a long day. Should we draw a bath with those special salts for you to relax, ma’am? Then we can serve you some lavender tea for sleep”.

“You are a dear to me,” you thanked her and the others, “I’ll gladly take the offer of the bath, but I’m afraid I won’t be staying the night here. I plan to visit Lord Park, so please draw me that bath and fetch my robe”.

They giggled. “As you wish, Your Majesty”.

The hands were the most delicate when removing your makeup, hair and clothes. They rubbed away the stress of work and replaced it with the most pleasant of oils and perfumes. Indeed, they were masters of the art of polishing the body and the soul. Before you realized, you were already dressed in your nightgown and the robe that you reserved for these occasions.

“Is there anything else we can help Your Majesty with?” another one asked.

“I’m afraid not. Thank you once again. Please retire to your chambers for some sleep. We will have to wake up very early tomorrow!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

They curtsied as they left, and you could hear some of their giddy laughter and hushed voices just before the door closed. They loved gossip, even if it was about the whereabouts of their emperor (which was no secret to anyone). You let them entertain themselves however they wanted, choosing to keep them content as they were the people that spend the most time with you.

You sat in your vanity once more to contemplate their work. There was no sign of fatigue or worry in the face that looked back at you from the mirror. Quite the contrary. You looked more refreshed and rested than you had in weeks, all thanks to the magical wonders of your maids.

There was nothing you could do better in your appearance, so you decided to leave before you could consider staying in your chambers. While that thought seemed pleasant, a more promising option awaited you at one of the wings of the palace.

The wing reserved for the royal consorts was exquisite and lavish. Several rooms expanded around, forming a circle with a marble fountain in the middle depicting two lovers embracing each other with the utmost intensity. A dome was constructed on top of it, so the lovers were perpetually bathed in sunshine or moonlight. The floors were carpeted with the finest rugs imported from exotic lands in faraway continents. No speck of dust could be found on any corner, and all vases were always kept full with your favourite flowers. All the artwork was seasonally changed and handpicked by the emperors themselves according to their consorts' tastes. After all, it was the emperors' duty to pamper them and keep them content.

Having prided enough in your work at the consort wing, you began walking through the left part of the circle. Despite being able to hold many guests, most of the chambers were empty. In your short reign as emperor, you had only taken four consorts, without planning to add more in the foreseeable future. As a female emperor, it wasn’t a good look for your legacy to be remembered for promiscuity rather than your political achievements. Also, you were quite content with whom you had chosen to be your lovers.

Normally, the consort wing was brewing with life, always full of servants and guards waiting on your partners. While it could be refreshing to breathe that atmosphere, it was undeniable that the emperor’s visit was a cause of drama in the palace. Everyone was always eager to learn who were you coming to see, what you talked about and what to expect, and no doubt the speculation resulted in scheming that you weren’t ready to discover just yet. That’s why you tried to keep your appearances late and spaced in between, just to keep gossip at bay.

And, maybe, add some excitement too.

Seonghwa’s room was the farthest away, much to your dislike. Nevertheless, the wait made your little escapade even more thrilling. You reached the door, softly knocking on the sturdy wood. A few seconds passed and no one answered it. You knocked again, and still no answer. By now, one of Seonghwa’s servants would have opened it to let you go in, but tonight didn’t seem to be the case. Starting to get worried, you grabbed the knob and tried to push it open by yourself. Surprisingly, it offered no resistance and you found yourself inside Seonghwa’s chambers. You were preparing to scold him for his imprudence of leaving a door unlocked at night when the most pleasant of smells inundated your nostrils.

At first, it was just the sweet aroma of vanilla and jasmine, but the more you breathed in, the richer the smell got. Soon enough, your mind was floating along with the scent, making you relax into the atmosphere. It reminded you of something hidden in the depths of the soul. Desire. It wasn’t strong nor overpowering, but it lingered there, just barely out of reach .

When you shook out the initial stupor of the aroma, you scanned the room looking for your companion for the night. Normally, he would be waiting for you in one of the exquisite sofas and chairs of the sitting area before the door, but tonight he wasn’t there either. 

Apparently, the young lord had made sure that your night was full of oddities.

After a few more seconds of appreciating the neatness and taste of Seonghwa’s bedchambers, your eyes fell into the sleeping area. The furniture around the bed was lit up with soft candles, and a few scenting oil containers laid open, explaining the delicious odor that greeted you. A bottle of wine and two glasses waited for you at the coffee table in front of the chaise lounge that sat in front of the bed. That was, certainly, a direct clue to move there.

As you got closer, you saw that the drapes of the bed were completely closed, but the light from the candles illuminated the silhouette of a man sitting inside. With big strides and a grin, you closed the distance even more.

“My, my, what do we have here?” you asked in a teasing tone, one hand laying on the back of the chaise lounge. You circled it and sat down on the plush cushions, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into one arm. “Looks like someone is hiding from me. Where did my precious Seonghwa go?”.

A deep chuckle came from within the curtains. “Not very far, Your Majesty”.

“My, my, there he is!” you poured yourself a glass of wine from the bottle that awaited you on the coffee table before the chaise lounge. It was yours and Seonghwa’s favourite. “What an odd feeling to not have you welcome me into your chambers. Playing hard to get, aren’t we?”

His rich laugh resonated once again in the room and you could see he shifted his position a little from the candlelight. “Your Majesty should know by now that familiarity breeds contempt”.

“That is very true, darling,” you sipped the wine, “but I will admit that seeing you that eager has always been my favourite part of the day. Perhaps you are right and I’ve spoiled my puppy too much, so now he is bored of me. I guess I’ll have to go to one of the other consorts…”

Slight panic rose to Seonghwa’s voice, but he managed to save face in time. “Quite on the contrary. I thought that Your Majesty might start getting bored of our encounters, so I thought a little change was due”.

Your heart fluttered at Seonghwa’s thoughtfulness, but you weren’t done playing with him. “What a kind puppy I have got here. Thank you for thinking about me, but remember I’m the one who makes the decisions here”.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but you heard a little mischief there.

Still, you decided to let it slide once. “Either way, I’m feeling extra generous tonight, so I’ll follow your little plan for a while. So, tell me, where do we go from here, my darling?”.

Seonghwa shifted once more in his bed. His shadows danced across the fabric of the drapes. 

“Well,” he started, “I believe that Your Majesty has already made herself comfortable on my chair, but I’m afraid that none of what I intend on doing tonight makes use of it. So, why don’t you come closer, ma’am?”.

Now, you thought, he is using that charm of his. A little bit longer and I would’ve gone to get him myself.

You stood from your resting position, not leaving behind your glass. Not long after, you stood at the foot of the bed, one hand gripping the opening of the lace drapes, eagerly waiting to reveal your lover’s form.

The sight in front of you left you drunker than the wine on your lips could ever. 

In the many years that he had resided in your palace, you had commissioned dozens of artists to portray the beauty of the young lord, Park Seonghwa. But, even after having a room full of just paintings of him in every position imaginable, you still had yet to acquire any piece of art that could rival the one sitting before your very eyes.

Seonghwa sat between the plush pillows and cushions at the head of the bed. His posture was relaxed, with his legs slightly crossed and one arm supporting most of his upper torso. His robe was barely tied, leaving almost the entirety of his torso exposed. Not that it would have been of much help, given the scandalous sheerness of the garment, which left little to the imagination. His neck, ears and fingers were littered with the golden shine of the jewelry you had especially commissioned to compliment his tan complexion. Your eyes found purchase of every inch of his small waist and defined limbs. He was carefully sculpted by the gods, even if he politely declined any comment made towards his appearance.

One trait you loved about Seonghwa was his eyes. They never lied. You could tell what he was feeling from a simple stare. Right now, many things flashed through them

Desire. Lust. Adoration.

You stood there without moving except to sip on your wine once again. As you stared at him, you noticed that one of his hands laid inside a crystal bowl. Never removing his eyes from yours, he raised it to his plump lips and opened his mouth. His tongue darted out to receive whatever it was that his hand carried and, for a moment, you saw a glint. He let you see the ruby-like gem before he closed his mouth and bit down on it slowly. A slight smirk adorned his face.

He knew you. He knew you liked jewelry. And him.

“Oh?” you exclaimed while looking at the bowl once again, seeing it full with more of the gems, “Is that candy?”

His smile grew wider. “Yes, Your Majesty. The finest of your empire.”

“I see, very interesting. Will you tell me which flavor is it?”

He grabbed one more piece of candy and showed it to you. The light from the candles bounced off it, making it look like a real ruby. “That, ma’am, is something you will have to find out”.

You arched your eyebrow at him in a questioning manner. “Is the puppy going to keep me guessing? Well then, bring it here so I can taste it myself”.

With your command, Seonghwa got on his knees and crawled over the bed towards you, bringing one of the damned candies with him. The closer he got, the more breathtaking he looked. Part of you wanted to order him to stop with his act, but the other part loved seeing his sensual side on display for you. Also, deep inside, you were too soft to ruin his fun.

His head towered slightly over yours. From that distance, you could see every detail of his face, including the nonexistent imperfections. Without a word, your hand scanned his jaw, chin and neck until you felt the cold of one of his gold chains, leaving it there. With your other hand, you grabbed the candy gem and brought it closer to both of your heads. You twirled it twice on your fingers before putting it against Seonghwa’s lips. Not wasting a second, he opened his mouth and let the candy fall on it like it had done earlier. Before closing it again, he playfully licked the tip of your index finger. 

What a naughty puppy.

You grabbed his chin and put your face even closer to his. “You are playing a dangerous game, my darling”.

He had barely swallowed the candy when you closed the space between you with a kiss. Immediately, Seonghwa reciprocated, closing his eyes and grabbing you by your waist and shoulder.

Strawberry. He tasted like strawberries.

You took advantage of the kiss to let your hands explore even more of the body you saw earlier. His skin was as soft and warm as always, but you never got tired of how it felt against yours. Your fingers slid inside his robe and slowly dragged it down his shoulders, leaving even more skin exposed. You wanted all of it. All of him.

You separated from the kiss to get some air, but apparently it wasn’t enough for Seonghwa. He latched himself on the juncture of your neck and jaw, peppering open-mouthed kisses on every inch of your skin that you could find. You let out a content sigh, and weaved your fingers through his hair, knowing he loved when you did that. His hands held you firmly by your waist, pulling you flush against himself. Bit by bit, his kisses went lower until he reached the neck of your nightgown.

Through the years, you had learnt that Seonghwa was addicting. There was never “just a bit” with him. It was all or nothing. And that’s what you intended tonight. Take all of him.

In more than one way.

“As much as I would love to stay like this all night long,” you said while pushing Seonghwa slightly off of your chest, “I’m afraid my legs will give out at some point. Perhaps we should take this further into the bed”.

Seonghwa said nothing. Still, he got up from his kneeling position and down the bed, grabbed your hand and walked around the furniture and sat on the edge of it near the pillows. While smiling, he placed your hands back on his shoulders and pulled you between his legs. He looked at you from beneath, expecting you to follow along with his plans for you.

“I’m also afraid of tiring Your Majesty’s legs before we have even begun,” he shooted you a smirk. “Why don’t you take a seat so I can take care of you, ma’am?”

He didn’t even wait for your answer before grabbing your behind and pulling you with force to himself. You let out a yelp and fell down on him. While he laughed at you, you tried to pull yourself up by pressing down on his shoulders and putting your legs on each side of his. In any other situation you would’ve also laughed with him, but you wanted to keep control for a little longer.

“What a naughty puppy,” you exclaimed, grabbing Seonghwa by his jaw to shut him up. “Good thing you that I love you a little too much. Otherwise I would have your head on a plate”. You didn’t really mean that, but you noticed that Seonghwa’s eyes lit up a bit when you said love. “You will pay me back another day”.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” he replied, “but let me enjoy myself a little longer”.

He captured your lips once more. Somewhere in your conversation he had gained a confidence you had only witnessed a handful of times. He didn’t hesitate to remove your robe from your body, letting it fall to the floor without a care. He didn’t hesitate while pulling you to sit entirely on his lap, making you feel everything underneath. He didn’t hesitate while looking at you in a way no one dared to before.

The adoration you had towards this man felt way too much for a moment, and you got scared. So, you decided to avoid your feelings for a little longer by kissing him again, praying that he wouldn’t notice how different you were acting tonight. And if he did, he didn’t show.

At one point, during your touching, Seonghwa had lost that goddamned robe, leaving the both of you in nothing but your underwear. You could feel the heat radiating from each other, almost too hot to the touch but not enough to make you pull away. As much as you could spend eternity just kissing Seonghwa’s strawberry lips, you were starting to feel impatient and the man could tell.

It started slow, barely enough for you to feel at first. He had broken the kiss to leave more marks on your neck and naked chest. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to his crotch. The space between you was almost non-existent. Little by little, he started to move your hips along his, igniting sparks of pleasure throughout your body. In no time, he accompanied it with movements of his own pelvis, creating the perfect amount of friction to send you into overdrive.

One particularity of Seonghwa was his ability to make every movement enticing. After all, there was a time he was known as the best dancer and performer in your whole land, seeked and desired by hundreds, and it was that reputation that had drawn you towards him in the first place. Every move of his appeared calculated enough to look tempting yet effortless, and here you were paying the price of that talent by being subjected to one of the most sublime pleasures known to humankind.

At one point, Seonghwa had stilled your hips, opting for grinding his against them. This ensured that you could feel the entirety of his erection pressing against every part of your core, all the way from your entrance to your clit. After a while of receiving this tortuous treatment, you were climbing a peak you weren’t ready yet to reach.

You stilled his movements by pressing your hand against his hard on, which earned you a whine from Seonghwa. You almost went back into a desperate grinding after hearing that delicious noise, but you held back. “I’m afraid that if we continue with this much longer, both you and I won’t last enough to get to whatever you wish to do”.

“You don’t have to worry about me, ma’am” he teased you with a cheeky grin. “I can continue all night long, Your Majesty”.

You grabbed him by the back of his head once again and got your faces close. “Y/N”. He blinked a couple times in confusion, so you repeated yourself once again. “Y/N. It’s Y/N when I’m with you”.

Now it was Seonghwa’s turn to pray that you didn’t notice how fast his heart was beating from your statement. One would think that he had loved you enough time for your name to roll easily from his lips, but it wasn’t the case at all. It was impossible when some days, your sole presence was enough to make him nervous. It was impossible when sometimes he looked at the other consorts and it made his blood boil. It was impossible when he knew that using your name meant owning a part of you, something he would never be able to do given the nature of your relationship.

Nevertheless, he allowed the syllables to run through his tongue, even if they stinged. “Well then, I can continue all night long, Y/N”.

He didn’t give you time to reply, because in one moment he was leaving a peck on your lips, and on the other you were swiftly being turned around and laid against the pillows of the bed. You gasped in surprise at the same time that Seonghwa let out the most beautiful laugh you had ever heard.

And what would you not do to hear it again.

“You little scoundrel!” you exclaimed. “You have absolutely no idea what you are getting yourself into. Next time you’ll see how well it goes for you!”

Seonghwa positioned himself on top of you, his chest almost pressed against yours. He shot you another mischievous grin. “I’ll be waiting eagerly, then”.

He left a kiss on the column of your throat, so soft it was barely there. Then he left another one a little lower. Then another. And another. And another, until he reached your sternum. Your eyes fluttered when he started moving upwards towards one of your breasts. He used one of his hands to trace mindless patterns across your stomach, hips and waist. The tender stimulation was starting to heighten the heat in your core, somewhat lost in the brief moments you had stopped rubbing on Seonghwa. Finally, it reached an all-time peak when his warm tongue enveloped your right nipple.

“Ah!” you let out with a moan. He continued his assault on your breast, sucking and licking on your sensitive mound. After some moments of this treatment, he brought the hand that had been on your hip and used it to massage the forgotten bud. Then, he switched sides, continuing his ministrations on both of your nipples. It felt good. So good that you started rubbing your thighs together, hoping to get some friction and relieve some of that growing heat.

Seonghwa took notice of your impatience and decided to act on it. He unlatched his mouth from your bud, replacing it with his other hand. Meanwhile, he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your stomach. You let out content sighs, using your own hands to rub soothing circles on Seonghwa’s defined back and shoulders. His mouth reached the hem of your panties, and you couldn’t help but hitch a breath in expectation. But that fucker had other plans for you.

He peppered even more kisses along the waistband of your underwear, even going as far as to nip it. But, when he got to where you needed him the most, he ignored the wet patch on your crotch, opting to lick your inner thighs. He left another wet trail on your legs up until your knees, bending them slightly to give him better access. Without missing a beat, he switched from one leg to the other, this time going upwards towards your centre. He rubbed your calves and knees tenderly, relieving the tension in them.

Seonghwa broke away from the task he had been focused on for the last minutes to look back at you, and spoke.

“You know,” he stated, “there was once a time where I could have been considered the most beautiful man of the kingdom”. You stared back at him, curious about what point he was trying to make. “It has been almost five years since then, and I’m sure age has changed that fact”.

You frowned at his words, and you were about to refute that claim when he spoke again. “I am certain that has been the case for me. But for you, Y/N, Your Majesty, it is completely the opposite. Every day that you come visit me, I am more certain that time has only made you even more beautiful”.

You were left speechless in awe, but Seonghwa did not seem to interpret it the same way. “I am most sorry if my words have been bold tonight, but the thought has been wandering on my mind for the entirety of this evening. Let me make it up to you, Y/N”.

With nothing else to add, he brought relief to the ache on your core that had been plaguing you from the moment you stepped on Seonghwa’s chambers. Slowly, he bit down on the waistband of your underwear and began to bring it down with his teeth enough to then remove them with his fingers. When he was sure there was not a single millimeter of fabric separating you from him, he dived head first into your folds, tasting you like you were a meal he had been depriving himself of for weeks.

The expertise of his tongue and the long wait had you moaning immediately. “Oh, fuck!” Your hands grabbed the back of his head and pushed him further into you.

Seonghwa never shied away from giving you the best pleasure he could offer. He continually switched from kitty licks on your clit to long swipes through your whole slit. He ate you out like a starved man, sucking on your nub with enough force to make you almost reach the ceiling of pleasure. Nevertheless, he didn’t want you arriving at your climax just yet. No, he had a lot more to give you. He separated himself from your core slightly, just enough to be able to watch you in all your glory. 

The sight of your eyes rolling back into your skull, head hanging weakly over the pillows and your mouth wide open almost made him cum on himself. You looked so fucked out, barely even registering what happened on your surrounds aside from the movement of his tongue and your hand on his hair. 

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, “you are doing so well for me, Y/N. So, so good”.

You whined at his growl-like tone. “Hwa, I’m close. Don’t stop, please.”

Seonghwa moaned at your whining. It was rare to witness his emperor relinquishing so much of the control you normally had on every aspect of your life, even in bed. He was harder than he remembered ever feeling before, and it drove him crazy. He didn’t want to, he needed to make you cum. So, after looking at you one last time, he went back to his task, now inserting a finger into your hole.

You gasped at the sudden feeling of having his digit inside yourself. His fingers were long and slender, perfect for how you liked it. Little by little, Seonghwa started inserting more and more of it, feeling no resistance from your part. With the same slow pace, he began sliding out, only to go back inside. In no time, he had found a rhythm that matched his licks and slurps on your clit. 

This time, you could feel your climax start to unravel once Seonghwa hit the perfect spot. “Oh my god, I’m coming. Shit, shit, I’m coming!”.

The perfect combination of one of his licks with his fingering movements left your vision white. You felt the air being sucked from your lungs as a fiery heat traveled from all your extremities to your core. Your back arched beautifully, almost as if wanting to ascend to the upper plane of pleasure Seonghwa was sending you to. Your fingers clutched anything they could get a hold of; pillows, sheets, and Seonghwa’s dark locks of hair.

The high was dizzying and intoxicating.

Seonghwa continued to shyly lick your cunt while you came back from your orgasm. You felt sensitive to his touch, but your craving for him still wasn’t satisfied. You propped yourself on one elbow to look at him better, moving your other hand from his hair to his cheek. With soft touches, you removed his face from your core to stop him.

The sight before you was erotic in every sense of the word. The lower bottom of his face was drenched in your cum, his tongue darting out from his mouth to lick around it. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, making it seem like it was him who had received one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life. His eyes, still full of love and adoration for you, continued to pierce into yours, feeding into the fire that had slowly been growing since the start of the evening.

“My puppy has done such a good job tonight,” you praised him, running your fingers down his jaw to his neck and chest. In a soft gesture, you put your hand under his armpit, urging him to come up from his lying position to hover over you. With his hands on each side of your face, his legs tangled between yours, and your hands woven over the back of his head, you gazed back at him with a mischievous smile. “I believe a reward is in order”.

You closed the distance between your lips, pressing them into another feverish kiss. Seonghwa let out a content sigh into your mouth, melting until both of your figures became indistinguishable. You ran a hand over his broad back, lightly scratching your nails over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your journey. Then, you dipped it under his waist and over his abdominals, going lower and lower until your hand reached its final destination.

Seonghwa almost collapsed on top of you when he felt you touch his dick. He let out divine sounds when he felt you begin to stroke the base of his member under his underwear, your other hand removing the last piece of clothing for him. For a moment, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the way your hand moved downwards towards the tip, in a movement you had memorized from your countless nights spent with him. To have you touch the most intimate part of his body felt the biggest reward he could receive for his actions, but that wasn’t how he wanted things to go.

You were surprised when you felt his hand grab your wrist to halt your movements. “What is wrong?” you asked, worried about hurting him.

He looked down to where you connected with him and then back at you with his ever-present soft smile. “Nothing is wrong, but I don’t wish to make this night about me”.

You raised your eyebrow at him. “But you deserve it”.

He pecked your nose and gifted you with another smile. “Thank you, Y/N, save it for another time”.

Seonghwa removed your hand from his underwear and intertwined your fingers with his, resting both of your hands besides your head. He left small kisses on your lips, one after another, until you were giggling. The cold metal of his necklaces against your chest gave you small goosebumps, but you still pulled his face against yours, rubbing your noses together.

“I will, Hwa,” you promised him.

Seonghwa let out a chuckle of his own. You looked so cute at that moment. “Thank you, Y/N. Now, if you let me, there’s still one thing on my list for tonight”.

In one swift moment, he sat back on the bed, similar to the position you found him earlier in the night, but this time with you sitting directly on his crotch once more. This time, there was nothing separating your cores. You could feel the entirety of Seonghwa’s length pressed against your slit, warm and slippery with your juices. A small movement of your hips and you would have the head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

Apparently, that same thought crossed Seonghwa. He grabbed your waist to lift you slightly up, leaving you on your knees over him. With one hand he positioned you where he needed you, and with the other he grabbed his cock, stroking himself while aligning it with your entrance. He looked up at you, eyes round and soft.

“May I?” he asked, not needing to say further.

You nodded, and he began your descend towards the climax of tonight’s act.

The first wave came with the first inch. There was always a sense of euphoria when you felt the tip of his length breach your inner walls, slowly dragging upwards to give way to more of it. Your body always responds with a gasp at this initial moment. The second wave is less intense but more prolonged. As he entered deeper and deeper, Seonghwa started losing control of himself. At this stage, he would start touching and grabbing every part of your body he could reach. Hips, thighs, breasts and ass would be covered in small marks the next day from his mindless touch. The last wave was the one that left the both of you with the biggest satisfaction. It was the bliss of being connected in one of the most intimate ways two people could.

“Oh, fuck!” Seonghwa let out, throwing his head back. No matter how many times he had done this, it still felt delicious.

You were also a mess above him. Your back was arched towards him, eyes pressed shut to savour the drag of his dick inside of you, and mouth wide open. Seonghwa felt like cumming from that sight alone. He wanted to devour you whole; crawl beneath your skin and live inside your heart forever.

If only he knew.

Regaining a bit of your senses, you started moving your hips slowly. Up and down, front to back, side to side. You began to find the rhythm that drove the both of you crazy. Wanton moans escaped from your lips as you felt Seonghwa in the deepest parts of your body. You grabbed his shoulders to support yourself better, and his hands found nest on the curve of your hips. In no time, you had picked up the speed, feeling him go in and out harder.

“God, you feel so good,” you moaned. “You are always so good for me. So, so good”.

The praise seemed to get into Seonghwa’s head (and cock). He whined beautifully, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He bit his lower lip to contain the sounds escaping from his throat. You didn’t like that.

You freed his lip with your thumb, once again getting closer to his face. “Don’t you ever try to hold back with me. I want to hear you”.

That set Seonghwa on fire. He planted his feet on the bed, grabbing you firmly by the waist, and started thrusting up into you with force. For a moment, all breath escaped from your lungs, being replaced by the smell of sex and lust. A whiny scream left your lips without meaning to, followed by broken moans and gasps. You hugged your lover by the shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself from falling too hard too fast on the abyss.

Seonghwa’s plump lips now rested against your ear, gifting you with his unrestrained groans and grunts of pleasure. You clenched around his cock deliciously, fitting him like a glove. It felt like a new heaven was opened to him every time he entered you, and your hands roaming across his back and chest felt akin to feather touches of an angel. If he closed his eyes a little longer, then he would be gone for good.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he repeated like a mantra, “I’m so close! God, I can’t wait to come inside of you. I’m going to make you mine”.

Seonghwa was a goner when he felt you clench even harder around him, but he needed you to cum first. It was a rule in his world, a commandment of his, to always satisfy your needs before his, even if it meant never getting back what he had offered you. So, feeling his impending climax approaching, he slid his fingers between your bodies to where your clit rested. His other hand slithered up to your breast, and played with your sensitive peaks. 

That was your breaking point. The stimulation of all those points elevated you to your highest peak of the night. Your body shook with electricity that spread through your spine down to every nerve. You back arched against Seonghwa’s chest, pushing your face away from him. Your toes curled and your legs tensed, your inner thighs wet from the mess of cum and saliva.

You were a sight to behold.

Not long after, Seonghwa came. With sloppy thrusts into your core, he tried to prolong his and your orgasms. Overstimulation was becoming overwhelming, but something carnal and animalistic inside of him pushed him to go further. To claim every inch of your body and soul. Make you his in every way imaginable.

He didn’t stop until he felt like he had pushed the last bits of cum into your pussy. He felt the mess you both had created slip between your bodies, letting out a slight smirk at the thought of your cum and his mixing together.

It was him who had you in his bed tonight. Him who had given you the highest form of pleasure. Him who held you as you recovered from having sex with him.

But still, you weren’t his.

Despite Seonghwa facing inner turmoil at the moment, you felt very content at his side. Still feeling him inside, you were full of him, not just in the physical sense. The weight of your actions with him left your heart soaring higher than the sky, almost at peace. There was just a single detail missing in your equation.

With him standing by your side, there was nothing else you needed.

↠↠↠↞↞↞

The moonlight shone through the open balcony, drawing pale and shapeless silhouettes on the floor beneath your feet. You could hear the branches of the trees sway with the wind in the garden below. It was rare for you to have enough time to sit quietly to observe the mundane beauties of the world that surrounded you.

Except on those nights when you laid with Seonghwa.

After a brief clean-up session with him in his bathroom, you went back to his room. It was a comforting routine for both of you. Just being in each other’s company felt more intimate than any sexual activity you could engage in. You sat there in peace, no clothes needed to enjoy the pleasant company. It was symbolic of how you both bared yourselves naked in more than the literal way.

You sat on the edge of the bed, both feet planted on the floor. The long-forgotten wine returned to your hand, swirling slowly inside the glass, guided by the rhythmic movement of your body. Seonghwa laid on the bed behind you, sipping on his wine. You could feel his intense stare on your back, digging holes at it in silence.

Neither of you felt brave enough to break it.

At last, it was Seonghwa who dared to perturb the tranquility of the room.

“You have been behaving oddly tonight,” he declared, speaking into the rim of his glass.

You turned your neck around just enough to see him gulp down the rest of the beverage. For a couple of moments, the only sound in the room was that of liquid pouring before you answered.

“Am I the only one, though?” you questioned back, but not denying his claim.

“Certainly not,” he replied, seemingly submerged in his thoughts. His long fingers tapped against the stem of the glass before settling it down on the nightstand, “but it is unlike you to drain out your concerns in such ways”.

In five years, Seonghwa learnt to read you like a book. He picked on every cue and sign to assess your moods and act according to them. That way he had managed to completely obliterate the walls you had built around yourself, becoming your trusted confidant in record speed. He had not only looks but a bright mind.

But, still, even Seonghwa couldn’t escape the claws of the cold palace politics.

For that reason, you just offered a close-mouthed smile. “I know you have your people in my council, Seonghwa, so you should know what matter plagues me”.

Seonghwa ignored your cold countenance, choosing to gift you a warm smile. “Yes, I do know, but I'd rather hear it from you”.

You looked into his deep, dark eyes and you knew that if you could trust anyone, it would only be Park Seonghwa.

You exhaled some air and sipped on the glass. “The old foxes at the council have been reminding me that it has been five years since I took the throne, and there are no signs of an upcoming wedding, much less an heir. It makes them restless that there is no one they can trust to succeed me if something happens to me, so they have been pressuring me to pick someone at last”.

You turned around your torso to watch him more carefully. Seonghwa appeared as calm as ever, but the firm grip on the stem of the glass betrayed him

“So,” he asked nonchalantly, “will you do it?”

You left your wine on one of the nightstands and slid up further into the bed to sit beside Seonghwa. He looked at you with extreme curiosity while you settled at his side. While it wasn’t the first time you had touched the subject, it had never affected you like this before.

“Yes,” you said, simply.

For the nth time that night, Seonghwa prayed that you couldn’t hear his heart beating erratically inside his chest. That simple word had planted seeds of jealousy and hope, and he feared that more conversation would water them into a horrific ivy that would swallow his spirit whole. Tonight had not been a good night for his heart. Nevertheless, he made his best effort to appear calm amidst his internal storm.

“Oh?” he asked in an almost teasing tone. “Glad to see you finally settling down. Do you have someone in mind already, or should I suggest candidates?”

The green ivy grew bigger on his chest.

“Yes,” you answered, holding his intense gaze, “I have someone in mind already”.

“Oh?” Seonghwa repeated, but this time less sure of himself, “Is it a consort? Or will you bring someone from outside?”

“Oh god, no. In five years as Emperor, the amount of people I trust has reduced significantly. I could never bring myself to find someone outside this palace”.

Seonghwa bit his lip. “So it is a consort”.

You scooted even closer to him. “Yes, he is a consort”.

Seonghwa’s breath hitched. His head was spinning. One in four. He had one in four chances to be the one you picked.

Against his better judgment, he dared to prod the dragon’s belly. “Well then, who is him?”

You grinned at him, teasing him further. “Aren’t you awfully curious tonight?”

Trying to save face, Seonghwa answered. “Can you judge me? I am part of that pool, so I might as well ask before I hear the news from someone else”.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you scooted even closer to his frame, his arm instinctively wrapping around you and resting you on his shoulder. You inhaled his aroma from that distance and hid your face on his neck.

He smelt like home. And strawberries.

You leaned back to watch him, finding he was already looking back at you. Some of his hair fell on his eyes, covering part of his sculpted visage.

“Your hair is getting longer,” you commented, brushing the dark locks behind his ear.

“Should I cut it?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, it looks beautiful on you”.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

For two entire breaths, you stood in silence. “Seonghwa”.

“Yes?”

You wetted your lips. “Seonghwa, for almost five years, you have lived here in the palace as my consort. You were the first one I brought in many years ago when I had recently taken the throne, and you are my closest confidant aside from Hongjoong”.

You felt him gulp nervously, but you continued. “In these years, you have proven yourself to be more than just a consort. You are indeed handsome, but also brilliant, charismatic, strong, brave, and kind. In many instances, you have been my biggest ally and supporter, as well as a voice of reason when circumstances appear grim. You have a talent few men can say they possess, and it gives me pride to have you on my side, whether as your Emperor, your friend, or your lover”.

Seonghwa felt his chest swell with pride and joy while hearing your words. It was a one-in-four chance, but he certainly felt like it had been him all this time.

But you weren’t finished. “You are a man of many talents, Park Seonghwa, and in these five years I have witnessed that potential grow beyond what this restrictive palace can offer.” Seonghwa tensed beside you. “This place is nothing more than a beautiful prison for minds like yours, whose limit cannot be determined. A breeding ground for the greed and ambitions of the worst of mankind”.

You went back to stroking Seonghwa’s head. “You are my most beautiful flower, Seonghwa. I have sinned by ripping off your roots and hiding you here. I have taken you away from everything you loved and knew: your home, your family, your dance… I have been a horrible woman by keeping you tied to me for five years of your precious youth”.

Seonghwa had started to shake and you felt drops falling on top of your head. You pushed yourself away from him, only to see him crying. Your heart shattered in the very instance when he pushed himself away from your embrace. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over his knees, hand covering his mouth.

“That’s a terrible way to announce it’s not me,” he stated, briefly uncovering his mouth, but never looking back at you.

You got up from your lying position. On your knees, you crawled behind him, looping your arms underneath his armpits. Without a second thought, Seonghwa rested his hands on yours on top of his chest.

Seonghwa had always been an easy crier.

You rested your forehead on his cervical. “I told you I am a horrible person. I am merciless to my enemies, and awful to my friends. More despicable is the fact that I don’t believe those words”. Seonghwa’s head shot up, listening to what you said. “You are my most beautiful flower, and I don’t plan on letting you go”.

You pressed yourself further into Seonghwa’s broad back. “In five long and short years, you have become indispensable to me. It is you who I come to when I am happy. It is you who I come to when I am in need of comfort. It is to you who I confess my fears and sins, and to whom I share the deepest parts of my soul. Your happiness has become my happiness, your grief my grief, and your pride my pride. You are my better half, and my equal in everything but in body”.

“So do forgive me for being a selfish Emperor and even a worse lover, but I will not release you from my grasp, even if it is against my better judgment. I will do anything and give you anything you desire if it means I will get to keep you by my side for the rest of our lives”.

Seonghwa swallowed once again. “Will you give me anything?”

You grabbed his left hand and brought it to your lips. “Yes, anything. Say the word and it shall be yours”.

“You. I want you. I want (L/N) (Y/N)”.

Your heart exploded in a million fireworks inside your chest. “Then, I shall be yours”.

Suddenly, Seonghwa turned back at you, tackling you into a hug. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, slightly shaking with short sobs. He was crying, but this time they were happy tears. Softly, you removed him from yourself with a smile.

“Lord Park Seonghwa,” you said while looking deep into his eyes, “will you do me the honor of becoming Imperial King and marry me?”.

“Yes, yes, yes!” he shouted. “A hundred times yes!”.

You laughed, and he started peppering kisses all over your face. You both went from hugging to kissing to laughing hysterically every couple of seconds. No joy in life could compare to the state of bliss you were in, knowing you belonged wholeheartedly to each other.

You had said it before. Tonight, you had intended to make Seonghwa yours in more than one way.

“But wait,” Seonghwa stopped the both of you abruptly, “isn’t this done through a formal ceremony?”

“I mean, yes,” you replied, “but I wanted to make sure it is what you wanted before officially proposing to you in front of everyone. I would have felt awful to put you on the spot like that if you didn’t want to actually marry me”.

“Are you kidding me? I’m so in love with you that I would have said yes no matter when and where you had asked me”.

“Good to know my fiancé is in love with me as much as I am in love with him”, you smirked and rubbed your noses together. “Either way, I will have to inform Lord Hongjoong of the changes in our situation. I bet he will be very surprised”.

(Spoiler alert, he was not).

You both laid on your backs, staring at the ceiling of Seonghwa’s room. Hands intertwined like vines. The night continued to be silent, uncaring of the two lovers who had decided to give themselves to each other without the knowledge of the rest of the world. The Earth didn’t stop spinning nor did the Moon stop her beaming, but now your whole galaxy shone with the glint of Park Seonghwa’s eyes.

“I never thought I would say this,” Seonghwa broke the last silence of the night, “but I thank those old geezers at the council for pushing you into my arms. From the moment that I met you, my heart, body, and soul have belonged to you and only you. From the moment I rise in the morning to the closing of my eyes at night, my every thought is dedicated to you. I will do everything in my power to be dutiful as your husband, and you shall never regret having me, my love”.

“There’s nothing in the world that will make me regret having you as my husband,” you kissed both of his hands. “As far as the members of the council, I bet they will be happy knowing that I’m marrying at last, especially if it’s with someone as brilliant as you”.

“We will be the most powerful sovereigns this nation has seen,” Seonghwa sealed his promise with a sweet kiss on your lips. “I’ll give you all of me if you need it”.

“Then it shall be that way,” you kissed him back.

With the threat of an early morning, you tucked yourselves into bed. Seonghwa attached himself to your back, tangling his arms and legs until you couldn’t tell where began who. He released his soft breaths into your ear, slowly lulling you to your rest. Just as you were about to fall asleep, he muttered to you.

“I bet the council will really be happy with our marriage,” you could hear the grin in his voice, “because, with me, you won’t be having any problem conceiving that heir… Your Majesty”.

It was safe to say, you didn’t wake up early that day.

[dbnightingale24]

Fog In The Mind, Desire In The Heart

A Dark Curtis Everett Love Story

~~

Surprise! I decided to take a small break from the three novels I'm writing (I promise that your updates are coming!!), and finish the damn Curtis Everett one shot I promised you guys years ago. It may take me forever to get to the point, but I do eventually get there, in my defense. Anywho, this is a lot shorter than what you all are used to, but I hope you all enjoy it just the same! As always, thanks to the amazing @fuckingbyefor the moodboard! Here we go!

Word Count: 9911 (yes, you read that correctly)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI 18+), Slight Snowpiercer AU, Slight Age Gap between Edgar and Reader (work with me people), Curtis Everett, Daddy Kink, Non Con/Dub Con, Drinking, Plotting, Self Hate, Loathing, Betrayal, Swearing, Angst, Mild Violence, Anger, Pining...I think that's it?

Songs That Inspired This Story: I'd Walk Through Fire For You, Just Let Me Adore You

Summary: Everyone stuck in the tail section dreamed of a better life for themselves. Everyone except for Curtis. For him, his better life would start when you were happy and by his side, no matter who he had to force out of the way.

~~

I do not give consent/permission for my stories/works to be posted/published elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

~~

~~

For as much as you hate Curtis, he lives rent free in your head all day. You sit at the bar that Nam so lovingly bar tends day in and day out, listening in and out of the conversation he makes almost every night.

“Right now isn’t the time, but you’ll see...the world will be livable again. Maybe another year or so, but we’ll be able to get off of this fucking train,” he tells you tonight, an echo of the same thing he’s been saying every night for the last two years.

“What did Curtis say?” you snicker, putting your empty glass down as he reaches for your favorite poison: whiskey.

“He’s busy,” Nam simply shrugs, refilling your glass with ice and the dark brown liquid.

“When isn’t he?”

“Y/N, you know what happened to Edgar-”

“He’s gone, Nam,” you snap unintentionally. “Whatever the hell Curtis meant to happen, didn’t. Edgar has been dead for two years and all the while we wait for the great Curtis Everett to come up with a fucking plan to make all of this not seem so shit as it is,” you sigh before downing your drink.

Your reasons for hating Curtis are very simple and clear for everyone to understand.

Everyone except Curtis.

You remember when you first boarded onto the stupid train that “saved” your life. You remember them ripping you away from your Mother, who sacrificed herself so you could have a chance at life, and her promising you that she’d meet up with you later on in the train.

She never did.

You know she only did it because she knew it was the only way you’d board the train, but the anger feel towards her never leaves.

It never has and it never will. 

That was the first time you saw him.

You were put into a group of young teenage girls, a place you barely belonged since you were almost 17, and you felt a pair of eyes on you. 

It’s not like that was uncommon, but it didn’t help anything. In fact, as time went on, on the train, you found that a lot of men had their eyes on you. You were beautiful, soft spoken but also opinionated, and kind. You were so understanding and helpful, unlike almost everyone else on the train who gave up hope as soon as the doors closed.

They all did their best to make you notice them, Curtis more than most, but you were more than happy to keep to yourself. 

At least, that’s until Edgar came of age. While he was younger than you by a few years, he was persistent and the only one who could truly make you smile and laugh. For as tense and gloomy as things could be, Edgar always found a way to soften everything. The first few times he asked you out (well, too hangout on his bed), you said no because of the age difference. 

“Who cares?” he laughed as he followed you to the little hospital section they had set up in one of the train cars.

“Clearly I do!”

“It’s not that bad!”

“Edgar-”

“What could it hurt? We’ll split a protein block, a cup of water, talk a bit, and I’ll walk you back to your bunk. It’ll be fun!”

“Edgar-”

“You know you want to, I see it in your eyes.”

“No Edgar,” you smiled softly before making your way to the children’s bunks to read them a story.

“You’ll say yes, you’ll see!” he called with a soft smile, before he turned and made his way back to his bunk.

After that, he didn’t let up. He asked almost every day until you finally caved and said yes. From that moment on, you two inseparable (after you both finished your daily chores). You loved to spend time reading to the children and he was more than happy to accompany you. The kids loved him anyway.

“What do you think about us having one?” Edgar asked one night as you two laid together after sex.

“Having one what?”

“Child?”

“Fuck no!”

“Shh,” he laughed softly, stroking your hair. “Why not?”

“You can’t be serious, babe. We live on a fucking train, the shittiest part of the train I might add, the world is frozen, the front end comes and randomly takes children whenever they please-”

“It won’t always be like this, plus, Curtis has a plan.”

“Oh? What plan is that?” you scoffed

Edgar had always been Curtis’ biggest supporter.

“Why don’t you believe in him?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in him, but I’m not willing to follow blindly behind him. Everyone else is, and I just don’t see a reason to,” you shrugged.

“Y/N-”

“You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. It’s not my fault that you don’t like the answer, baby.”

Curtis had always been the one thing that got in the way of your relationship with Edgar. Edgar would willingly follow Curtis, no matter what he said or what he did, and you weren’t buying into any of it. Sure, Curtis seemed nice enough and he was kind when he wanted to be, but there was also a silent anger to him. A silent anger that always seemed like it could go off at any time. 

Plus, it’s not exactly like he was thrilled when you and Edgar started seeing each other. Once again, a lot of the men weren’t, but everyone could see how happy you were. How well you and Edgar fit together. Curtis, on the other hand, rolled his eyes whenever he saw the two of you together. 

“Why don’t you come and help us tonight? You always have an idea-”

“No,” you laughed and Edgar scowled. “That’s your thing, not mine.”

“If you’d come, you’d see there’s nothing to hate about-”“I don’t hate Curtis!” you snapped softly and he rolled his eyes, “I just...something isn’t right there. You all just follow and believe everything that he says, and that’s not okay.”

“You always find a reason to doubt him and hes never given you a reason to.”

“And hes never given you a reason to trust him so much!”

“I’m not having another argument about this-”

“Good, because I’m tired of him somehow always becoming the center of our relationship.”

“Y/N-”

“You’re gonna be late. Go.”

You hated arguing so much with him about Curtis, but he didn’t know the things that you knew about him. Besides the fact that his eyes always lingered on you for far much longer than they should have, you knew about the things that Edgar was too young to remember. You knew what happened to his Mother, you knew what almost happened to Edgar, and you knew that Curtis would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Besides, by the way he watched you like you were his prey, you knew he’d stop at nothing to get you. So, when it was finally time for the “great uprising” you begged Edgar to stay behind with you.

“We’ve spent too long planning and plotting for me to stay behind-”

“You can stay with me!” you sobbed and he shook his head.

“Trust me! Believe in me! I can do this!”

“Edgar-”

“We’ll have a future, children, space-”

“I just want you! Please-”

“I’ll come back to you and you’ll see. I promise you, it’ll be okay. I love you.”

That was the last time you saw him alive.

When word got back to you how he’d been killed, and who let it happen, something inside you snapped. You became violent, you lost all patience, you attacked anyone who got in your way as you started on your own journey to the front, and you led everyone who had stayed behind to the front of the train with you. By the time you got there, Wilford had been killed and Curtis was the new leader. Of course, no one noticed all of the changes in Curtis’ attitude, as if you all owed him your lives, because he’d apparently made your lives better. He made changes that made years of suffering finally seem like they had been worth something. 

Everyone except you.

“Curtis wants to see you,” one of the girls tells you as she approaches the bar. 

Sansa, who’s his regular girl. 

“Just give him time,” Nam repeats softly, filling your glass one last time. 

You roll your eyes and down your drink before you follow Sansa to the very front of the train.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been called to his bedroom. Hell, it isn’t even the 100th time. Not long after the battle ended and changes were made, Curtis Everette made it very well known to everyone on the train, that you are his absolute favorite. Not so much with his words, but with his actions. He’d made it seem as if it were out of honor for Edgar, but the way he watched you let you know that, that was bullshit. No, he never called you into his bed, but he also made sure to never let you get close to another man again.

He made sure you never had to work, you never wanted for anything, you always had fresh clothes waiting for you, and you had one of the best rooms on the train. 

“Edgar sacrificed his life so you could have a better one. It only makes sense that you have the best of everything,” he whispered the night that he’d helped you settle into your new room.

In return, you’ve made it known that you’ll always despise him.

“What?” you snap the second you step foot inside his room.

He looks at you with his bourbon shot eyes, and you scoff. He’s in one of his moods.

“You could be a little nicer to me, Y/N.”

“Everyone on this train is nice enough to you. Now, what do you want? What’s the point of giving me a room if you never actually let me stay in it.”

“What’s wrong with you today?” he sneers, pouring himself another drink.

“You’re still here and Edgar isn’t.”

“Edgar made his choice-”

“Edgar worshiped you and blindly followed you into battle, and you couldn’t give less of a shit about what happened to him.”

“That’s not true!”

You scoff and narrow your eyes at him, “then why do you call me here every fucking night?”

“I’ve never done anything-”

“I know you’re not drunk enough to lie to me,” you warn with a snarl.

No, technically Curtis has never done anything to you, but hes found ways to...mess with you. 

He’s had you stay in the rooms while hes fooled around with other women, sometimes multiple at once, if he gets drunk enough, he watches you bathe and get dressed, hes gone out of his way to show you just how badly he wants you, and he never lets you stay away from him for too long. No, he’s never forced himself on you and taken you, but hes always been just a few steps away from doing so.

With Edgar out of the way, he’s free to do whatever he pleases.

However, the problem is, Curtis wants you to want him. He wants you to burn for him just as bad as he burns for you. At one point, that would’ve been possible. It was never that you found him unattractive or unapproachable, something just always seemed...off. Now that, that’s been confirmed, you’re repulsed by the man.

Even if you do still find him painfully attractive.

A sick smirk comes to his face as he makes his way over to you, “I’ve never done anything that haven’t found yourself enjoying.” “Yes, because I love spending my nights watching fuck other women.”

“Could be you.”

“You can let go of that dream. If it never happened before, it sure as fuck isn’t gonna happen now.”

Without warning, he’s gripping your neck tight and forcing you against the wall, and you do your best to ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach.

“You can pretend all you want to, but I know how bad you want it. I hear you at night when you think I’m asleep. The pathetic little moans and whimpers, and your desperate begging.”

Your eyes go wide and he chuckles darkly.

“You’re not as slick as you think, honey.”

“It’s not for you, so don’t go getting a big ego.” “It sure as shit isn’t for Edgar, even when you were fucking him regularly. He could never truly satisfy you. Not in the way you needed.” “You’re a bastard!”

“How many times did you picture me every time he fucked you, hmm? How many times do you picture me when you’re alone in that cozy little room of yours?”

You don’t know what the hell has gotten into him, because he’s never been this forceful with you before.

“Never!”

“You should be thanking me,” he growls, his grip on your neck getting tighter as he leans in close. “Maybe I should stop being so fucking nice to you and just take it.” “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“What will you do, huh? The only crying you’ll be doing is when I’m done with you and you’re begging for more of my cock.”

Of all the fucking times to be turned on.

“Curtis-”

“You fucking want it,” he continues, “even now, I know that little pussy is crying to be touched. To fucked until it’s ruined!”

You push him off of you and glare at him.

“Admit it! You orchestrated all of this so you could-”

“He knew what he was getting himself into! He knew the chance he was taking-”

“He trusted you!”

“That was his fault!”

There it is.

“So you admit it!”

“I’d do it again! Why did he deserve you but I didn’t?! I still don’t?! After all I’ve done for you?!”

“You’re monster!”

“Sticks and stones,” he smirks before pressing you against the wall again. “Maybe I should show you just how much of a monster I am.”

His lips are on yours and when you try to push him off of you, he doubles down on his efforts. Squeezing at the stitches in his other arm, he hisses in pain, dropping his glass and backs up for just a moment. He slaps you hard before going in for another kiss, but you’re quick to knee him in the groin.

“Bitch!”

You’re quick to run out and make your way to room, not sure of where else there is to hide, and before you can slide the door close, he’s pushing you in and slamming it shut behind him.

“Get out!”

“Get on the fucking bed!” “Curtis-”

“Fine, you want this to be rough? I can be as rough as you want me to be, baby,” he promises as he locks the door.

“HELP!”

“No one is going to go against me, no one is going to save you, and no one is gonna feel bad for you. Scream all you fucking want, they’ll know you’re just enjoying it,” he promises with a sinister smile.

Seeing no other way out of this, you rush him against the wall and just start hitting him with all the power you have in your body.

“I’ve never had to work for it,” he taunts, easily pushing you back. “Never had to make a bitch admit just how bad she wants me!”

“I hate you! I want nothing to do with you!”

“Is that what you’d tell yourself every time you’d make eye contact with me while he was fucking you? Looking down at me as he fucked up into you, telling you just how much he loves and adores you?” he counters, easily wrapping an arm around your waist, easily throwing you down on the bed. “When you knew I was getting off to your hushed moans? You didn’t want anything to do with me then either? You didn’t want me making you scream?”

You hate that he has a point because, to an extent, you did want one him at one point. You wanted him bad. It’s part of why you’d turn down Edgar so many times. No, you never had any intention of pursuing Curtis, but you were attracted to him. Far more than you were to Edgar, and you felt incredibly guilty about it. You would’ve been content to be alone, but Edgar never relented and you eventually found it cute.

Of course you knew what Curtis was doing whenever the two of you locked eyes, but you truly never thought he’d let Edgar get killed so he could get you. The worst part of it is, even now that you know the truth of it all, you still want Curtis. In some sick way, the fact that he did something so horrible just to have you all to himself drove you insane in the worst way. You aren’t losing the fight because he’s overpowering you, you’re losing the fight because you’re tired of fighting it.

“Don’t get quiet on me now,” he snickers as pulls his top off and throws it across the room. “Don’t tell me that you’re a filthy little liar,” he presses as he rips your top open.

“Leave me alone!” “No, I’m done waiting around,” he husks, pulling your bra down. “Fuck!”

“Curtis-”

“You’re gonna shut the fuck up and you’re gonna enjoy everything daddy has to offer you,” he warns before dipping down and enveloping his right breast in his mouth; lewdly licking and sucking on it in the most depraved way.

“O-oh! Curtis!”

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched by anyone else.

“That’s right,” he mumbles before nipping on your nipple, while his other hand works on undoing your jeans, “I know exactly what you need, you little bitch.”

Your breathing comes heavier as his hand makes its way down into your panties, finding your overstimulated bundle of nerves.

“You’re fucking soaked!”

“Stop-”

“Stop fucking fighting me!” he warns, his other hand making it’s way around your throat. “You fucking want it! You’ve always fucking wanted it!”

You’re not sobbing because he’s doing something wrong, you’re sobbing because he’s right. Edgar would probably be alive if you’d just kept saying no to him.

“That’s right, baby. Just let me take care of you,” he moans, easily sliding a finger into you.

“Curtis,” you moan, bucking your hips forward.

“So beautiful, baby,” he coos, finally giving your other nipple attention, “waited so fucking long!”

“Oh fuck!”

You do your best to block out all images of Edgar and every feeling of guilt you felt. For whatever reason, Curtis wasn’t letting you go tonight and you didn’t want him to.

“You can barely take two fingers,” he groans, adding another thick finger to your sopping cunt as you rake your nails across his back. “Gonna have to get you ready for me. God, these fucking tits!” he husks.

“Please!” you whimper, feeling both pleasure and pain at the way he’s pulling you apart, “don’t fucking stop!”

“We’re gonna be at this a while,” he promises with a smirk as he picks up his pace. 

He resumes his assault on your left nipple for just a bit longer, before he finally starts leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses down your body, pulling your pants down along the way. 

You’ve never had a guy go down on you before. Before you’d been put on the train, you’d only had sex twice and the both of you were inexperienced. When you were with Edgar, you two weren’t free to explore much. The most you’d been able to do was give him a blowjob, even that was uncomfortable.

“So fuckin’ pretty for me,” Curtis purrs against your pussy lips, “been waitin’ for me.”

The first lick is just a tease and you whine in protest, the second is right against your clit and whine his name as you dig your nails into his shoulders, and with the third he’s finally diving right in and claiming you as his own with his tongue.

“Oh God! Don’t fucking stop!” you beg pathetically, your legs starting to tremble as he massages your clit with his thumb. “Fuck!”

The sounds of his of his pornographic moans and roughness of his beard on your thighs somehow make you even more feral, and you can’t resist looking down. The sight of him buried between your legs has you biting on your bottom lip to keep from screaming. As if he can sense your feral gaze on him, you he looks up with a devilish glint in his ocean blue eyes, which have now darkened with twinges of desire and lust, as he starts fucking you faster with his tongue.

Your mouth hangs open and you’re right on the edge when he removes his tongue.

“What the fuck?!” you cry out and he chuckles darkly.

“I shouldn’t fucking let you cum at all,” he bites as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, causing you to buck your hips forward, “but I’m gonna get this tight little pussy ready for me,” he promises again.

The intrusion of a third finger has you throwing your head back in both pleasure and pain, and you try to push his hand away.

“None of that, fucking take it! Take it and then you’re gonna take my fucking cock,” he demands gruffly, applying more pressure to your clit with his thumb.

“Ngh- too much! Curtis please!”

“Then fucking cum! What, you don’t know how? Was it really that bad with him?” he taunts with a condescending chuckle.

You shouldn’t clench around his fingers the way you do at that.

“Not such a fucking saint after all, huh? Just a hungry little cock whore. Say it,” he demands lowly.

Biting down on your lip to keep quiet, you shake your head ‘no’.

Slapping one of your tits hard, he repeats, “say it!”

“ ‘m a cock whore!” you cry out, squirting hard and coating his wrist.

That’s new.

“Jesus fuck,” he growls.

He fucks you through your high, lapping up the mess you made, while you try to come down from your high. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know how wrong all of this is, but you can’t focus on that right now. The pleasure is all consuming, and you can’t think on anything other than how much you want Curtis.

How, in some dark and twisted way, you’ve always wanted Curtis.

The sound of him unzipping his pants brings you back to reality, and you know you’re going to hate yourself in the morning. Hell, you hate yourself now. 

“Don’t ever make me fight this fucking hard for you again, you understand me?” he warns, kicking his jeans and boxers off of him and your bed.

You watch him with wide eyes and it’s as if he can read your mind.

“Don’t you dare try and fucking run from me now. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, and you’ll always be mine.”

He takes his angry red cock in his hand, stoking it a few times, before dipping down and kissing you like you’d finally been returned to him after years of being held captive. The taste of you and whiskey mix together perfectly, intoxicating you, and you moan into his mouth, as both of your tongues fight for dominance.

“You are mine,” he broods once you two break apart as he spears himself inside of you.

“Shit!”

He lets out a strangled groan, “gonna make you feel better than you ever have before!”

He’s relentless as he fucks into you, knowing exactly what you need as you trail kisses down his neck. 

“Y/N,” he whines when you find that spot on the crook of his neck, biting down on it hard before using your tongue to soothe the pain. “Fuck! What a good girl,” he praises and you flutter around his cock. “My pretty girl likes that? Being my good fuckin girl?”

You’ve never been so full in your life and the only response you can muster is a pathetic moan, sucking even harder on his neck. 

“That’s right, baby. Mark me up...make sure they know I’m yours,” he growls, using one hand to pin your waist down, while the other pins your hands down to the bed above your head.

You don’t even care that he’s using you as his own personal rag doll, because you need it. You both need it. So many years of anger, frustration, and denial have finally come to a head, and it feels good.

It feels so fucking good.

“Oh God! Daddy!” you cry out, wrapping a leg around his waist as he finds a spot within you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Fuck, there it is!”

“Too much!”

“No it’s not, you’re gonna make a mess for me again,” he demands as his movements start to become erratic. 

The hand he’s using to pin your waist to the bed travels down between the both of you, and you let out a choked sob as he starts to massage your clit.

“So beautiful, baby. Love you so fucking much,” he grunts, and you’re not sure if he means you or your pussy.

Your mind is so full of fog that you truly don’t give a fuck.

You turn your head away as you feel the knot in your core tighten and he whines, “look at me...waited so long, let me see you, baby. C’mon...let daddy see you come apart.”

Forcing your gaze on him, there’s something equally soft in his feral blue eyes, and you know you’re done for. No matter what you feel in the morning, you’ll want this again and again.

You’ll want him again and again.

A silent scream leaves your mouth as your orgasm washes over you, the leg around his waist falling to the side as you make a mess between the both of you.

“That’s a good girl...milk my fat fuckin’ cock, baby,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours as he paints your inner walls with his love.

Well, you’ve fucking done it now. 

He peppers soft kisses from your forehead to your cheek, as he rides out both of your highs, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he finally releases your arms. When he finally stills within you, half hard, you let your arms fall to your sides and close your eyes, feeling more full and desired than ever before.

Feeling more guilt than you ever have before.

You’re almost asleep when you hear, “clean daddy off, honey. We’re just getting started.”

He chuckles when he looks down at the confused look on your face.

“I told you: we’re gonna be at this for a while.”

You’re not sure what the hell has gotten into him, and why he’s so forceful tonight, but he keeps you up for hours in positions you’ve never even dreamed of. Exhausting your body over and over again, his lips covering every inch of your body that they can, and his hands exploring every part of you. It feels like heaven, and there’s a pitiful shame that washes over you with each orgasm. You lose count of how many times he tells you he loves you, and how perfect he thinks you are for him, and soon you’re just a mindless doll ready and willing to do anything he wants. You’ll give him anything as long as he continues to lessen the embarrassment that’s come with you finally giving yourself to him.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts from behind as you lull your head back, “ride daddy’s dick just like that. Like a fucking cowgirl!”

“Ngh!”

“I know you’re tired,” he coos against your neck, his beard making you shutter as he strarts groping your breasts with both hands, “gonna fill your perfect little pussy one more time, I promise!”

The thought of you leaking with his release again has you clenching around him.

“You love being so full of me, don’t you?”

You just nod as you grip his thick thighs, digging your nails into them.

“I know, baby. Just needed daddy to show you who’s boss, didn’t you? Too ashamed to accept what I was so willing to give you,” he moans, kissing your neck as one of his hands travels between your thighs.

“DADDY!”

“So loud for me and I fucking love it! You’d never be this fuckin’ loud for him, would you?”

You lazily shake your head ‘no’.

“Didn’t deserve you...he couldn’t make you happy like I can. Like I always will,” he promises as he slaps your cunt.

That’s all it takes. You scream his name as your body spasms and you make a mess for what feels like the millionth time. He pulls you close, filling you to the brim, as your body relaxes against his.

“What a good girl,” he praises softly, his own breathing shallow as he guides your waist to ride out both of your orgasms.

You’ve never been so exhausted in your life.

You honestly have no control over your body at this point, so Curtis has to guide you off of him and onto the bed. You flinch when you feel some sort of fabric between your legs, cleaning you up.

“I know you’re sensitive, just a few more moments, baby,” he coos.

Well, he’s certainly much happier now that you’re a useless and mindless mess.

You feel the bed dip from behind you as he gets in, pulling the cover over the both of you before pulling you close to him. The fight that’s left in you isn’t enough to kill an ant. Instead, you just relax against him as you drift off into unconsciousness, hoping that all of this is just a very strong dream crafted from loneliness and desire.  

The last thing you hear before you succumb to darkness is, “I love you.”

~~

“Y/N,” a soft voice calls as a pair of hands shake your gently.

You blink a few times, coming back to reality and trying to separate your dreams from reality.

“Y/N? Curtis wants to see you in his room.”

Curtis.

All of a sudden the pain in your face and body catapult you back into reality. Shame washes over you, as well as an intense amount of guilt, and you curl into yourself. God, how could you give into him? How could you get off to some of the cruel and lewd things he said? What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Y/N? Did you hear me? Curtis-”

“No,” you respond softly, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

“He told me not to take ‘no’ for an answer,” the woman responds mournfully.

You say nothing, silently crying to yourself and wishing you were anywhere else. Wishing you could get away from your one true forbidden desire.

“Y/N, please,” the woman begs.

It’s not lost on you that she’ll more than likely have hell to pay, but you can’t face him. The more memories come flooding back, the more you want to the train to swallow you whole. To add insult to injury, arousal pools between your legs as desire takes over your body. What the hell came over the both of you last night, and why did you let it win? There was a time that you would’ve fought till the last breath in your body to keep Curtis off of you, but last night, you barely put up that much of a fight. You didn’t want to.

You hear your drawers open and what you assume are clothes landing on your bed, and you just pull the cover over your head. He got what he wanted out of you, so why can’t he leave you alone? What else could he want from you?

‘I love you.’

There’s no possible way he could’ve meant that. He was drunk. He treats every other woman on this train like his own personal pleasure toy, so what makes you any different? So special?

“What did I tell you last night about making me fight for you?”Curtis sighs as he walks into your room, closing the door shut behind him.

You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t even heard the woman leave.

  When you say nothing, he pulls the cover from you, “come on, Y/N. Don’t make me get forceful.”

You just pull your legs tighter to yourself and cry harder.

“What?”

“Please...just go away.”

“Y/N-” “You did it on purpose, Curtis. He loved you and you just...”

“You didn’t seem to mind that confession so much last night.”

“Which makes me just as awful as you if not worse,” you sob, once again realizing just how terrible you are. 

Edgar loved you unconditionally and you let the man responsible for his death fuck you like a beast, willingly giving him orgasm after orgasm.

“Honey,” Curtis tries to reason, going to touch your arm, but you pull away.

It’s insane how you can long for and hate someone’s touch so much at the same time.

Letting out another frustrated sigh, he pulls the cover back over your body and steps away, “fine.”

You can hear the pain in his voice, but he should feel like garbage. You both should. The sliding door to your room opens and closes again, and you’re finally on your own again. As you continue to cry, you if you’ll ever know peace again. If you aren’t, how long will it take you to allow yourself the comfort of Curtis?

Curtis’ P.O.V.

What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s not the first time I’ve gotten drunk and tormented you, but to attack you like that? Confess the truth in such a condescending way? Of course you want nothing to do with me now that the fog has cleared. Yes, what I did was fucked up, but I’ve been right about you since day one.

You wanted me all along.

It’s not like I didn’t care for Edgar, and he deserved more from me, but he didn’t deserve you. Watching him with you was like a knife to the chest every day. Hearing your moans and whimpers every night that he was inside you? Those were mine. They were for me. That’s why you always kept your eyes focused on me. You knew it just as well as I did. Maybe you’re the real monster in all of this, because you used him just as much as I envied him. 

You weren’t happy, you were never going to leave him, so I took charge. I didn’t expect for any of it to work out like it did, but it did nonetheless. I figured if I gave you enough time and space, you’d come to me, but my patience could only last so long. Venting to Nam night after night only helped so much. 

Two fucking years.

Two years of me watching you, two years of me making every other man on board afraid to get close to you, two years of me being a lesser version of myself...two years and you still never cracked. I have a fucking train to take care of, I couldn’t keep spending all of my time and energy just trying make you jealous enough to give him.

I was all set to let it go and let you do whatever the hell you wanted, until I walked past your train cart yesterday morning.

“Fuck Curtis...fuck me just like that,” you whimpered so softly, I thought I imagined it.

Looking into your room made me cum instantly. You were completely naked, eyes closed, head lulled back, and riding your pillow. You’d never looked so fucking hot before, and that was my name leaving your mouth. Not Edgar’s, mine. I no longer needed you to fucking say you were mine, but you’d just confirmed it.

“Gonna cum so soon, daddy! Fuck!”

I couldn’t get it out of my mind, and my frustration wouldn’t leave my body. Why the hell were you fighting something you so desperately wanted? 

Because you’re not a monster at all.

Even without my confession, you’d always known the truth. I could’ve saved Edgar, but I didn’t. I made a million excuses as to why I couldn’t, and everyone believed them. Everyone except you. Of course you wouldn’t allow yourself to be with me. Not without force. So, after I finished up everything I needed to take care, I got drunk. I had planned on being level headed, but you came in with that fucking attitude, and I fucking lost it.

How the hell were you annoyed with me? I made sure you had the best life, and you were still ungrateful. Once again, I could’ve saved Edgar, but you wouldn’t have left him. You would’ve married him and had his fucking his kids, and what right did he have to you? What right do any of the guys on this hell hole have to you? None of them will ever love you like I do, they’re not gonna satisfy you like I do, and they’re never gonna care for you like I do.

You just needed to be shown, so I decided that I was done waiting. I knew you’d put up a fight, but I didn’t expect it to get me so worked up. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard, but you were being difficult. Squeezing the stitches in my arm? You knew better than that. It wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped, but when you finally surrendered, it was more than worth it. You were a fucking dream, better than anything I’d ever had or imagined.

How could I feel bad about Edgar when I finally had you right where I wanted you? Where I’d always wanted you. I didn’t have to say all of things I did, but we both knew they were true. You’d always wanted me, he’d never truly satisfied you, and you’d always wanted me. Whatever your reasons were for choosing him over me didn’t matter anymore, because you finally admitted everything. Yeah, it bothered me that you never said ‘I love you’ back, but I also know I can’t have everything I want at once. I know you do, and when you’re ready, you’ll admit that too. 

“She’s not here,” Nam says softly, pulling me out of my thoughts as he enters.

“No, she’s back to hating me,” I mutter with an eye roll. “I did everything wrong.”

“Did you explain?”

“Nope, I did the exact opposite. I took what I wanted and expected her to fall in line.”

He lets out an irritated sigh as he runs a hand through his hair, “Curtis.”

“Yeah, I fucking know, alright?”

“What now?”

“I’ll go back and see her tonight. I’ll talk to her. She loves me, she just needs some encouragement to see it. To admit it.”

“Be gentle, Curtis. You get angry and you don’t think.”

He’s not wrong.

“Did you hurt her?”

“We both hurt each other, but it’s not like she didn’t like it.”

“Is that what happened to your arm?” he asks, pointing to the bruise.

I scoff with a nod, “yeah, little devil.”

“She’s tough, I’ll give her that,” he laughs, taking Kronole out of his pocket.

“Will you stop with that shit?!”

“You beat women, I get high,” he shrugs.

“I don’t beat women,” I quickly counter, trying to keep a lid on my anger.

I really didn’t mean to hit you so fucking hard. Fuck.

He just rolls his eyes, “Should I send Yona to look after her?”

“No, we have work to do and we need Yona and her ability. I’ll send one of the girls to check on her and give her food.”

I know I should be the one to do it but with how you were this morning, I know we’re basically right back where we started.

“Curtis, should I send for Y/N again?” Sansa asks, poking her head in, disdain dripping into her words.

I can see the pain in her eyes, but I can’t bring myself to feel bad. She may be a regular, but she always knew she wasn’t permanent. All of them know. 

“I’ll see to her later. Make sure no one comes in except Yona,” I instruct dismissively.

“Yes sir.”

Yeah, I’m an asshole, but I’m an asshole who’s in love with and made better by you. The sooner you see that, the sooner things will be as they should. In time, you’ll see.

In time, you’ll understand.

~~

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Here, take mine,” a deep soft voice told you.

You looked over to your right to see that Curtis had taken a seat next to you, and he was holding out his protein block.

You shook your head and pushed it away, “oh no, it’s perfectly fine-”

“You’re hungry-”

“What will you eat?”

“I don’t like the way they taste,” he shrugged.

You laughed to yourself, “no one likes the way they taste.”

“Won’t haunt you like the taste of human flesh though.”

He had a point there.

“Go on, take it,” he offered again.

“You have to eat something. We’re all barely hanging on as it is.”

“Y/N-”

You offered him a half smile, “we can split it.”

He contemplated your offer before he nodded, “deal.”

You miss that Curtis. The one who showed remorse for his actions, cared about those around him, and was actually trying to help everyone and not just himself. Ever since Gilliam took him under his wing, there was an heir of arrogance to him, and it made you want him that much less. It got worse after Edgar got killed and Gilliam soon followed.

God, how could you still fuck him after his confession? If anything, that should’ve made you fight harder. Instead, in a sick way, it turned you on even more because it showed you just how much he wanted you. How much he’d do to make sure you’d always be his and his alone. 

Maybe being on the train for so damn long that it’s fucked with you more than you thought, or maybe you’re just that awful.

The servers have been trying to feed you all day, but the only thing you’ve consumed is alcohol. It’s the only thing that’ll keep demons and thoughts of self-hatred at bay. Plus, for as much as you shouldn’t, you do feel bad for Curtis. The man told you he loves you a handful of times last night, brought you to euphoric bliss time and time again, and you let him hold you close last night, just so you could ice him out today.

As much as you don’t want to believe that the mad man loves you, somewhere deep down inside, you know it’s true. A man doesn’t let the closest person he has to a best friend die over someone he doesn’t love. Yes, you knew Edgar could get on his nerves sometimes, but never enough for Curtis ever want something truly awful to happen to him. It’s not like you ever meant for things to become a sick and twisted games, but they had and the end result was the sweetest man you’d ever known getting killed.

All of this was your fault.

“You haven’t eaten today,” a soft voice rings out, stepping into your room.

“Please go, Curtis. You got what you wanted. Just go, I’m sure Sansa and the others will be happy to keep you company tonight.”

He sits down in front of you and takes your face in his hands, “I don’t love Sansa and the others.”

“Curtis-”

“Why have you been crying all day?”

You’re more than sure the look on your face screams, ‘really?’.

“It’s not like it was something you didn’t already know-”

“Stop being so fucking callous about it!”

“Why? I’d do it again, honey. I have no problem admitting that. If I had to do it all over again, I would without hesitation.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?!”

“I love you, Y/N. I think I’ve made that pretty clear for some time now, and I’m not going to watch you be with some other man. I don’t give a fuck who that man is.”

“You can literally have whoever else you want-”

You yelp when he effortlessly picks you up and pulls you into his lap.

“The world could be the way it’s supposed to be and I still wouldn’t want anyone else. You were meant for me and I was meant for you. If people have to die for you to understand that, then so be it. I will never love anyone the way I love you, so stop thinking that this is just some fling to me,” he warns, his gaze on you tense and serious.

His words should make you afraid of him but, instead, they make you want him more than you did the night before.

“You don’t-”

“Who else do you want me to make disappear, hmm? How do I make you believe me?”

“Curtis...stop.”

“I love you.”

“That’s not love-”

“Why should I go about this the normal way? We’ve all had to fight to stay here, and I’m willing to fight for you. I will always fight for you because you’re mine, just like I’m yours. I love you.”

For now, you’ll just blame the alcohol as you lean in and kiss him softly. Just like the night before, he runs one of his hands through your hair and grips it tight as he deepens the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you as close as possible.

He broods against your lips once you two break apart, “that’s right, baby. You’ll always be mine.”

“This isn’t right-” “Who gives a fuck about right and wrong when it feels this fucking good?”

“Curtis...”

“Just give into me,” he pleads before kissing you again, “give into me because you love me just as much as I love you.”

Once again, the fight leaves your body and you’re just giving into what you want. You kiss him deeply as your legs wrap around his waist, grinding against him. 

“That’s it honey,” he breathes with a moan, the tip of his nose ghosting over the outline of your cheek. “I won’t take anything you don’t wanna give me. Just like last night.”

You know good and damn well he’s saying that because last night he did force himself on you, but you both knew you were desperate for it. You both know you’ve been desperate for him for a while. It’s evident that he wants you to acknowledge that, but he’s gonna need to work a little harder for that. 

“If you truly love me, then show me,” you sigh as he bites and sucks on your neck. “Show me how much you need me to be yours.”

You must have awakened something feral in him because, instantly, he’s picking you up and standing up with almost no effort at all, and carrying you out of your room, quickly make his way towards his. Part of you wants to protest, because you’ve seen what he’s done with other women in his bed, but another part of you is desperate for it because it is his bed. Anyone else who was on it before you won’t ever matter again, because you’re all he needs.

He growls as he tosses you onto his bed, “take your fucking shirt off before I rip it off.”

You honestly don’t need much prompting. Between the amount of alcohol coursing through you, and the desire that you’ve been suppressing for years, you’re once again willing and ready to do anything that he wants. You whimper when he pulls his off and tosses it to the side, quickly getting to work on undoing his pants.

Yeah, you’re still sore from yesterday, but the pleasure always outweighs. You’ll take aspirin after.

“I thought I already fucking showed you,” he husks roughly, fitting your legs around his waist once on the bed and on his haunches. “I didn’t get my point across last night?”

You bite your lip and shake your head no, holding his gaze as you wrap your arms around him. 

He smirks as that devilish glint comes back to his eyes, “let me be firmer this time,” forcing you down on his cock.

“AH SHIT!”

He keeps a firm hold on your waist as he starts bouncing you up and down on his cock, “you’re mine, Y/N. Always have been and you always will be!”

You cry out as you lull your head back, “oh fuck, daddy!”

“Eyes on me, baby. Gonna make sure it sinks in this time,” he chuckles darkly.

Honestly, all you can do is hold on to him, and he doesn’t even make that easy. He spits on your cunt a few times before easily wrapping one arm behind your waist to keep you in place, and shamelessly slapping your clit with the other hand.

“Please....please!”

His condescending chuckle only makes you clench around him, “fucking pathetic.”

He dips down, the tip of his tongue lightly licking between your breasts and moaning as he licks up the sweat, before latching his mouth onto your right nipple and sucking on it as if it’s his favorite lollipop to exist.

You whimper, feeling safe in his strong hold, as you run a hand through his buzzed hair, “feels so good, daddy! The way you love me feels so good!”

Releasing your nipple with a ‘pop’, he looks up with brooding dark eyes, “and no one else will ever make it feel this good,” he promises.

Without warning, he starts massaging your clit with more pressure than you’re prepared for, and you’re screaming out his name as you make a mess between the both of you.

“So messy and all mine,” he praises, his voice strained as continues to fuck up into you. “Always been all mine, haven’t you?”

Once again, you’ve been turned into a mindlessly babbling toy.

“No answer?” he taunts, his breathing as he stops all together, laughing sadistically at your pathetic whimper. “Guess daddy still hasn’t made his point clear.”

He drops you down onto the bed, flips you over with ease, fixes your knees so your ass is propped in the air, before thrusting himself inside of you again.

“Aht!”

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?” he growls, fucking into hard and fast.

You just whimper into his pillow as claw at his bed, but he isn’t having that. Wrapping one arm around your waist and snaking it up between your breasts, he grips your throat while the other hand grips your hair tight, and he pulls you right.

“Use your fucking words,” he demands gruffly, fucking into you harder, “you’ve always been mine?”

“Y-yes!”

“Yes who?”

“Y-yes...y-y-yes daddy!”

“Always gonna be mine?”

“A-an-anything you w-want!”

He growls into your neck as you feel him spill into you, “fuck baby!”

Once again, there’s nothing going through your mind but fog and your body is exhausted. If he wants more from you, you’ll give it to him, but you can honestly fall asleep in his hold right now. He loosens his grip on your neck, and you take a deep breath, not even realizing how tight he’d been holding onto you. Lazily fucking you both through your high, he presses small, wet, open mouthed kisses along your neck.

His breath comes heavy and he sounds just as tired as you feel, “get the message this time?”

You nod as weakly attempt to fight off sleep, “mhm, you love me.”

The next question comes with a hint of fear, “do you believe me?”

“Mhm, yes.”

“Do you love me?”

The answer comes effortlessly, “yes Curtis.”

He’s gentle with you as he pulls out, growling as he watches the mix of your juices run down your thighs, and he lays you down. Once again, you wince when some fabric gently wipes over your extremely raw and sensitive flesh, and he gently hushes you. This time, when he gets in bed with you, you’re pulling him close and resting your head on his chest.

You’re too tired to fight it.

“I love you,” you repeat before effortlessly falling asleep.

~~

Once again, when you make up, you need a moment to adjust to your surroundings. The soreness is quicker to make your acquaintance this time, and you remember that you’re in Curtis’ room.

The very front of the train.

That’s when you realize you’re alone in his bed, and you’re slow to sit up and look around.

“I’m here,” he calls softly.

You look to the side and see him sitting across the room, sweatpants on only, hunched over, and resting his head on his hands.

“You should lay back down, I’m sure you’re sore.”

You keep your eyes on him as you slowly lay back down, “what’s wrong?”

He’s not wrong about you being sore. 

“Nothing-”

Scoffing as you prop yourself up on your elbow and rest your head on your hand, “you’re gonna start lying to me after the last two days we’ve spent together?” and he laughs softly.

“It doesn’t matter right now-”

“Curtis, what’s wrong?”

There’s a softness to his features, and it’s a softness you haven’t seen in a long time.

“I love you.”

You look down and play with the hem of the bed sheet.

“That’s the problem right there.”

“Curtis-” He sighs as he sits up, “I’m not complaining.”

“It’s not so easy for me, okay?”

“It was last night when you were drunk, and I fucking knew better. I knew better, but my emotions...” “There’s a lot that I have to come to terms with, and I’ve only had two days to do it.”

“Well, do you?” “Curtis-”

“It’s a simple yes or no question-”

“It’s not simple! I was with Edgar, and no matter how I may or may not have always felt about you, I did love him and you let him get killed. No, I’m not innocent in all of this, but he loved and trusted him and you betrayed him.”

“That was different-” “How? How am I supposed to know you won’t ever do something like that to me?”

“Because this is different! This isn’t even remotely close...since I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were meant for me, and I for you. I may have been 17, but I’d never been so sure of anything in my life. I still haven’t been,” he states, slightly hurt that you would even make a claim like that. “I know what I did was fucked up, that’s not lost on either of us, and I’ve done my best to show and prove to you that I’m sorry, because it wasn’t right. Edgar didn’t know, but you did. You knew and you felt the same for me.”

“Curtis-”

“Well you did, you can deny it all you want, but we both know it’s true.”

“It doesn’t matter-” “Well, why you’d pick him?”

You scowl and lay on your back, “you don’t want the honest answer to that question.” “I can handle it.” “Lets not-”

“Just tell me!’

“I really don’t think I need to, Curtis! There’s something wrong with you! Something in you is unhinged and it shows!” you snap, sitting up and facing him.

He sits back and lets out a heavy sigh, and it breaks your heart, but he’s the one who wants to know so bad. 

When he says nothing, you continue, “there’s something that flips a switch in you, and this darkness comes over you. You’re moody, argumentative, and violent. Anything can set it off and, while I get it to an extent, enough shit had happened and I didn’t want to deal with it. You would be so soft with me at times, but you could easily lose your temper with anyone else...with the exception of Gilliam. Edgar was kind, funny, and sweet. No, it wasn’t ideal, but I felt safe with him and I didn’t have to worry about him losing his shit on me. So yes, I had feelings for you, but I chose him. I know you took him under your wing out of guilt, but you were also jealous. The more he trusted you, the more you took advantage of that. It made me resent him. Then, when he went off with you for the uprising, I knew he wasn’t coming back. You wouldn’t let him.”

You can see the anger in his eyes, but he knows that he can’t call you a liar. Everything you’re saying is true and he’s not about to try and make a fool out of you.

“I did it for you,” he responds after a moment. “You don’t have to believe it, and I know you didn’t see it, but I did it for you. I’ve always wanted to keep you safe, take care of you, and have you by my side. Everything I’ve done has been for you, and while some of it has been less than humane, I’d do it again if it meant you could be happy. If it means you can have a better life, I’ll do it, and I don’t care who I have to hurt.”

“Curtis-”

“I don’t care how crazy any of it sounds, because you have to be crazy to survive in this world. I’d do anything to give you a better life and see you happy. I love you, Y/N,” he tells you softly and sincerely.

You shouldn’t feel an overwhelming amount or love and joy for him, but that doesn’t stop it from washing over you. Is there a shrink on this fucking train, because you both need your fucking heads examined.

“I’ll ask you again, do you love me?”

Slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, “yes. Yes Curtis, I love you.”

Your heart swells at the small smile that comes to his face, as he finally gets up and makes his way back to the bed, and gets in next to you. You ignore the shameful amount of guilt that overcomes you, because what happened in the past can’t be changed. All that counts is right now and the future you and Curtis will create together. 

You rest your head on his chest and make little circles it, “how are you so sure, Curtis?”

“So sure of what?” he asks, stroking your shoulder and finally relaxing.

“That you love me. How do you know it’s not just an overwhelming sense of lust?”

He laughs to himself and kisses the top of your head, “because when all the fog in my mind settles, there’s still a burning desire for you in my heart. A burning desire to protect you, make you happy, hear your voice, see you smile, and to love you until there’s no breath left in my body. When the fog clears, there’s always a desire to love you with everything I have in me.”

Pressing a soft kiss to his chest, you look up at him, “I’m sorry it took me so long to finally get here.”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry, just promise to never leave.”

“I promise.”

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you, Curtis.” 

[coochiequeens]

They all have he/him on their lanyards and it’s extremely clear they identify as men and are here to take opportunities away from the actual women and [non-binary] attendees.”

By Reduxx Team September 28, 2023

A major networking conference focused on centering women in computing is facing backlash from some participants after a flood of males were allowed to attend, reportedly due to the event’s inclusivity policies.

Created in 1994 and inspired by the legacy of Admiral Grace Murray Hopper, the AnitaB.org Grace Hopper Celebration purports to “bring the research and career interests of women in computing to the forefront.” While the conference was historically focused on women, recent developments in its gender inclusivity policy saw its branding open up to “non-binary” participants as well.

In its most recent Press Release on the conference, AnitaB.org deemed it “the world’s largest gathering of women and non-binary technologists.”

But the week-long conference, which costs $650 to attend for students and academics but over $1,200 for the general public, is facing heat this year after some female attendees noticed a “significant number of men” attending the event.

In a now-scrubbed Change.org petition, one female attendee calls on the Grace Hopper Committee (GHC) to provide women who purchased the pricy tickets a full refund, and commit to banning men in the future.

“GHC (2023) is named after our pioneering female programmers, who have paved the way for gender equality within the tech industry. This event was established with the intention of empowering women by creating a safe space where they can connect, learn, and thrive. However, by allowing men to participate, GHC fails to uphold its own mission,” petitioner Agnes Lu wrote in the description.

The petition was uploaded on September 26, but deleted on September 27. A cached version of the page shows that it had collected over 2,700 signatures in the 24 hours it had been active. The reasons for removal are currently unknown.

Similar sentiment was shared on Reddit as a conference attendee posted “why are there so many men at Grace Hopper?”

Posted two days ago, the user wrote: “I’m seeing entire groups of just men, at a conference that’s sole purpose is to give opportunities to WOMEN and non-binary individuals in a male dominated field. I attended last year and did not [see] any male identifying student attendees. This is genuinely infuriating.”

The user goes on to articulate in the replies that there are a limited number of networking slots available and internships are fiercely competitive.

Like in the petition, the user claimed there was an obvious discernible difference between males and “non-binary” individuals, an issue that quickly became a point of contention in the comments.

“They could just be non-binary, gender queer, etc, or that could just be men trying to get a leg up. No way to know,” one user wrote in response, to which the original poster replied: “They all have he/him on their lanyards and it’s extremely clear they identify as men and are here to take opportunities away from the actual women and [non-binary] attendees.”

But the attempted defense was quickly undermined, with some users calling the original poster a “TERF” for failing to include gender-diverse non-binary people.

“Nonbinaries, including he/him nonbinaries, belong at grace hopper and are welcome there. TERFs like you are the ones who shouldn’t be there,” one comment reads.

“Lots of NB go as he/him. The only way you could possibly know is if you asked them,” another claimed.

On X (formerly Twitter), users debated how males could be “gate-kept” from the conference without being exclusionary, to which few solutions were provided.

The conference was held in Orlando this year, in tradition with previous years, but has announced it will relocate for the next iteration due to changes to recent state legislation regarding LGBT people.

In a statement on their site, AnitaB.org claims that Florida has introduced an “onslaught of legislation that not only devalues women and non-binary people and, at the intersections, those who live as members of the LGBTQIA+ community but is also aimed at erasing Black history.” It states that the 2024 conference is being arranged to be held in another location.

One of the featured speakers this year was trans-identified male Sasha Costanza-Chock, who describes himself as a “researcher and designer who works to support community-led processes that build shared power, dismantle the matrix of domination, and advance ecological survival.”

Costanza-Chock spoke on a panel with Alejandra Caraballo, a trans-identified male attorney, on the “Intersection of Tech and Social Justice.” The panel was described as “diving into the critical intersection of technology and social equity and explore how technology can inadvertently become a barrier for underserved groups.”

[workingforthewidow]

What is up bitches and hoes. Ya girl is back. And by back I mean my cat brain was able to hyper fixate on something long enough to write for it. Also I’m in my ‘final girl’ ‘slasher fucker’ era. So be prepared for some fucked up shit. I am unhinged and hot for men that wear masks and kill people and people that just kill people in general. So onto the show. This is my first time writing and posting in forever so plz be nice lol

18+

Pairings: Otis Driftwood X Stockholm syndrome!reader (darling is in so deep there’s no coming back). Reader X platonic Firefly family.

She/her pronouns for reader. I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum, did mention pulling readers hair a lot but I mean i pull my husbands hair a lot and he has short hair so yeah.

Warnings: as stated reader is in deep for Otis like so much Stockholm syndrome going on. Slight smut. I think like 1 single use of Daddy in a power play way. Reference to non-con. This is Otis we are talking about so he can be a warning himself. But also OOC Otis. His mood swings will give you whiplash. Blood. Lots of blood. Killing people. Guns used in a sexual way. Knives. If there’s any major i missed please let me know! But yeah- don’t like it don’t read it.

Word count: 4,245

God i am so feral for this man.

Also a big THANK YOU and I LOVE YOU to the person who inspired me to write again go check out their work if you haven’t: @lovely-cryptid

Ugh i am so nervous to post this but imma do it! Link to part 2

She sometimes wondered if her family even knew she was missing or that she had even left. The whole reason she was out on that lonely road was her attempt to leave everything behind, everyone behind. So in a sense she did succeed in that but this was not what she had in mind when she pictured her freedom from her mother and her step-father. She had pictured herself in a big city with a cute little apartment with big windows that looked out over a park or maybe water. She’d have a good job but nothing too fancy. Working in a bookstore maybe or a flower shop. Something where she could be creative. But this wasn’t that magical place. Not even close.

Well you could say that she got to be creative in some sense. If you count being the muse and model for an insane blood thirsty ‘artist’ as creative. Sometimes he did let her pick out some of the smaller details of his work. Like how the hair was styled if it involved a human. But for the most part she was there for him to use when he needed to take out his anger and frustration. “Fucking my pretty little princess always cures the artist block” he would say as he pounded into her without a care for how she felt. All that matter was he got his dick wet. She didn’t mind thought. It kept him happy and she loved him when he was happy. He was kinder.

She could have never imagine this would be her life when she ran out of her mother’s house a year ago. A year, had it really been a year? Was it October already? She couldn’t be too sure. He rarely let her out of his, their, room unless it was to eat at the table as a family. The last time she was able to see a calendar was in August when he took her to the ‘museum’ to give Captain Spaulding the newest exhibit.

She had to beg on her knees for him to let her come along with him. That led to him agreeing with a stipulation of course, “Already on your knees princess might as put that mouth to work. Show me how badly you wanna go.” After giving into his demands she was able to leave the Firefly house and make the trip to see Spaulding. They only stayed a few minutes. Enough time for him to set up his ‘art’ and for her to see that the calendar read “August 17” but looking back what if that was wrong? It didn’t have the year on it, that calendar could have been from 5 years ago for all she knew.

At that point she figured she might as well ask him the date. She had been good the last few weeks. He had even told her that himself. He was being nicer only calling her a slut or a whore when he was fucking her in anger. But now he was calling her sweet things like ‘princess and sweetheart’ he had even called her baby once. But Baby heard him say that and hit the fan mad. Not that Baby didn’t like her. In all fairness her and Baby had become pretty good friends. She would even dare to say best friends. When he was being nice he would let Baby come to the room and talk to her. If he was being really nice and she had been really good for him, he would let her go to Baby’s room. That was the best. Baby would do her hair and makeup and dress her up in pretty outfits. He only let her wear her tiny jean shorts, which she was pretty sure he had cut shorter then when she bought them and a shirt that barely covered her breast. During the winter he had let her wear one of his flannel shirts over her outfit after Mama Firefly got onto him when the poor girl about froze to death. Texas winters could be as brutal as Texas summers if you were in the right place.

“Otis?” She called softly from her place on the bed but then cringed when she realized her mistake. He had been working on a new ‘project’ all morning his back to her and she couldn’t really see what was being created.

“Try again Princess. Get it right or I’ll have to punish you. And you’ve been so good for me for so long.” He didn’t even turn to look at her but she knew he was smirking to himself. He always found pleasure in the little roles he had created for them. But this was no game or play that came to end. This was her life.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” Otis was sure if he hadn’t had been listening for the response it would have been too soft for him to hear. He heard the bed squeak signaling she had moved. In the corner of his eye he could see her kneel next to him and soon felt her hand on his thigh. He looked down to see her staring up at him with her big innocent eyes. His innocent little pretty princess. His naive little sweetheart.

“Good girl, what do you want?” He ran his hand through her hair once before grabbing a fist full at the base of her skull forcing her to stay looking up at him.

“Um, I, I, um. Just was wondering, what’s the date?”

“Tuesday.” Was that all she wanted. Interrupted his work for that.

“No, like what is the date? Like what month is it and the day?”

He tightened his fist in her hair making her whine at the pain “Why the fuck does it matter? Have some place to be? A hot date waiting for you?”

With tears pricking at her eyes she tried to follow his hand to relieve the pressure on her head. “No, no. I only want to be here with you. No where else. With no one else.” She made her eyes wide again trying to get back on his good side with her innocent look. He loved that look.

He loosened his grip on her hair and scratched his chin as if he had to think long and hard about the date.

“It’s October 30. Now why the fuck does it matter? It ain’t your birthday seeing as Baby isn’t fucking around insisting on a party for her little best friend. So what’s so important about today huh?” He had bent down his nose brushing against hers lips barely brushing.

“It’s been a year. A year since you brought me home with you.” She smiled. He may be mean when he’s angry but she did fell at home with him. He did care for her. He did love her. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Didn’t think you’d be so much a little romantic princess. What you want some little anniversary dinner? Think I’m gonna buy you little presents? This is your present sweetheart. You ain’t dead.” He growled in her ear and moved away from her face. “Now get back on the bed and shut your fucking mouth. I’m almost done and if you interrupt again I’ll have Tiny take you down to the basement for the night.”

Her eyes went wide in terror. She hated the basement. Tiny wasn’t bad, they had become pretty good friends. But the basement was not fun. It was dark and cold and damp. Otis had made her stay in the basement when he first brought her to the house after picking her up off the side of road where her car had ‘broken down’ aka where RJ had shot her tires out. It took her a few days to calm down and stop the kicking and screaming. It had only taken a few whips with his belt and the threats of deaths for her to finally listen to him. But she realized once she was being good that he did just want what was best for her. She saw how many girls he brought in and killed. But he chose her. He saved her and kept her safe. Kept her warm and well fed. And as long as she was good for him he was good to her.

“Yes, sir.” She responded quickly as it was a toss up if he wanted her response at all or if that itself would get her to the basement. She crawled back up the bed and laid out on her stomach facing him so she could watch him work. He was painting today.

He turned briefly looking to see if she followed his demand. Which she had, as she always did- his perfect little princess. How lucky he was when he found her. He hadn’t planned originally on keeping her but she was different from the others. She screamed sure but there was something about her eyes. He could tell she was naive but also wouldn’t mind some blood. Her eyes screamed innocence but at the same time he could tell she had seen some of the horrors of this world. He would later learn that horror of hers was from her abusive parents. She didn’t tell him outright but her nightmares usually came along with sleep talking and he had pried a lot of her in her unconscious state.

“Good girl, princess.” He praised her before turning back to his work. She did as she was told and stayed silent for the next hour while he worked. Finally by midnight he was done and she had passed out waiting for him on the bed. He grabbed her hair again and pulled her up, her hands flying up to grab his wrist and looked up at him with now wide awake eyes. “All done princess. You want dinner?”

Oh right they didn’t eat dinner. Odd, Baby normally always came to collect them for dinner when Otis was working. She knew that he would get caught up in his work and forget to feed her little best friend.

She nodded as best she could with his grip on her hair. “Yes please.” She didn’t realize how hungry she was until the thought of dinner crossed her mind.

“Come on then hurry up. Put these on.” He ordered throwing her short skirt and shoes at her. Why was he making wear her shoes? The skirt she knew, even if it barely covered her it was enough to keep Hugo off her a bit. But the shoes? She wasn’t supposed to wear shoes in the house that was one of the rules. “Mama didn’t make enough dinner for us. Seems she forgot about us. Figured I’d be nice and take you somewhere. That’s what you wanted right? Some kinda anniversary dinner?”

“If that’s what you want. I just want to make you happy.” She said slipping on her shoes as ordered.

“Of course you do sweetheart. Come on lets go.” Otis grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the stairs and out to his truck. He threw her into the passenger seat before getting in the driver side. Once the truck was started the radio came on playing her favorite Frank Sinatra song.

She gasped and smiled wide. “I love this song.” She said without thinking before clasping her hand over her mouth. Another one of his rules- Don’t speak unless given permission. She looked up at him with her big eyes. “I’m sorry I was just excited and…”

Otis moved his hand to her thigh gripping the skin so hard she knew she’d have a handprint shaped mark in the morning. She stilled and waiting for his next move.

“Don’t have to apologize for that sweetheart. You’ve been a good girl. Maybe it’s time to change the rules a little, yeah?” He smiled at her with his wicked smile that would send shivers down anyone else’s spine and pulled her closer to him running his hand higher up her thigh. “You be a good girl while we’re out and when we get home. Tomorrow I’ll think about changing your rules.”

She took a breath. He was happy with her. So happy he was going to change her rules. Maybe she would be allowed to leave the room without him. Spend more time with Baby and Tiny. Or even Mama. She loved Mama. Mama was everything she wished her mother had been.

Finally Otis pulled the truck off to a 24 hour roadside dinner. There were only a couple cars, probably belonging to the workers, and a few long haul trucks. Otis got out and pulled her along with him. Once her feet hit the ground he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead, “Be good.” It was a simple command and a simple warning. “Be good” meant not only behave in general but also “don’t you dare tell anyone what happens at home.” He had only taken her out in public once, outside of her trips to Captain Spaulding’s, when he took her to buy her new outfits for her to wear for him. And by outfits of course that means bras that barely hold her tits and panties that barely covered anything. Along with a few short skirts and shorts. He didn’t like when Hugo eyed his woman. But oh how Otis loved to see his princess dressed up for him.

She reached up and kissed him on his cheek. She knew he loved it when she showed him affection. “Of course. Always a good girl for you.” She promised him.

They made it to the door and he was even kind enough to hold the door open for her. The waitress at the counter greeted them and told them to find a seat anywhere. He found them a booth far in the corner away from everyone else and pulled her down in his lap grabbing the menu. He let her trail her fingers over it reading each line and finally pointing out what she wanted. Of course, the sweetest thing on the menu. The waitress made her way over and smiled at them.

“Y’all need a minute or are you ready to order?”

Otis tightened his grip on her waist and she knew that meant stay quiet.

“Water, coffee, bacon and scrambled eggs, and the waffles.” He didn’t even look the waitress in the eye. “Chocolate chips on the waffles.”

She must have been really good if he was letting her have sweet treats.

The waitress nodded, writing down the order, before going to the kitchen.

They sat in silence. His hand drifting up and down her leg as they waited. A few minutes go by and the waitress reappears with a tray holding the drinks and food. “Here ya go darlings. Anything else?” Otis waves her off with a huff and she retreats back to the counter where a few truckers are sitting.

He takes a slice of bacon and chews it loudly in her ear before holding a piece to her mouth. “Eat up princess. I’ve been thinking about this whole anniversary non-sense and I think if I’m being so nice getting you this food then when we get home we will play one of our little games.”

She nodded happily, giggling and wiggling in his lap feel him grow harder under her. Playing games meant he was happy and in a good mood. She let him feed her until the plates were cleared. The waitress returned at that point slapping the bill on the table before turning on her heel walking away. She obviously did not enjoy being waved off earlier.

“Did you like it Princess? Wanna come back?” Was the game already starting? He didn’t normally ask her her preferences. “I didn’t like. I don’t think we’ll be back.”

“It was okay. Not as good as Mama’s cooking.” Mama made the best waffles.

Without a word and without looking at the bill Otis stood up and started walking her to the door.

“Sir you need to pay the bill! Excuse me!” The waitress yelled from behind the counter. Otis smirked down at his girl and chuckled darkly. He then whirled around and pull his gun from his waistband.

“I don’t have to do shit bitch.” He then grabbed her hand and threw her back in the truck speeding away towards home.

He was driving far past the speed limit, as fast as a bat out of hell. She looked up at him with her big eyes then down at the gun in-between them in the seat of the truck. He had never brought it out in front of her. He liked to use his knifes, belts, or even his hands on her. She couldn’t even name a time she had a gun this close outside of being on a police officers hip.

“Not gonna fucking bite you. What the little princess never seen a gun before?” He eyes burned on her. She shook her head. “Well then Princess, why don’t we start the game now?” He grabbed the gun and pressed it against against her temple. “Open those legs pretty girl.” She did as she was told and he moved the gun down her body until it was between her legs. “You fucking get off on this and cum without permission I will blow your brains out. Don’t care how much a pretty fuck you are. Understood?”

She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “Yes.”

He slid the barrel of the gun against her folds making her shiver against the cold metal. He kept it up at a steady pace for what felt like hours but he made sure to never reach right where she wanted him. She was looking straight ahead trying to find any landmarks showing they were close to home. Right as she was about to work up the nerve to ask him, he finally hit her sweet spot. She moaned and threw her head back.

“There we go princess. Don’t forget the rules.” He moved faster bringing her close to the edge and pulling away. Finally the light of the house came into view. He stopped the truck but continued playing with her for a few minutes before pulling the gun away from her core.

He looked it over before grabbing her chin, “Open wide sweetheart. You made my gun dirty, now you gotta suck it clean. Be a good girl.” Be a good girl. Yes she is a good girl for him. She opened her mouth sticking out her tongue letting him slide the barrel into her mouth. She began licking and sucking her juices off the shiny metal when she heard a click. She gulped and looked at him to see his wicked smile. “Good girls don’t have to worry if the safety is off. And you’re a good girl right?” She nodded and continued until he finally pulled away wiping her spit off on his shirt. He then got out of the truck pulling her along with him as always. “Good girl, now you have 2 minutes to get that pretty ass upstairs and ready in our room. Wear the white.” Oh he really wanted to play today. He only had her wear a white set if he intended to stain it red. “Timer’s already started Princess I’d hurry if I was you.” He slapped her hard on her ass kicking her into gear. She darted into the house trying to be careful not to knock anything over. She reached the threshold of their room when she heard him slam the front door shut meaning she had about 1 minute left. She ripped off her clothes and threw on the first white lace bra and panties she could find. Once she was dressed she dropped to her knees sitting back on her heels, hands in her lap, looking up and waiting.

Otis finally opened the bedroom door and smirked at the sight before him. She was so pretty like that. Ready and waiting to suck his cock. He walked up to her stripping his clothes as he walked holding his belt in his hands. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? On the bed arms up.”

She followed his orders and laid down arms against the headboard. She knew the drill at this point. He looped the belt around her wrist securing her to the bed. He then tied a blindfold around her eyes. This game was her favorite. She didn’t know why but he always was happier after they played this game.

A drawer opened and she heard the clicks of metal against metal. She then felt an ice cold blade against her throat. “One sound. One single sound and I will gut you like a pig. Got it?” She nodded to the best of her ability. “Good girl now be quiet.” The knife moved across her body slowly. She had yet to feel skin break. He moved up and down her arms and her legs. Around her bellybutton and traced the insides of her thighs. Then the feeling was gone. And she heard the rustling sound of clothes being thrown on and the bedroom door slamming.

This wasn’t part of the game. He was suppose to cut her, carve his name on her and lick the blood. Slice her up with tiny cuts that would bead some bubbles of blood enough for him to paint her in but not enough to kill her or even truly hurt her. But he never left before it was over. He didn’t always stay long afterwards, aftercare is not in his vocabulary but he never left before they were done.

Had he decided he was done with her? Was he going to get RJ and Tiny so they could be ready to take her body when he was done with it? Questions and thoughts started whirling in her head. Fear creeping up on her. She was alone again. She was alone and going to die. Her life with the Firefly’s wasn’t perfect but it was hers and she was enjoying it.

Tears started to slip from her eyes wetting the blindfold that had been tied to her. Maybe he was going to leave her here to starve. Let her have a final meal and then starve her. Her tears soon turned to sobs and before she knew it her breathing was getting shaky. Everything was spinning even though she couldn't see anything. Her brain was spinning it felt like. Her body was shaking violently.

“The fuck is wrong with you girl?” His voice boomed into the room and he removed his belt from her hands pulling her into his lap before taking off the blindfold. He was being oddly kind, like he was worried about her.

She continued to shake and sob for a minute before finally calming down enough to look at him. “You, you, you left. You never leave until the game is finished. Left me alone again.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Someone wondered up the property Princess. Had to make sure the cops weren’t showing up. Don’t need the pigs here when I have a pretty little runaway in my bed.” Then in a rare moment, a very rare moment that had only happened once when he was drunk but she counted it because it was the only time it happened; he kissed her. Like a real kiss from someone you love not a power play. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen to you Princess. I promise.”

She wiped her eyes and looked up at him like he was the center of her whole universe, “You won’t abandon me, right?” It was barely a whisper almost as if she was unsure if she could ask.

Otis brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead, “You’re mine forever silly girl. I love you.”

Those three words. The three little words he knew would hook her right in again. He didn’t have to worry about anything as long as he dangled that little carrot in front of her face once every couple weeks. He wasn’t sure if he even meant it. In the beginning he knew he didn’t but now as time had gone on he wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe this pretty little princess from the other side of Texas was changing him.

“I love you too.” She sighed kissing his neck before snuggling into him. There would be no wicked game for a few hours. He would be kind. He would let her sleep next to him. Let her snuggle up on his chest while he played with her hair. Let her have a few hours where they played like they were a normal couple, just a man and his girl sleeping the night away.

But Otis Driftwood was anything but just a man. He was different and he knew it. But she was different too. Maybe she was meant to be here. Meant to be his girl forever. But that was a problem for another day. A day when he was 7 beers deep and didn't have to think too hard.

“Goodnight Princess you can sleep now. I ain't going anywhere. And when you wake up, I’ll let you go to Baby’s room.” He kissed her hair again and moved them down on the bed throwing the blanket over them.

[popjunkie42]

The Thief and the Rake: Chapter Six

Chapter Six: You've Ruined My Life, By Not Being Mine

Read on AO3

Nesta has a secret of her own. The sisters get invited to meet the Grand Duchess Amarantha Beaumont, much to everyone's great regret.

Much thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher who read this twice and gave me many head pats.

This chapter definitely fought me a bit so I hope I wrangled it enough! I'm very excited to get to chapter seven for...reasons...

Snippet under the cut, thanks for all the comments and love <3

Carriage wheels clattered on cobblestones in front of Nesta, mud squelching from the rain-slicked streets.

The afternoon storm had abated just minutes ago. A stream of sunlight cut through the clouds and tall buildings and cast down, like a beacon, squarely on the sign in front of her - Dayton Publishing.

A little too on the nose, she thought.

The lady sighed, tapping her fingers against the sealed portfolio in her arms, that she had wrapped in a shawl to protect from the rain.

The city street moved around her like a stream around a stone – busy men in dark suits, street merchants hawking newspapers and umbrellas, carriages and horses coming and going in front of her.

“Marquis survivor of the French Revolution speaks out! Corn laws to cause more shortages in the city! Latest chapter of Lady Somerset’s Final Season! Only one penny for a paper!”

Nesta still wasn’t used to the sounds of the city, the constant clang and squawk and steady thrum of voices and bodies.

She would just have to cross the road - take a few quick steps through that door to shut out some of the noise. To say a few words and hand that manuscript to Mr. Helion Dayton, who she had been conversing with for several weeks over post.

As Mr. Nathaniel Archeron.

But standing there, so close, Nesta knew she would not walk through those doors today. Even if the last correspondence had included cautiously delighted praise of her first two chapters and a repeated invitation to visit between the hours of two and four o’clock any weekday besides Wednesdays.

Nesta wasn’t here for this. Her whole family was not here for this. And although there was nothing statedly improper about a lady sitting in her home and writing words of fiction, it did have a certain air of artistic and willful strength of mind that some might not see as wholly respectful for a well-bred lady of the ton. Someone, perhaps, like a Grand Duke.

To be truthful, Nesta had hardly spoken more than a few polite words to the man, enough to make sure he was of generally sound mind and not a raging brute or someone they couldn’t stand for ten minutes at dinner. So perhaps she was unfair in assigning him opinions about lady novelists and what they might do with the pages of a story that kept them up late into the night in a fervent and inspired escape from everyday drudgery.

No, Nesta had done her research - the Grand Duke Grayson Nolan was as without scandal as one could expect a rich aristocrat the age of twenty-six to be. He was bereft, as far as Nesta could tell, of any obvious mistresses or wanton gambling habits. He would be perfect for Elain, give her everything she could want, and Nesta would not stand in the way of that immaculate future.

Maybe next year. Maybe after Elain had married, and was settled into a home, then no one would care what a quiet old spinster wrote and shared with small publishing houses in London.

The slight reprieve from the smells and dust the rain had given to the city streets was quickly burning away under the spring sun now coming out from behind the clouds. The weather in London had fully turned, and the lovely blossoms and scent of green grass in Kensington Park were only a short respite from the steamy, foul smells of the city streets. A horse relieved itself on the street just in front of her. The sun tried its best to sparkle in the puddles on cobblestones that were quickly frothed with mud and excrement.

Nesta took it all in. The jolt of the city - so alive. Maybe the scents and sounds of it all made it more like a living, breathing magnificent beast than a city, its breath the steaming rain, its scales the cobblestone streets.

In the cottage, she had first started writing stories after London was just a foggy memory of a lost childhood. As a young girl, she certainly hadn’t been walking the lively streets like this. She hadn’t known that life could be this big, this vibrant, and now she doubted the fumbling, small stories she wrote under that dank cottage roof.

In her stories, written under moonlight with well-worn pen nibs and dull pencils, she had voiced the dreams she was too bitter to say aloud. Dreams of kind families and dashing knights. But as she grew older and life grew crueler, the stories changed. The heroines became more clever, more cunning. Tricking and fighting their way out of dangers themselves, more cautious in the help they accepted.

At least they offered a meager distraction from her hungry belly.

She was struck from her reverie as a hard shoulder knocked into her back, and Nesta stumbled off of the curb, the portfolio falling from her arms and into a particularly filthy puddle.

“Shit,” she yelled, the perpetrator already halfway down the street. Her gloves would need scrubbing but she grabbed the folder and yanked it just out of the way of an oncoming carriage.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Pulling the dirty glove off, Nesta unwound the string around the now sopping wet folder and pulled out her pages.

Flipping them over, she took a deep breath and assessed there was no damage. She had spent hours and too much on pen nibs to carefully parse out those handwritten pages.

“Do you need a hand?”

Nesta looked up into huge round blue eyes, glittering in the sun under bright copper hair, tightly pulled back into a bun.

“What?”

The young woman motioned to Nesta again with a lift of her chin, some sort of mirthful look in her face that made Nesta frown.

Looking down at herself, she understood. A dirty glove on the ground now beside her feet, the portfolio dripping mud onto her skirts, the papers clutched in a death grip in her other hand.

“I’m fine.”

The woman nodded. Seemingly content to watch her struggle.

“If you’re going to see Mr. Dayton, he’s quite fastidious. You might want to change and come back.”

“I’m not going to see Mr. Dayton.”

Again, the woman regarded her with that strange stillness. While the bustle of the city hummed around her. The woman’s skin was pale with warm freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Her lip upturned into the smallest smirk.

“Oh, so you’re just standing here staring at a publishing house, with a manuscript in your hand, not going in?”

“Precisely.”

A full smile. Nesta gritted her teeth.

“All right then. Have a good afternoon Miss…?”

Nesta kept her mouth shut, clutching her pages tight to her chest.

The copper-haired woman scoffed. Nesta watched as she deftly skipped around puddles across the street, opening the door to Dayton Publishing and disappearing inside.

Read the rest on AO3

[orororoo]

_________________________________________

And here I am again! One night I tried to fall asleep again, plunging into my own thoughts, and the thought abruptly flew to me: "What happens if the guys from the HH are placed in the Black Raven Academy, that is, Twisted wonderland." And now I'm standing with the finished work in my hands and running to show it to you! 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

_________________________________________

And I also prescribed them a little in this universe. Have fun reading 😸

And now briefly about the little things that were mentioned here ↓

Disney Twisted-Wonderland is a 2020 mobile game centered around characters inspired by villains from Disney movies/cartoons. Which involves elements of rhythm games and battles, as well as gacha.

Night Raven College is an academy for boys and the main place of action Twisted Wonderland . It is a four-year magical educational institution located on the top of a mountain on the north side of the Island The wise men.

Unique magic is a spell that distinguishes spells from other magicians.It is not developed subconsciously and is used instinctively for the first time.The name of the spell is also not consciously chosen by the caster.

Magic Shift Team is a popular sports game in Twisted Wonderland. Two teams of seven players each play against each other and try to score points by throwing a disc at the other team's goal, and the team with the most points wins. Magift requires magic, as the disk is moved by magic, and magic is used to attack and defend against the opposing team.

OH MY GOD, DID YOU REALLY READ TO THE END? Mhehe. It's nice to know. A lot of time has passed since the last post on these guys, and I'm still ready only to thank and thank. I am madly in love with these glorious faces, and watching the content on them imperceptibly raises a smile. Oh, and how many wonderful people I've met in this fandom. And I even somehow regret that I did not find it at a younger age. But damn it, thanks. I don't know which way I would have gone if it wasn't for these guys.

THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I'VE REWRITTEN A POST. LET ME THROUGH

[angelsworks]

Little Witch The last kingdom x reader

Chapter 1

Next chapter -> H E R E

Series Masterlist -> Here

Note -> I got inspiration for this story from this post Here by @mystic-shadows42 . It was really good and I’d definitely recommend reading it.

Type: oneshot/series

Summary: After escaping a Dane who wants to be your master. You go to find Uhtred, your true master. Only he doesn’t seem accepting of you.

Warnings: 18+ mentions of suicide, abuse, rape. Mature themes.

For both selfish and selfless reasons you were cautiously walking in the woods, in search of Uhtred.

For years you’d had visions of Uhtred and his friends. From your time with Astrid, a dame who also had visions, you’d learned more about yourself. She had taken you to a small covenant that housed around 20 witches. Both from Dane and Saxon backgrounds.

You were a mix of the two. Your father and mother had been Danes, but they chose to live a Saxon way. They were humble farmers. Throughout your childhood you were surrounded with fields and crops, trees and flowers, horses and donkeys. It was a life you loved.

When you were young you had no control over your visions. They would leave you in violent shudders, unable to calm yourself. Your mother and fathers past meant they had some idea of what might be happening. You were a seer. And a good seer at that.

You could see the travellers who would be passing by. Whether they brought harm or good to your family. You could see if the crops you planted would be bountiful in the later months.

While your gift was extremely helpful for your family, they new it brought you pain. Your mother decided to send a raven to a woman she once knew in her village. A Dane called Astrid.

Astrid came in the following weeks. Staying for a while to observe you. She saw your potential almost immediately. It was then she insisted on taking you with her to a special covenant. Housing seers and witches and Dane’s alike.

During your time you learnt a lot. You learnt that Seers have more control when they have a master. Without a master there is no limit to what futures they may see. One of the seers did not have a master, you witnessed her violent shudders and heard her midnight screams. Over the course of your stay you saw her body hanging from the rafters. You prayed to no god that she would find peace in death.

You realised that your parents must have been your previous masters. All your visions revolved around them and their harvest. The distance between you moved you to different visions, naturally. You were linked by blood, not by date. You saw a man, a Dane, who fought other Danes. They called him a Dane killer, a monster, a godless tyrant.

But you knew better. You saw his battles. You saw his companions he travelled with. You saw his wife and her death. You saw his time as a slave.

It was like you were there with him. He was your master.

When your bond to Uhtred was confirmed by the elders, you set off to find him. You thanked Astrid for all she’d done for you and she promised fate would bring you together at some point.

On your travels you made a stop at home. Wanting to say goodbye to your family as you travelled to find your new master. That turned out to be a mistake.

In place of your parents you found a large, bear like Viking. This man was one of the tallest you’d met, he towered over you and his breath reeked of ale. The man’s face wasn’t scared or burned or covered in warts. Yet there was an underlying ugliness his eyes couldn’t hide.

Steffen the slayer, was a Viking who had taken up residence in your village during your leave. Your parents were forced to their knees in the corner, with Steffens men holding swords to their throats.

Steffen gave you an ultimatum. Agree to be his seer or he’d kill your parents. You didn’t even try to explain that seers didn’t work that way. Instead you hastily agreed, begging him to let go of your parents.

He dragged you from your home, with little care. The dumped you on the floor, a distance from your house.

You watched in horror as his men barred the door shut and set light to the thatch roof. Your parents inside crying out.

Your heart broke and your eyes became wet. Anger filled your entire being. Before anyone could comprehend you’d focused all your hate on the man with the torch. As you felt yourself getting lighter you could see him collapse. Just before you passed out you’d heard a man shout that he was dead.

Steffen realised what a prize you were so kept you locked away at his keep. Steffen had tried many things to get you to break your bond to Uhtred. It was not something you could do on your own. Not easily. Steffen beat you in various ways, trying to get you to break. No matter how he hard you tried, Uhtred was still your master. You couldn’t see anything to do with Steffen.

After a while your body was mostly bruise and cut. What surprised you is that he didn’t seem worried. He still visited you everyday. Bringing meagre amounts of food for your ever thinning body. You didn’t realise he had another plan brewing.

Your mobility was severely lowered due to the being chained to the wall. You tried for hours on end to loosen the chains in the wall. To break them, to rust them, to melt them off. Yet they stayed attached, restraining you to the wall and to Steffen.

It was the night after Steffen had come to your cell. He’d told you that he’d found a way you’d be his seer. He would first need to make you his wife. Fucking you would break the bond between a seer and a master. You shuddered at the thought. Unsure of the truth in that.

It was then that he took out his cock and forced you to suck it. You tried to pull away, but being chained hand and foot to the wall made it harder. You cried and at times your teeth met skin. For that he slapped you and threatened to pull your teeth out one by one.

When he left, you fell into a pitiful sleep. Your vision this time was of you. Showing you exactly what you needed to do to escape.

It had been hard of course, nevertheless you’d found a way to Uhtred. The miles you walked, reminded you of how weak you truly were. Your legs were almost giving way by the time you reached Uhtred.

You hid amongst the tree line, watching. You saw that he was travelling with Finan, Sihtric and Osferth. You knew them from your visions. They sat around a small fire and made camp, while Uhtred left to go and wash.

As quietly as you could you followed Uthred. You were draped in a stolen cloak. It was black and ominous, which wasn’t the feeling you wanted to rise in him. Underneath you were dressed in a tatty grey dress. It was extremely thin, without the cloak you were sure you would have died from the cold.

You follow Uhtred to the small spring. Heat rises from the surface and it makes you want to jump in. You hadn’t bathed in weeks.

Uhtred lingered near a tree about to take his shirt off. You don’t want to watch him bath, you are sure that won’t make him think anything good of you. Not that he will already.

You’re aware of the events that transpired with Skade. A dark witch and supposed seer who cursed him. It had only been a week or so since he strangled her. The last thing he would want is yet another curse placed on him.

“Lord Uhtred? I’ve come to serve you.” You hope that was the right thing to say. In your visions you weren’t shown what he would say, only where he would be.

Uthred turns to you, dropping his hands on his shirt. His eyes look you up and down, accessing your form.

He laughs, “How do you plan on serving me, scrawny peasant girl?”

You keep your eye roll to yourself, having travelled miles to meet him you thought he’d feel some sort of gratitude. “Please Lord, I’ve travelled many miles to meet with you.”

He turns away, dismissive of you “I have no need for a new barmaid or cook.”

You sigh out loud this time, growing tired of his ignorance. You pick up his sword that leans against a nearby tree. The weight of it surprised you, it takes you your two weak arms to hold it up. The edge points to his throat. His eyes narrow, but his attention is definitely on you.

“I am a seer Uthred Ragnarsson and you are my master.”

His face contorts into one of disgust. Now looking at you like the most vile being in England. “I am no one’s master. Especially a seer’s. Go back to the hole you crawled out of.”

“For years I have seen only you Uthred. Your battles, your friends, your story. I have grown quite tired of it. So you either take me with you or I kill you and free myself of an ungrateful master.”

You ultimatum is a weak one. You can barely hold the sword without shaking it, you have no idea how you’ll find the strength to kill him. Killing a master means there is no promise of finding another one. And you don’t want to. You sought a master in Uthred yes, but also protection. Protection from Steffen and any other master who would do you harm.

Uthred laughs, he takes a step toward you “Are you threatening me witch?” The malice in his voice is undeniable. You almost recoil from the harshness of it.

You take a breath, “Yes”.

He takes another step, and you take one back. Almost tripping with the sword.

“I’m nothing like Skade Uhtred. I only want to help you.” His eyes widen slightly. Then he sighs. He wants more time to think it over.

His eyes move to behind you. In the trees he can see Sihtric sneaking toward the two of you, rope in hand. Uhtred moves his eyes back to your small shaking form. He compares the sight to rabbit trying to hold its own against wolves.

You see Uhtred’s eyes behind you. Without thinking you turn. In the same moment Sihtric moved to tackle you while Uhtred grabs his sword.

“Tie her up Sihtric, and gag her. Warn the others she’s a witch.” You groan as your side had been hit, the bruises on your skin being reignited with pain.

You don’t fight as Sihtric binds your hands in front of you and ties a cloth around your mouth. You are marched towards the trees while Uhtred removed his shirt to bathe.

You emerge from the treeline to their small makeshift camp. Being pushed by Sihtric you are forced to sit on the floor. You don’t try to move, you just want to sleep.

“It was a girl following us? Great, all that worry over nothing.” You glare at Finan. The Irishman is putting away his sword and sitting down, sighing. Most likely hoping for more action.

“This is no girl Finan, she’s a witch.” You see the others visibly recoil at Sihtric’s confession.

You sigh. You’ve made it to your master. Now you just have to convince them all you are here to help.

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

[tamurilofrivendell]

Homecoming | Haldir x Reader

Pairing: Haldir/Reader

Read on AO3

Summary: Haldir returns with the rest of the survivors from Helm’s Deep and, deciding he has wasted enough precious time, confesses his feelings to you.

Prompt: (inspired by this post by @oneofmanyinterests​ - hopefully that’s okay!)

Tags: @achromaticerebus​, @desert-fern​, @firelightinferno​, @weepingdreammarvel​, @silverrose365 

The woods of Lothlórien were quiet, almost as if the trees were in mourning. Indeed, things had been a little solemn since the soldiers set out for Helm’s Deep. The Lord and Lady had barely been seen the last couple of weeks and it was said that they were planning the Lady's departure from Middle Earth. You hadn’t given a lot of thought to sailing west, not of late at least. You couldn’t. All your thoughts had been fixed upon one very specific thing.

Or one very specific ellon.

Haldir had gone with the others to Helm’s Deep. He had gone to fight alongside the men there and, while you knew it was a noble and decent thing they had all done, your thoughts had been quite sorrowful since they left.

You and Haldir were such good friends and you couldn’t hide your worry. Your fear that he might not return. Truthfully, you were more than just good friends... at least on your part. You had harboured feelings towards him for a very long time now but you would not speak of it for fear of ruining the friendship you held so dear. Having him as a friend was better than not having him at all.

The sky was cloudy and you were high up in a tree this day, having sought solitude from the moment the sun had risen. At first you had sat in silence, thinking you would listen to the birds but the forest was so quiet that soon you could not bear it. So you had soon risen your voice in song as you were often wont to do.

It was this song that the weary Galadhrim returned to that day. It lifted their hearts a little even as their minds mourned that which they had lost. Their fellow soldiers. Friends. Not everybody had returned and the journey home from Helm's Deep had been a somber one.

Haldir, usually a leader, had drifted towards the back of the group. It was because of him, of course, that they were quite late in returning to Lórien. He had been terribly injured in that fight and, truthfully, he had thought he would die there. However, upon discovering he was alive, Aragorn and one of the elven healers who had survived, tended him and slowly but surely he had woken. The rest of the surviving elves had refused to return home without their Marchwarden.

The song they heard as they walked through the wood was beautiful and while it did bring them a little hope, for Haldir it made him feel like he had finally come home - and it was only now that he realised his home was a person, not a place.

Veering off from the other elves, he had walked beneath the trees until he found the one you were sitting in. You did not notice him at first and he stood there for a long few moments, simply listening.

When you finally realised you were no longer alone, you cast your curious gaze downwards and Haldir watched as the recognition caused a bright smile to break out over your beautiful face.

"Haldir!" You could have cried. He was here! He was home! He was alive!

"I hope you have not been sitting up there since I left." He teased lightly, the weight upon his shoulders lifting a little. He recalled you sitting in this very tree the morning they had all set off.

"And if I have?" You teased back with a smile, your worry melting away as it was replaced with utter relief to be looking upon his face once more.

You both fell silent for a few moments then, looking back at each other, the Marchwarden and the one he had loved for more years than he cared to count. It occurred to him then that he had wasted quite a lot of time. Never mind the fact that he had all the time in the world - or thought he had, before his very recent brush with death.

“Will you come down?” He asked.

“Why don’t you come up?” You retorted, smiling.

Haldir laughed and then nodded, moving to climb the tree, settling beside you in the sturdy branches.

Your smile had faded away as you watched him, noting the slight strain he had attempted to fully conceal from you. When he looked up next, you were frowning.

“What happened?” You asked softly.

Haldir shook his head, casting his gaze over the forest for a long moment, the memory of the battle fresh in his minds eye.

“Not all of us returned.” He murmured, neglecting to give you any information on his own injuries at this moment. He had healed enough, just the slightest twinge remained and that too, would soon be gone.

You looked back at him sadly, before you reached over and placed a hand upon his arm. “But you did.”

Haldir nodded, his smile returning, brightening his beautiful face. “Yes. I did.”

“Good.” You said, giving his hand a squeeze and lowering your gaze. “I do not know what I would have done...”

Haldir smiled at you gently, the tips of his ears pinkening slightly as his mind flickered to what he truly wished to say but somehow found it felt as if the words had frozen in his throat as he tried to get them out.

You noticed he seemed uncomfortable and tilted your head slightly. “Does something trouble you?”

Haldir smiled slightly at how well you could read him. It had been such for a very long time. The two of you had a kind of synchronicity that had come from your long years of friendship...

...but what if that’s all it was?

What if his feelings were not returned and he lost you? He was not sure he would be able to get past that. Still, he also felt that he could not continue to keep this inside, not now, so he lifted his gaze back to your face and took a deep breath.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Something troubles me greatly.”

You frowned immediately and reached out for his hand. You took it in your own and gave it a reassuring squeeze, wondering if it was something to do with what he had just left, what he had faced at Helm’s Deep, that was paining him. “What is it? Tell me, I can help.”

Haldir’s lips twitched at that and he nodded again. “Yes, I think that you may be the only one who could help.”

You gave him a questioning look at that, raising a confused eyebrow, but you didn’t say anything - allowing for him to continue.

The way Haldir said your name next made you shiver a little, though he didn’t really notice as he was now too caught up in getting the words out before he completely missed his chance.

“When I left Lórien for Helm’s Deep, I could not know whether or not we would come back. Many did not. They are gone and, truthfully, I was almost one of them.” He sighed, his thoughts moving once more to the elvish life that had been lost there.

You absently brushed your thumb over his knuckles, bringing him back to the present moment.

Haldir’s attention blinked back up at you and his heart was in his eyes.

“I realise now that I have wasted so much time. I have-” The briefest hesitation and then he tumbled over the cliff and it was too late to try and climb back up. “I have loved you for many centuries.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared back at him in shock. He... he loved you? He had loved you for... so long? How could you not have noticed? How could he not have said a word!

Though you reminded yourself that you felt the same and you had not said a word either.

Haldir mistook your stunned silence for something it wasn’t and ducked his head briefly, embarrassment flooding through him as he gently peeled his hand from your grasp. Inwardly, he chastised himself. He should have just kept his mouth closed! He had no doubt lost your much treasured friendship.

“I apologise.” He muttered, hiding his dismay behind his usual stoic exterior. “I should not have spoken on it. I did not mean.... I will leave you to--”

“Haldir.” You breathed his name in such a way that made him quickly look back up at you. You had tears in your eyes and, even heartbroken, he could not stand to see you cry - he lifted his hand and gently brushed away the tears as they fell. Though, the next words out of your mouth made him freeze in position, almost not fully comprehending.

“I have loved you the same.” You admitted, gazing back at him with nothing but adoration, watching the soft frown fall away from his expression, his mouth falling open in surprise.

Haldir felt as though his heart could burst right out of his chest with the amount of joy he felt at those six words. He threw all caution to the wind as he gathered you into his arms and just held you for a long moment, in complete disbelief that you could love him as he loved you!

Then, he pulled back, gently framed your face with his hands and leaned in to kiss you.

You were not sure you had the words to fully explain what you felt as he kissed you. Actually kissed you! Haldir! Kissing you! It was unfathomable.

However you were quick to participate, deepening the kiss and pouring all of your emotions into the act. You did not want him to be at all uncertain of your feelings.

Eventually, you both pulled back, a little breathless. Haldir chuckled, looking back at you with complete awe. He caressed your face gently and then let go, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to him.

There the two of you sat for a long while, just basking in the glow of your shared emotions. Your love. You sat with your head on his shoulder, his arm around you, and you had never felt better in your whole life.

Soon, you began to sing again.

As Haldir held you close, listening to your beautiful voice fill the air around him, he felt it once more.

He had finally come home.