#irreplaceable you series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jiminrings · 7 months ago

Text

fail-safe (3)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 14k

glimpse: you hear everything you've ever wanted, but you don't know if it's too late.

alternatively, yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ still angst (but u can breathe now bc it’s the finale), brother’s best friend AND single dad au, jealousy, yearning from all angles, did i say angst alr (mom-wise and brother-wise), fluff, redemption ]

notes: this is it for the chronological series of fail-safe :-) from the bottom of my heart thank you so sooooo much for reading n loving!!! sharing fs with the lot of u is an experience (and era) i'll never forget!!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Your trip back home isn’t as rough as you expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between coming home alone and coming home with Jungkook. There’s an irreplaceable weight in your chest that still flares even at the mention of Yoongi, the anger you have towards him mixing with the trepidation of holding everything in you, not just him, for another three days. There’s an angry rash around your fingertips just waiting for you to pick on your nails until they’re raw because atleast in that way, you get to forget the way Yoongi’s hand picked up yours in the dark.

There’s an ache in you that not even Yoongi and Hyewon could undo by never having met in the first place. It’s long been there, perhaps even older than Haneul. The ache of unfulfillment in you is bred by everything significant in your life — all from your first argument with your mom because of your lack of direction in life, to your latest heartbreak that keeps manifesting into your first ever.

You're no longer angry recounting the fact that you weren't destined for greatness. Namjoon turned out beyond great, world-renowned even, despite living in the same home that you did. Maybe it's not your environment or your lack of a passion that hindered you — maybe, it's just you alone.

Maybe, some part of you had ached too much from reaching (read: loving) too far up, you're doomed to live the rest of your life unfulfilled. Yoongi's never been yours, but the way your heart withdraws from him is as if he's always been.

You've done your share. You've completed your fill. You've worked yourself to the bone to make anything (not something, and certainly not everything) out of yourself that even if you're not decorated in sports like Namjoon nor celebrated in music like Yoongi, you have a fail-safe to fall back on.

You're earning more than the white collars you could recognize from your old yearbook and even if it's to look after someone, to look after Jungkook and his craft, and neither use your actual degree nor make a name out of yourself — a part of you feels fulfilled.

If being fulfilled meant being in the shadows as a manager; if it meant caring for someone in a professional context yet in a way you've always known with practice, with love, through the years– you'll take it.

You'll take the peace of being fulfilled without a trophy than to be listless trying to compete for first place.

You're fulfilled now to be sitting at the passenger seat of your own car because despite having never been to your place anymore, Jungkook fought with you in order to get his hands on the wheel.

You're fulfilled now, even if you only took Jungkook's silly suggestion (read: insistence) of fake-dating him just so you wouldn't have to face your family and Yoongi alone. You're fulfilled despite having no real place in neither men's lives.

Oddly enough, Jungkook wants to be both. He wants to be fulfilled and compete for first place in a position in your life that he can't even say to your face.

Jungkook holds you right in the middle of the living room, his eyes wide and grin sparkling as if the director had already said action! and the task for him was to act out what being in love looked like, right in front of his female lead's family in her childhood home. (Read: he isn't acting at all.)

“And he’s…?” your mom lets the question hang in the air, eyes trailing from Jungkook’s face, to his bicep, to how his forearm fits snugly against your back and his hand curls around your waist. Your mom visibly looks surprised, although you don’t know if it’s about the fact that you actually came back despite everything, or if it’s because her favorite actor is in her kitchen while she’s sweaty in an apron, or if it’s because said favorite actor leaves no space between the two of you.

“Jeon Jungkook, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he greets politely, a little jittery now that he’s face-to-face with her. He’s only heard of the woman she is from you and as much as he tried to picture her from memory, your stories don’t do her much justice. Jungkook’s always loved your kind eyes and your sweet smile, but he knows now where you’ve got it from; in fact, if he turns around right now right after shaking her hand and bowing profusely, you’re showing exactly those to him — that, along with a pair of gazes he can’t place.

Those gazes aren’t kind at all. One is confused and dumbfounded, and the other harbors nothing but hostility and anger.

“Sweetheart, I know you. Who doesn’t?” your mom’s at a loss for breath, mouth still agape as she keeps flickering her eyes between the two of you. She knows that you’re his manager, but what she doesn’t know is why the Jeon Jungkook is in her humble kitchen of all places. He has the most expressive and sincere eyes ever — he can’t possibly mistake your childhood home as a filming set and your waist as a hand rest.

You finally placate her thoughts when you speak, the loaded silence between the three of you (it’s buzzing with tension if you account for the other two) breaking. You actually giggle, your laughter taking the load off her shoulders because you’re happy; you don’t feel an ounce of guilt even if you’re lying to her face.

“We’re dating, mom,” you grin. “Jungkook’s my boyfriend.”

Jungkook smiles automatically, feeling your hand snake towards his own. His palm’s much bigger than yours yet it’s warmer than you’ve ever imagined, the envelope both of your hands make putting you at ease.

Your mom’s gasp bounces across the walls. Namjoon’s head that’s only been lowered the entire time you’ve been back suddenly whips to look at you and Jungkook. The fridge even lowers its hum to make way for the theatrics aimed at you, yet your eyes are fixed on your mom’s and Jungkook’s alone.

You came home for her and with him. You’re not here for anyone nor anything else because it’s merely a play for your survival, only this time, Jungkook’s hellbent on increasing your odds.

Yoongi freezes evidently, hand tightening around Haneul’s bottle as if it would do anything to release the red from his vision. He staggers silently, breathing suddenly ragged as he stares down at the offending steel cylinder. It’s small. Compact. If anything, he figures it would hurt if he were to throw it at anything. Anyone. Someone, even.

“Wow, that’s.. that’s amazing!” she embraces the both of you, making you and Jungkook share a gaze you only laugh through because he actually looks honored.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to let you know personally,” he apologizes meekly for a mistake that isn’t even one in the first place, the humility in his tone making your ears perk. It’s Jungkook onceagain with the apologies towards you that he shouldn’t be making at all, and yet, even in front of your family, he persists.

Jungkook apologizes even for the things he hasn’t done, not because he plans on doing them, but because a large part of him wants to be in the actual situation wherein those mistakes were merely possibilities.

“It’s no problem at all. You’re busy getting all these awards, I know how that’s like,” she jokes, unable to stop smiling. “I’m just glad someone’s taking care of my baby.”

“And I don’t plan on missing a single day, ma’am.”

“Stop that,” she chides, shaking her head eagerly. “You can call me mom.”

Yoongi lets the bottle clatter to the sink.

( ♡ )

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat hours before his alarm was supposed to go off to cook dinner for everyone, even if it was only yourfavorite. The anxiousness that bubbled in his veins when he was asleep was going to burst and while Yoongi thought nothing of it initially, he realizes in panic that it was actually pointing to something.

He woke up next to Haneul and he was placated momentarily, but the knot tied around his heart tightens twofold when he sees Hyewon on the same bed.

On your bed.

The guilt that filled Yoongi then was enough for the bile to creep up into his throat, making him stagger outside to find Namjoon pacing right outside of his own bedroom. His personal phone’s tucked in between his ear and his shoulder, his hands preoccupied scrolling through whatever it is on his work phone. Yoongi momentarily stops his panic to inquire why the hell Namjoon’s panicking and why did he just see a glimpse of your social media accounts pulled up to the screen, your following list staring your brother in the eyes.

“What? What happened? Is it Y/N?”

Namjoon only looked at him with nothing but pity and guilt, the resentment he had for himself bleeding through the way he shifted his gaze to him.

“She saw you and Hyewon.”

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep since.

He didn’t even blink when Hyewon thanked him and said her goodbyes. He wasn’t even fazed when his ex-wife kissed Haneul goodbye and his son only resumed playing with his blocks. Yoongi hadn’t even tended to himself throughout the entire night, surrendering himself to be awake in your couch in the far event that you’d come home.

Yoongi wanted to follow you home, except almost exactly similar to the past, he had chased you out of what’s supposed to be your own home in the first place. The difference now was that he didn’t mean for Hyewon to be on your bed at all, let alone your room, but in the back of Yoongi’s thick skull — he figures that it won’t be enough for you.

Yoongi waits for you all night throughout the morning like a loyal dog waiting for its master, his chest rising up and down in hope yet his chin down in despondence. You do end up coming back home though, but your presence is neither unaccompanied nor for him.

With you is Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend.

If only Haneul hadn’t asked for his bottle to be brought upstairs because he’s watching cartoons on Yoongi’s laptop, he would’ve collapsed on the floor then and there, uncaring of the way everyone else would be looking down on him.

If only Namjoon’s gaze wasn’t flitting to him to gauge his reaction because it’s the first time he’s, or by everyone else rather, hearing that you have a boyfriend, Yoongi would put his hands on his head and curse until his piercing migraine suddenly disappears.

If only your mother wasn’t here, frozen in the kitchen mostly because of what you just revealed and who you came home with, and partly because she’s waiting for him to finish washing Haneul’s bottle, he would’ve thrown up right in the sink.

Yoongi gathers all his pain and keeps it shut within himself until he gets you alone, catching you by the staircase when everyone else has dispersed.

“I’m sorry. Namjoon told me what you saw and-…” he stops himself when you look up at him with an innocent yet empty gaze, the weight of it (or lack thereof) startling him. “Let me explain why Hyewon was there in your bed.”

“I don’t want to listen,” you enunciate clearly, keeping your voice down because both Jungkook and Haneul are a few steps away. You do it for their sake and not for Yoongi’s, the bitterness in your chest physically restricting you to think about his state.

Yoongi pushes on, breath already catching in his throat when you’re still stiff as a stone. You haven’t even made a break for it yet; he only unconsciously held onto you out of fear that you’ll be out of his sight. “She was in the area because her parents are old and they don’t know much about selling their house here a-and well, she knows that I did the same for my parents when they sold ours. Nothing happened. I just helped her with the sale! S-she was playing with Haneul in the living room while I napped a-and, I just… when I woke up, they were right next to me. Y/N, I swear, nothing-…”

You shake your head fervently, the innocence of his reason doing little to break the seal in your stomach. You feel it dropping once again and even if Yoongi’s right, even if he’s saying the truth, the sight alone of him appearing to be a part of a happy family jogs up all the pain.

“I don’t want to listen and you don’t have to explain either.”

“But I hurt you. That’s why I want to explain,” he stutters. Yoongi’s eyes are so glassy, you could see your reflection in them.

“Oh. So you know,” you whisper, teeth harshly digging into your bottom lip. “I hate Hyewon for a lot of things but not for being the mother of your child. That’s out of my reach. I get it. She’s his mom and that’s that,” you admit, the vacancy in your chest and on your ring finger reminding you what Yoongi had never given you the chance for. “What I hate is that you let her sleep in my room. Seeing Haneul in there is good. You and him? That’s okay because I let you sleep in there,” you heave, voice close to breaking because of how you force it to be tamped down. “I hate how you let her sleep in my room, Yoongi. I-I, I fucking hate it because it’s just like that time I caught you practically fucking her in my room.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-…” Yoongi sniffles, tears already pouring. The staircase in your house is far too narrow to hold the both of you, let alone your history. “I didn’t think. I didn’t notice, a-and, I didn’t think. I didn’t think at all, Y/N. I thought it was okay for a split second because we looked like-…”

“A family,” you finish for him. “I get it. I do,” you nod your head fervently, your own hand snaking to your lips to stop the sharp inhale that pains you from the inside. “Almost everyone loses their sense of reason when it comes to family.”

“I didn’t notice she already entered the room. But I-I woke up,” Yoongi still swears up and down, adamant on his truth that you aren’t open to entertaining because he’s hurt you far too many times before. “Hyewon and I… we’re not. We’re co-parenting.”

“Still a family.”

“But-…”

“What the hell do you want to hear from me, Yoongi?” you snap, voice finally toning down when you notice faint footsteps coming from the second floor. “Do you— do you want me to agree with you and say that the three of you aren’t a family? And for what, s-so that could somehow excuse you for everything you’ve done? I don’t even know what family’s supposed to mean at this point!”

From upstairs, Namjoon suppresses a sob.

“My mom doesn’t know a single thing about all of this. I-I can’t even cry to her because I’m thinking of you. I’m thinking of protecting you, your son that she looks to as a grandson, a-and even your mom who’s her best friend,” you break into tears, ignoring the baby towel that Yoongi keeps on his person all the time that he offers to you. You sound far too defeated, and maybe you actually are, that Yoongi lets you push past him. “Meanwhile, my own brother probably knows everything but his first instinct is to protect you. Not me, his actual sibling. You.”

Namjoon had been waiting for you upstairs. He’s been barricading the door to the bathroom because he knows you can’t go to bed without your nightly shower, and because he knows that out of every space in the house, it must be the only one left wherein you can be truly alone with no hint of Yoongi.

“We have to talk,” he gets out as soon as you make eye contact with him, the towel that’s slung on your shoulder almost falling at the urgency to which he pulls you aside.

“It can wait.”

“I need to apologize,” he pleads once again, gripping your wrist gently like he had always done when you were kids to get you to listen to him.

“And I said it can wait. I can’t stand you right now,” you grit, the tears on your cheeks barely being dried up when Namjoon, unsurprisingly, decides to apologize to you within the same timeframe as Yoongi. They hadn’t planned it at all — the guilt and remorse weighed far too heavy for them to actually communicate.

“Where will you sleep?” he asks instead, exhaling heavily because you’re insistent on not crying again in barely your first night back, again. “Where will Jungkook sleep?”

“We’ll sleep together in a hotel.”

“Hotel?” Namjoon asks loudly, eyes bulging in shock. His voice is far too loud that everyone in the house (and maybe even your neighbors) must have heard him. “That’s nonsense. This is home, Y/N. You don’t have to book a hotel.”

“It is?” you seethe, your closed fists tightening on themselves painfully. “Did you also say the same thing to Hyewon? To Yoongi in the first place?”

“It’s my fault for-…”

You’re unaware that you and Namjoon are neck to neck until your mom chimes in out of nowhere, her gentle eyes asking more questions than she’s actually uttering. “What’s going on?” she switches her gaze between you and him. “Are the two of you fighting?”

“No,” you answer in unison, unable to fit a relieved sigh in between the terse silence.

“It’s nothing, mom,” Namjoon puts a hand on your shoulder, his smile tight and tense. “I was just telling Y/N that she doesn’t have to book a hotel.”

“Why would you book a hotel?” she gasps incredulously, her tone being the exact copy of Namjoon’s just a second ago.

“It’s just crowded in here, mom. That’s all,” you muster a sheepish smile, your posture slouching the more you realize that there’s no way out.

“I can ask Yoongi and Haneul to transfer to Namjoon’s so you can-..”

“No-!” you interrupt her in a hurry, breath hitching at the mention of him. “No, no. That’s unnecessary. I don’t want to sleep in my room.”

There’s a loaded pause between all of you, even between the door that Yoongi has his back on as he listens in.

“You and Jungkook can take my room instead,” Namjoon insists, his offer only barely scratching the surface of the apology that you truly deserve.

“Great. Thanks,” you conclude, already halfway into the bathroom when the sudden thought strikes you, your curiosity (and limit, by extension) getting the best of you to ask Namjoon while your mom’s still here. “How… how much longer are they gonna stay here?”

“I… haven’t asked yet,” Namjoon admits, the animosity you have towards Yoongi not going unnoticed by your mother.

“You need to ask then,” you quip. “This house is too small to have everyone and anyone.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook woke up in peace from sleeping in a bed that isn’t his.

Even before you actually got to shower (and not just sit on the toilet seat whilst trying to compose yourself) since you forgot to retrieve your clothes from your suitcase, Jungkook was already starfished in the middle of Namjoon’s bed. It’s a touching sight atop your own blanket and bug spray that your brother put in for you.

The two of you are far from okay. As a matter of fact, the only people you’re truly okay with in the house is your mom and Haneul; despite knowing that fully, Jungkook still dived in head-first in the middle of your situation. You’ve tried to dissuade him all throughout the five-hour long car ride, and not once did he even budge.

He’s here for you and no one else. He’s snoring in the middle of your sibling’s bed whom you aren’t in good terms with. He’s at ease with you in a province that he’s never stepped foot in, all because he felt compelled to protect you somehow and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Jungkook cares for you, enough to write a note and place it beside him just before he went to sleep, telling you that he’s a messy sleeper and to either jolt him awake to move or just manhandle him to the side so you could also sleep on the bed.

You go for the latter, trying to pry him as gently as you could (but even if you just hauled him like a sack of potatoes, he still wouldn’t wake up because he’s at ease too much; it’s you, of course) before finally calling it a night.

You may have lied awake mulling over the perpetual ache in your chest, but you didn’t cry at all.

Eventually, you fall asleep to the sound of Jungkook snoring.

Jungkook may have slept earlier than you, but he makes sure that you stay in late. (read: he physically tucked you into bed so snugly, you probably can’t even shift your shoulders by a centimeter). He wants to pull his weight around a house he hasn’t even been in, even if you hadn’t asked him to — you’d never do, because even as a manager and not as a fake-girlfriend, you don’t let him lift a single finger. Simply put, Jungkook feels this massive pull, not to perform for you, but serve you.

He finds himself quietly going down the stairs, still in his socks because you had stolen his house slippers just last night and he doesn’t have the heart to ask you to give them back. He’s quickly figured out the kitchen, getting a soup started before he allows himself to sit on the dining table by himself.

It turns out that Jungkook’s not alone at all.

“Hi.”

His ears perk at the soft voice that comes from the side of him, eyes immediately setting on the toddler who’s still dressed in his pajamas and has a similar case of bedhead to him.

“Hey buddy. Nice bangs,” Jungkook chuckles invitingly, pulling out a chair for Haneul to which he gets up on easily by himself.

“My appa cut them for me,” he answers with a smile, shyly pointing to Jungkook’s forehead with an eager finger. “You have bangs too. Who cut yours?”

“My girlfriend. I think she can be a hairstylist one day,” he hums, not feeling guilty over lying to him when it’s only a half, easily-corrected lie. You may not be Jungkook’s actual, real girlfriend, but you did cut his bangs when he asked you to. He couldn’t be bothered going to the salon and you didn’t have the energy to argue with him otherwise, so that’s how he ended up with choppy, viral (it only became viral because he has them) bangs that gained him a few dozen articles or so.

Jungkook doesn’t have kids of his own, but what he does have are several nephews and nieces. He’s the youngest of four children, and that’s perhaps the reason why he could empathize with you. He’s never been through what you have, and although you would never wish for him to do so, a part of him wants to know what it’s like — not because he seeks the pain, but because he wants to know how he could empathize with you better

With Jungkook being Jungkook, it’s perhaps the reason why he’s one of the gifted few people who could strike up a sensible conversation with a toddler and make them laugh without doing anything at all.

Something about Jungkook makes Haneul laugh so loudly, he wakes up almost everyone in the house in peace. Even Jungkook’s attempt at lame jokes tickle Haneul more than the way Namjoon’s ever tried in earnest to make him laugh.

You’ve already slinked past the two of them on the dining table, tending to the soup and the few hundred side dishes Jungkook started on but paused just to talk to Haneul.

“Haneul, don’t believe your uncle-…” you chime over a playful dig that Jungkook makes in your expense, the giggles that had only been filling your ears just seconds ago instantly ceasing when you notice Yoongi standing near you.

“Uncle?” he raises his brow at you, turning his attention to his son. “Haneul, what did I say about talking to strangers?”

“But he’s not a stranger. I saw him in that movie!” he frowns, the immediate awe that slips out of Jungkook’s lips not helping his case in the slightest.

“Still a stranger,” Yoongi smiles tightly, his exhale dragging out as he mulls over the eerily domestic sight of the three of you.

“But he’s Uncle Kook,” Haneul reasons with him, pointing his finger at you. “He’s auntie’s boyfriend.”

Yoongi’s softened a little bit since breakfast.

He was never mad at Haneul in the first place (more like halfhearted because he still stands by his lesson of not teaching him to talk to strangers, even if they’re a worldwide-famous actor, but those are not his words at all) but what he is annoyed about is the scene that he walked into.

It looked far too natural for you to look like Haneul’s mom and for Jungkook to look like him, maybe even better as a dad despite not having children at all, that he thought he was seeing red.

Haneul’s lying on his shoulder as they rewatch Bluey for the second time in the living room, the shadow of your alleged boyfriend walking past him until he registers the accent, later doing a quick turnaround that makes Yoongi ultimately irritated and Haneul more than happy.

“Oh cool. I love Bluey!” Jungkook says sincerely, inviting himself to sit on the lone sofa chair to watch the episode.

“Wow, you’re just so… quirky,” Yoongi mutters under his breath with a roll of his eyes, his snarky remark making Jungkook’s ears tingle. The latter scoffs slyly, making him finally acknowledge Jungkook, albeit sarcastically. “So what do you do, Jungkook?”

Even before he could answer though, Haneul does it for him with an excitement that only comes out whenever he’s talking about his favorites.

“We watched his movies in the cinema, appa! Remember?”

“Did we?” Yoongi narrows his eyes, playing his huff into a cough. He repurposes the tinge of embarrassment that he feels into snark, running a hand through his hair cockily. “I’d for sure remember an actor if they were good.”

( ♡ )

“Where’s your brother? I need him to do the heavy lifting.”

Your mom asks you with an urgency that parents only past the age of forty could possess, her lips already parted awaiting your response towards a question she asked just two seconds ago.

Even if you weren’t engrossed on an episode of Bluey (Jungkook and Haneul put you into it and you get their laser focus now) just now, you still wouldn’t know about your brother’s whereabouts. Yoongi saves you this time, his response piquing both yours and Jungkook’s interest.

“He’s in practice. Joon took Haneul with him so he could learn too.”

Jungkook looks up from his phone sharply, eyes wide in eagerness. He and Yoongi haven’t even looked at each other since yesterday yet their coordination (read: competitiveness) syncs with the other at the exact second, their insistence on tagging along a menial task making you jolt.

“I’ll come with, mom!”

“I’ll come with, auntie.”

It’s not a competition, yet Jungkook jumps up to stand so quickly, his head almost brushed the ceiling. “Let’s go, babe,” he holds out a hand for you, making you clear your throat as you’re still trying to gauge the situation.

“But what about Yoongi? Poor thing, he’ll be left alone,” your mom awes, her pout only deepening when Yoongi pretends to look crestfallen at being overlooked. He doesn’t have to pretend that much because despite not being the biggest fan of grocery-shopping, especially in your area because it always smelled of eggs despite barely carrying any eggs, he’ll jump at any task to impress your mom, and you by extension.

“I don’t think you should worry-…” you start, already being interrupted in an instant.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Two pairs of hands are better than one! They really have to do some heavy lifting because I forget to tell you about that one time your aunts hounded me for-…” she trails off while telling you a story about your supposedly huge extended family, blissfully unaware that there’s two men fighting to open the door for the both of you.

Yoongi’s driving his car as the most spacious option, making Jungkook snicker under his breath as he blames himself for not bringing his SUV which is clearly more expensive than whatever Yoongi’s driving, even if you elbow him lightly by the ribs because you didn’t ask him to do that.

“Mom, what are you doing here? Go sit in the front,” you nudge her, unwilling to sit next to Yoongi in an enclosed space.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I was just used to you always taking shotgun whenever Yoongi’s driving,” she squeals, fondly clapping to herself as she revisits the memory. “Do you remember that, sweetheart? You’d always fight with Namjoon because Yoongi got his license first.”

It may only be your mom who’s leaning against the center console to look at you in the back, but it doesn’t mean that Yoongi’s ever taken off his attention from you.

“I remember,” Yoongi smiles, looking at you from the rearview mirror. “I never forget.”

The grocery store hasn’t changed one bit.

It still smelled of eggs, the lights still aren’t as bright as they should be, and there’s still trinkets that you’ve always been swayed by being displayed near the register.

You’re taking it all in after not having been back for five years, whereas Yoongi strolls right in, but never ahead of you, as if he’s visited multiple times already since he left your town.

Your mom and Jungkook are side by side as he asks her a question you can’t even discern, only getting to know his actual agenda when you hear his sneakers skidding against the floor as he runs towards the pushcarts.

Yoongi, without even knowing the full context, runs after him because he didn’t want to come in second place for whatever it is that Jungkook’s challenging him to.

“I’ll steer the cart,” Jungkook presents definitively, his hand raised mid-air as if he’s being graded for eagerness alone. He looks like he wants to prove himself even if it’s only you and your mom present; no director, no producer in sight who sizes him up.

“No. I’ll do it,” Yoongi argues out of nowhere, his bruised hands reclaiming the cart under Jungkook’s grasp. He’s not even looking at your mom because his gaze is only fixed on Jungkook who’s just two tugs away from actually spitting at him.

“I said it first,” your pretend-boyfriend forcefully pulls the hunk of metal away from Yoongi, the latter coming along with it for the briefest of seconds before he does the same, this time with Jungkook gasping.

“What, are you method-acting for your next role as a cart-steerer?”

Your mom’s a little perplexed at the scene before her, lips parting in both concern and amusement because for a pair of people who haven’t met each other before, Yoongi and Jungkook are oddly competitive. They want to provesomething, anything, and maybe everything so bad, they neglect the fact that they look ridiculous fighting over a pushcart.

“We actually need two,“ she says to no one in particular, thinking out loud as she goes through her grocery list. “I think maybe even three because-…”

“I’ll get it,” Jungkook rushes out in panic, almost bumping into you in the process. You were only gone for a minute to retrieve your phone from the car and yet he already looks breathless, the knot between his eyebrows untangling when he realizes that it’s you. “Oh. Sorry, babe.”

“I’ll get it, Koo,” you murmur, catching the tail end of what your mom said about the pushcarts. Jungkook’s cheeks are tainted pink in frustration and you can’t help but to be concerned, the back of your hand already flitting against his forehead before you know it. “Are you okay? Sorry, the AC in here is not like the AC in the city.”

“Huh, what? Oh no, it’s okay. I just got into this heated cart argument,” he waves you off, eyes rapidly moving between you, your mom, and Yoongi who’s mirroring his exact actions, except for the glaring hint of annoyance with the way he’s standing so close to you.

“Cart argument? What’s-…”

“We need meat.”

You barely even have a chance to digest what Jungkook’s saying to you before you see him glitch right in front of you in a hurry, the only words to register clearly in your mind being your mom’s. She’s absent-mindedly talking herself through her grocery list (as she always does) and yet the two men right next to her hang onto her every word, the speed they take off on giving you no clue to why they’re acting as such.

“I’ll get it, auntie!” Yoongi gets out even before the wheels of his cart could cooperate, momentarily tripping over himself. Jungkook sputters at that, the laughter that builds in his throat being interrupted because he realizes that the other guy is ahead of him and he simply cannot bear that.

“Beef. We need beef, right, mom? How many kilos. Like… ten? Okay. I’ll get it!” Jungkook dashes even if he’s never been in this grocery store before; even if your mom hasn’t said a single word to either of them.

You’re left dumbfounded in the middle of the store, your gaze unable to locate the distinct sounds of both of their sneakers skidding against the floor.

“I didn’t even say anything,” your mom mutters in confusion, eyes flitting to you with a wonder you can’t place because even if the both of you are lost, she seems to have a better idea than you do. “Are they… competing over you, sweetie?”

“Competing? Me? Why would you even say that, mom?” you huff, leaning against the cart as you snatch her list to get the things she’s actually looking for.

“I don’t know,” she lulls, shrugging carelessly before nudging you. “Jungkook’s your boyfriend and well, I assume Yoongi’s always wanted to be in his position.”

“How did you even come to that conclusion?”

“Small town. Few people. Cute girl, cute guy,” she places, the end of her hypothesis being accompanied by a chuckle. When she says it like that, it sounds far too easy — it sounds far too seamless, you almost wish it was exactly that. “I didn’t even take the news that Yoongi was going abroad seriously because I thought it was a joke. I thought he could never move on from here or Namjoon,” your mom pouts, tilting her head when you freeze. “Much more, he could never move on from you.”

“He did,” you answer through gritted teeth, the grip you have on her list making the paper crumple underneath your hold.

Your mom doesn’t know everything. In fact, you don’t even know if she knows anything at all. You don’t despise her for her lack of involvement because you want to keep her from the chaos of your burdens, and you’ve always wanted to keep it that way.

But the way she speaks now, so full of conviction and faith, you find yourself despising it. She speaks as surely as the way Yoongi speeds past the both of you, weaving through aisles to get items she didn’t ask for, competing for and against a higher power (read: you) that Jungkook himself seeks.

She says it so surely, it’s as if she knows about every waking thought that Yoongi’s ever had in your absence.

“It doesn’t look like he did.”

You ponder over your mom’s adoration for Yoongi, most of which you can’t decipher if it’s misplaced or not. You know he’ll always have a special place in her heart and in her home because she’s known him even before he was born because she’s best friends with Mrs. Min.

Yoongi has a place in your life, no matter if it’s in your own or in the lives of the people you love. He probably has a modern penthouse in Namjoon’s life, the decoration in it improving over time. On the other hand, Yoongi probably occupies an ancestral cabin in your mom’s life that’s been well-maintained for longer than he’s ever been alive, the decor in it being handmade and resilient through the years.

In your life, however, you can’t tell how and if Yoongi occupies it in the first place. For the longest time, his place in your life had come in the form of a mansion that not even a single architect nor engineer could ever think of. For a moment too, Yoongi’s place in your heart came in the form of a little house on a vast farm overlooking the mountains and the sea. Throughout all the houses that Yoongi’s shape-shifted to in your life, you doubt now if he could ever turn into them again.

When you think of Yoongi, all you see is your room.

When you see Yoongi, all you could remember is your childhood house and its shortcomings in your life, especially when you needed to come home to it— to him, the most.

“I’ll pay, mom,” Jungkook snaps you out of your reverie, his whine making your ears ring.

“What? No, Jungkook. This is all too much,” you refuse vehemently, trying to fight him from extending his black card any further.

“It’s not. This is for your family anyway. I, I might have even grabbed extra portions for myself because mom said she’ll repeat tomorrow what she did for lunch today,” he grins, momentarily losing himself to the sight of you that he doesn’t even notice he’s in the process of being one-upped by Yoongi.

“Jungkook, baby, I’ll feel-…”

“I paid for it, auntie,” Yoongi announces, making your lips part and Jungkook’s jaw drop.

“You shouldn’t have, Yoongi,” you scold him softly, a whine already building at the back of your throat but he waves you off easily. Your mom’s thanking him profusely in the background, and while Yoongi’s pleased with the attention, his gaze remains on you.

“But I wanted to,” he insists, pursing his lips. “I should.”

“You’re not family,” is what you want to say.

“But I want to be,” is what he wants to scream.

Wordlessly, Yoongi puts a plastic toy ring he bought from the register into your bag. It’s pink and it’s star-shaped, its mold still the same from all those years ago.

You barrel into your mom’s room just to see Namjoon.

You bit at the chance of giving him the stuff he’s asked for from the grocery as per your mom, taking advantage of her focus on organizing the groceries downstairs to have a one-on-one with your brother.

“You have to make Yoongi drive into the city tonight. Either that or he flies to the US. The reunion is already tomorrow,” you seethe, crossing your arms as he sighs in defeat.

“It’s already late. Yoongi’s driving with Haneul, a kid, alone,” he emphasizes, running a hand through his hair as he himself is troubled by you being in a bind over everything. “And he can’t book a flight back on such short notice.”

“Short notice? What, did he just happen to book a one-way flight and not a round trip one?” you snort in amusement, shaking your head in disbelief. The thought actually cracks you up because out of the three of you, Yoongi happened to be the one more adept to websites despite your limited materials back then. Namjoon remains silent, and with how serious he looks, your face falls.

You can’t believe Yoongi at all.

“He did? You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joon,” you groan, throwing your head back. “What, does that mean Yoongi gets to stay in our home while we’re in this godforsaken family reunion?”

Namjoon delivers yet another blow, his revelation making you more enraged than the last.

“Mom invited them.”

“What? Why?!” you exclaim, chest rising in frustration. “Yoongi’s not family, Namjoon. Atleast not for me.”

He doesn’t miss your added remark at the end of your sentence, the underhandedness of it making him look down on the floor.

Namjoon feels guilty, he really does, but he can’t seem to make it right. He couldn’t even fight you in insisting to apologize that night.

For each day that you try to delay the inevitable of confronting him and letting him taking the fall, of letting him apologize, Namjoon feels more like a big failure for an older brother than he already is.

“But he used to be,” he says under his breath, looking up at you with a stubbornness you can’t place. “Your lifetime versus those five years — which one amounts to more?”

( ♡ )

Everyone gushes over Jungkook.

In an altitude higher than the mountainside that you’re in now, the aunts, uncles, and cousins you didn’t even know you have squeal over your fake boyfriend. By the fifth relative, you’ve already got your routine down of letting them hug you and kiss your cheek before holding Jungkook’s bicep, acting as his bodyguard to make sure they don’t squeeze him too hard or not at all.

“Oh my god, Y/N. Jeon Jungkook is your boyfriend?!”

“I knew it, I knew you were gonna have a partner who’s famous! I dreamed about it when you were-…”

“If that’s your boyfriend, then who’s he?” your cousin (?) whispers to you, cutting himself off as he turns his gaze to Yoongi and Haneul. They’re most certainly not your family, meaning that they’re unrelated to everyone present, so what your relatives (some more nosy than others) can’t wrap their heads around is the fact that there are strangers in your family reunion.

It takes one, two times for your mom and Namjoon to explain who they are and what they’re doing here in the first place, the chorus of nods eventually signaling that they’ve moved on. Some of them could even recall Mr. and Mrs. Min from the neighborhood, and Yoongi could only nod.

It’s not that he doesn’t belong right now — he actually feels the opposite. Yoongi feels that he has a place amongst a barrage of relatives he’s not affiliated to by neither blood nor paper, and it pains him; not because he’s scared of belonging, but because you probably don’t think the same way.

Haneul runs to him underneath the umbrella he’s isolated himself at, his son grasping an assortment of cash, food, and juiceboxes Yoongi most certainly did not pack in Haneul’s backpack from the night before.

“Auntie’s family is really nice, appa. Look what they gave me,” he shows everything that his hands could carry, breathing heavily in excitement as he explains that your relatives told him to come back once his hands are empty.

“Oh dear. They really think you’re adorable,” he laughs, pocketing Haneul’s cash (he swears he’ll give it back) and hiding some of the snacks he’s been given so he wouldn’t give himself heartburn eating too many at once.

Yoongi’s smiling from ear to ear, sitting Haneul in his lap as he overlooks the view of your town from above. Everything looks so small and delicate, you’d almost think none of what laid downhill ever even mattered. He didn’t get views like these in New York.

Yoongi didn’t get people like you in New York.

“Mama’s family isn’t this nice,” Haneul speaks out of nowhere, his thoughts uttered out loud directed more-on to himself than it is for his dad. Yoongi stops in his tracks in trepidation, shoulders tensing over what his son just said. “They never play with me like this. Not like auntie.”

He knows Hyewon’s relatives, albeit not that well. Her family members in the US were not this kind, not this warm, even to a child who’s actually related to them.

Yoongi’s stuck in his thoughts the whole time Haneul sips on his juice, finally being snapped into his reality nowwhen you approach their direction. His son waves at you excitedly even if you’ve just crossed paths minutes ago.

“Here, Haneul,” you hold out a container to him, the gentle smile on your face limited to only him yet Yoongi, for a lack of grace, pretends it’s also for him. “I tried my best to make it look like Bluey,” you chuckle, pointing to the mini sculpture made out of the marshmallows and blueberries that your relatives set aside for him.

Haneul beams at you, thanking you profusely. If only he wasn’t sat on Yoongi’s lap and therefore grounded, he would’ve launched himself at you to hug your legs.

Yoongi takes the hat right off his head, putting it on you while you’re crouched next to his son.

“It’s hot,” he explains, his heart continuously speaking beats the longer that you linger beside Haneul and the longer that he giggles in excitement. “I know you get headaches easily.”

( ♡ )

Despite being reachable, Yoongi still yearns for you.

He yearns for you even if you’re only within arm’s reach, sitting near you but never close enough at the long table because with you, he feels safe. He laughs in the background like it’s a sitcom to every joke and every episode of banter thrown around him. He doesn’t feel out of place with your family — he feels out of place with you.

He’s never been a wickedly jealous type. Even when he and Hyewon were still together and she cheated on him, Yoongi felt more resentful than he was jealous. He didn’t feel this type of way; he didn’t feel inferior. He didn’t feel like he was nursing a loss in his life because he has no choice but to. Yoongi had managed to divorce Hyewon because it didn’t work out between them, and that was that.

Yoongi can neither divorce you nor pull away from you because you’ve never been with each other. He harbors no resentment for you and that scares him, not because he wants to hate you so badly, but because he feels as if everything you’ll do to him, he’ll take it.

Yoongi will take it even if you set a plate for Jungkook despite unconsciously forgetting what he’s always disliked eating when you were still kids. He’ll take the serving tray from your hands still, uncaring if eating the tiniest bite of the food you’ve passed gives him an allergic reaction because you were the one who offered.

He’ll take it even if you hold Jungkook’s bicep in a hurry when there’s a bug that’s getting awfully close to your drink. Yoongi would walk to where you sit and dispose of it wordlessly because even Jungkook himself is scared of bugs. He doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him, because atleast now when he looks at you from a distance, you’re sitting in relaxation and you no longer have to hold your boyfriend.

He’ll endure the jealousy that burns through his throat more than the poorly-made, highly-alcoholic vodka your uncle made himself. He’ll hold onto the poison that is yearning and how he’ll feel like his throat would close up because if you were still young, in this setting of free rein, except you were still in love him like you used to be and he’s in love with you like he is now, neither you and Yoongi would be hurting.

Yoongi will take it. He’ll take the nothing that you give him and give you the everything that you don’t ask for anymore.

Five years versus the rest of your lifetime that you spent being in love with him is only miniscule. The suffering that he’s going through now is only a speck of the years you’ve spent in an unrequited love.

Unlike you, Yoongi’s weak. If he were to say it outloud to you, you’ll never agree because you’ve never regarded yourself otherwise. You’ll go on this tangent that you’ve always been weak, influenced by the times that Yoongi had chastised you for your lack of a passion.

To you, Yoongi had been right in a way.

To Yoongi, he’s always been in the wrong.

He’s crying to you now that the both of you are alone, overlooking the small town he used to be keen on getting out of. Now, more than ever, Yoongi wants to stay in it. He wants to stay with you.

“Why is everything with you so hard?” Yoongi whispers, his tears stinging badly from the corner of his eyes to the point that he can only make out shapes. He’s unkempt and frantic as if his life flashed before his eyes and there’s nothing he could do about it, voice strained like much of the times he’s drank himself to sleep.

He resembles Haneul at the moment. He’s always had because there’s not one bit of Hyewon in his son’s features or personality, but he looks especially like him now that he’s crying. The back of his hands harshly dig into his face, sobs bursting right from his throat. “Why do I make everything so hard for us? Why can’t I— w-why can’t I make it right for once?”

There’s a tremble to your chest that you ignore earnestly, the presence of it enough to scare you because it’s familiar; too familiar. Seeing your past play out in front of you in the form of a seemingly content family sleeping on your bed is one thing, but it’s another to see its patriarch crumble in front of you. It’s different to see your past pleading in front of you for just the slightest bit of your attention.

As a matter of fact, it’s different now because you resemble Yoongi the most.

“You never tried,” you seethe, jumping the gun before you even try to decipher what’s in the barrel. It’s a bullet you fire haphazardly that comes from your pocket that you’ve always held onto. It’s a misplaced, misshapen, old bullet that you force into a gun that Yoongi passed onto you.

Right now, Yoongi doesn’t resemble Haneul, and neither does he resemble his ex-wife.

He resembles you with the way his eyes are clearly swimming in hurt while you avoid looking at his, just to relieve the painstaking feeling of guilt and longing compacted into a sob.

“I never tried?” Yoongi exhales shakily, his quivering hands running through his hair to tug on them.“I never tried?”

You hear yourself clearly even if it’s his voice. The tremble and the anger, even all the way to the blind hope.

“I kept trying to reach out to you every single time. Every single birthday, every single Christmas, every insignificant holiday I could search up!” Yoongi cries — he actually thrashes with the way he sobs, shoulders shaking violently. “I didn’t try? If I didn’t try, try looking at every page of my passport to see all the stamps there are whenever fucking Jungkook was reported to be in another country,” he spits his name like poison, the vitriol behind it, however, never catching up to what he feels about himself.

You resemble Yoongi the most because you stand untethered, eyes blurring and lips quivering, yet you only watch him lose himself before thinking of uttering a single word.

“I’m selfish, I’m an asshole, and I’m fucking insufferable. I can’t even apologize to you correctly,” Yoongi lists, chest rising up and down too heavily, he feels like it’ll give out. “But I love you, Y/N. I-I might be every bad thing in your life right now and I own up to that. I’m still trying to be the best for you.”

Not only does Yoongi resemble you — he’s actually become you.

“You can call me the vilest names ever but you can’t say that,” he grits, teeth chattering not from the cold he’s put himself in, but because he can’t stop mentioning your name in between. “You can’t say I never tried because I always have. I’ll never stop becausethat’s what it takes,” Yoongi mutters; because, he says, not if.

“I love you,” he says it far too clearly for someone who’s drunk; far too sincerely for someone who had spent the better part of his life putting it through your head that he can’t return your affection. “I’ve always loved you.”

( ♡ )

You don’t feel good.

There’s a fever that’s starting to bloom from the base of your skull all the way to your toes, the abnormal warmth you feel in your chest making you unable to interact with everyone else outside of your room. Jungkook had left with your uncles before dawn to go fishing in the nearby lake and never would you think to inconvenience him; to tend to someone like you for something as minor as a fever, or for anything at all.

You already have a system down for taking care of yourself when you’re ill. It started when neither your mom nor your brother were home with you, and it was finally perfected when you had to live completely alone in the big city. All you had to do was gather all the energy you have, spend it at the start to get everything you could possibly need and put them all at the side of your bed, and rest until everything no longer hurts.

The major flaw with your system now is that you don’t have the energy at all. You can’t build up the strength to get up, walk across the hall and interact with your relatives, and rummage through groceries to get what you need without being questioned; you can’t build up the sense of importance you have for yourself to ask for help.

Namjoon comes into your room before you could dance around the idea of asking him to get you water, all because he has this innate sense of guilt in him and you could utilize it to your advantage. Your brother gets ahead of you before you could even register that he’s here with you, his eyes sullen and pleading.

“Can we talk?”

“I can’t exactly storm off right now,” you rasp, your voice fading out into a low chuckle.

“Do you want to talk when you’re able to storm off?” he asks sincerely with a small smile, his hand fixing your hair as gently as he could without making your migraine ring further. “If you do though, then you probably might never hear me out again.”

You stay silent because he is right, but Namjoon feels otherwise. He feels as if he hasn’t been doing anything right at all and you existing separate from him is a constant reminder. His career is at its peak but he thinks he could go higher; his relationship with you is deteriorating and he doesn’t think it could possibly be worse.

“I’m sorry for being a shitty brother,” he apologizes, the first thing out of his mouth being the last thing that floods his mind before he goes to sleep at night. “I should’ve never defended Yoongi, even Hyewon by extension.”

The heat behind your eyes isn’t all from your fever. The tears that prick your eyes aren’t because of the pressure in your head, but because of the fact that you haven’t heard Namjoon apologize to you in a long time; you haven’t talked this sincerely for even longer

“I should’ve put you first,” he sniffles, muttering apologies in between his pauses for finding the right words that would make it okay; that would somehow undo all that he’s been an accomplice to. “I should’ve been this reliable, sturdy man of the house. I-I should’ve been more of a father figure to you-…”

“Don’t,” you interject sternly. “You never filled in his shoes and you should never will. You’re only mom’s son and my brother, Namjoon. It’s never been your job to raise me.”

Even after everything, there’s a gentleness to you that Namjoon’s always loved but hate the most now. He hates that even if he’s the one who’s apologizing, you’re the one who’s saying sorry for the things you didn’t even inflict on him. Neither of you wanted to be raised by only a single parent, yet you absolve him of the guilt he’s always felt.

“But I could’ve been better. I wish I was already better from the start.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think how hard life was for you growing up. I-I would’ve given up football if only-…” he trembles, unable to get the last of his sentence out because you shake your head in earnest.

“Stop.”

“But I mean it. If only I-I didn’t get into football, I could’ve been there for you and mom much often. I could’ve been better and-...”

“But I grew up to be okay, didn’t I? You’re the best at what you do. We’ve managed to retire mom early because we put in the work,” you whisper, the shrug of your shoulders feeling more heavy that it should feel because the words don’t come out easily from you.

“But okay shouldn’t have been enough for you,” Namjoon tears up, bottom lip trembling as you try to take in his words that you’ve always wanted to hear at the back of your mind; you hear them now when you’ve already grown up. You hear them now after you’ve already endured the grief. “I— we should’ve given you the fighting chance to grow up more than okay.”

It’s not Jungkook who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because you’ve temporarily banned him from the bedroom. He only pouted in complaint when you called him, but he didn’t fight you that much either because you’ve called him out for the excitement in his voice to go hiking for the first time.

It’s not Yoongi who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because Haneul asked him to teach him Go (he’s not even that good at it and being the ever unable to show incompetence and have pride especially when Jungkook’s watching father, he discreetly asked lessons from your mom) so he’ll be able to play with your cousins.

Instead, it’s your mom who visits you. Even if Namjoon hadn’t tipped her off that you were feeling under the weather, she’s already had a feeling this morning.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks, her hands full of everything you could possibly need and more before plopping them at your side. She makes you sit up even before you could complain, handing you a drink with some medicine you didn’t even know she carried

“Just a little fever,” you answer, getting back into your cocoon.

You don’t even attempt to make conversation because you fear that you don’t have it in you to have a heart-to-heart talk with your mom just minutes after you’ve had one with Namjoon.

You don’t even say anything to her except your thanks. Namjoon didn’t even tell her about your conversation, even if he approached her with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes while saying that it was just allergies.

Your mom feels the guilt spring to her chest even if you don’t utter a single word. She feels the remorse in her eyes when you don’t ask her for anything more. She feels the guilt the most in her hands when you don’t ask her to stay.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like there wasn’t enough space for your burdens growing up.”

“What?”you scramble to get up in a seated position, eyes hazy from how quick you do it. “Mom, you scared me. Where’s this coming from?”

She shakes her head at your cluelessness, eyes stinging when you genuinely look at her innocently. You don’t know what she’s talking about, even if the thought has plagued her for so long.

“You’re not really okay, are you?”

“It’s… just a fever,” you mumble, your breathing already trembling at the way she looks at you.

She’s looking at you like you’re still a kid; ever so fragile and innocent, it’s as if she wouldn’t let a single thing in this world harm you. She doesn’t know a single thing about your feud with Namjoon and your long drawn-out conflict with Yoongi. What your mom does know is that she doesn’t know a single thing about the heartbreak you suppress, and that thought alone makes her hiccup in tears.

“You’re right, you know? Our house is small,” she says, distinctly recalling the tensioned conversation you had with Namjoon back at home. “It’s tiny but it was far too big for you growing up alone,” she inhales sharply, trying not to sob in front of you. “He wasn’t in the picture. I was working a hundred jobs left and right. Namjoon was trying to make a name for himself,” she shakes her head, so much so that the necklace she’s had since you were children, the same one with yours and Namjoon’s birthstones on it, rattles. “I’m sorry for making you feel that you can’t come to me.”

In just a full day, you’ve heard everything that you’ve ever wanted. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted during the school plays where you had no one from your family, except Yoongi, to watch you become an extra up on stage. He’d always deny that he did show up for you and just say that it’s because he was genuinely interested in a play about a poet he didn’t care about in reality, but you take it nonetheless.

It’s everything you’ve ever prayed for watching Yoongi live a life far too advanced for you as he held Hyewon’s hand after school. It’s what you wanted to hear when you begged him not to leave you behind.

“I-I’m okay. I’m really-…” you stutter, looking away before your tears fall in the fear that they’ll never stop.

Your mom only hugs you tighter.

“I’m here if you want someone else to carry your burdens,” she whispers. “I’m here now.”

( ♡ )

It’s the last day of the reunion when you fully recover, and it’s hours ahead of everyone when Jungkook has to leave by himself.

Without even asking for it, Jungkook grants you another week’s worth of break. You didn’t even plan on asking, yet Jungkook’s willing to give you a month if only you do.

You’ve already arranged for his personal driver to pick him up and take him back to the city. You’ve already packed his bags, along with the multiple containers of food that your relatives (and especially your mom) insisted for him to take. You’ve arranged for your substitute to take care of him for his schedules throughout the week, along with the insistent reminder to call you whenever Jungkook needs you. (Read: he does, with or without a schedule.)

Everything is set for Jungkook to leave except for his driver who’d been roped by your mom to be filled with breakfast first, yet with the remaining minutes left, Jungkook’s still with you on your bed.

He lies on your lap even if there’s plenty of space for him to lie parallel to you on a pillow — and you let him.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?” he asks in the middle of you texting your substitute, the randomness of his thought already being familiar to you. This time, unlike the few thousand times he’s ever asked you something straight off his mind without refining them, is different.

It’s different now because your pretend-boyfriend asks you if you’ve ever thought about kissing him, while looking like he really wants to kiss you.

“Where’d that come from?” you giggle, looking down on him on your lap.

Not once does Jungkook ever look away from you.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, pointing up at you. “Your lips are close to bleeding and it’s bothering me.”

“Sorry for turning you off,” you snort in laughter, wiping at the tiny specks of blood. Jungkook tuts when you rub at them, feeling for his lip balm out of his pocket.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he stresses, going a little cross-eyes when he applies them for you. His eyes keep goading you, the smile he has on his face widening the more that you look at him incredulously. “Sooo… have you?”

You don’t want to lie to him at all.

“If I answer yes, Jungkook,” you toy around with his hair, setting your phone face-down because you can’t focus on anything else now. “We can never come back from that.”

Jungkook laughs in glee so loudly, Yoongi (who was only passing by; he really, really swears he didn’t just happen to eavesdrop in your room because Jungkook’s driver is all done eating and wants to beat traffic) actually flinches.

Jungkook strains to be closer to you, unconsciously training you to lean down. His lips are far too soft — far too close to you, you could see every line and every nuance in them. He whispers, eyes practically crossing at your proximity.

“And is that such a bad thing?”

( ♡ )

You’re back at home when Jungkook texts you that he’s made it back safe, and that he wants to kiss you again.

You’re back at home when Yoongi asks you if he could use the bathroom first because Haneul spilled milk on him during the drive. You’re in your childhood bedroom when you let him clean up first, and you’re sitting on your childhood bed when you volunteer to put Haneul down because he’s cranky and for some reason, wants to be held by you.

You’re back at home too when Yoongi and Haneul are knocked out for the night, and your mom calls you and Namjoon down for all three of you to talk at the dining table.

You’re back at the home you were raised in, sitting on the dining table that’s creaky when more than two people lean their weight into it, in the space you’ve roamed around alone waiting for them to come home, when your mom talks about wanting to sell it.

“You want to sell?” Namjoon’s eyes widen, exchanging a glance with you who’s as equally surprised as he is.

“Yes. It’s under my name, y’know? Not that… man’s,” she snorts, the off-hand mention of your father making you and Namjoon laugh unexpectedly. Your mom looks at ease as she talks about selling your house, the smile she has one her face being shaped with experience and grace. “I doubt the both of you would want to keep this, and besides, the offers I’ve kept for years now are high. You already know that big-shot companies have been buying out houses here for years now because of the growth potential and whatnot. Who knows, maybe our block will be turned into a mall!” she shrugs, the happiness in her tone infectious.

For someone who’s decided on letting go the house she’s both struggled and strived in, your mom’s beyond excited.

For two adults, who were once kids, who’ve seen the amount of sacrifices your mother’s put into the place by herself, you and Namjoon don’t have any objections.

“Also, consider this as me asking for permission to go on a vacation, even if I’m grown, because some people get so paranoid when I don’t answer calls,” she digs at you and your brother, immediately inciting coughs because you two, in fact, are guilty of worrying over your mom too much. “I’m going on this worldwide trip with Yoongi’s mom,” she grins, pulling out one last surprise. “We’ve talked about it since we were young. She’s earned her stripes working abroad, I managed to raise two amazing children as a single mom. We’ve earned it, I think.”

You and Namjoon share a glance once again, this time more definite than the last. You’ve made up already as far as your mom could tell, and that confirmation is what she needs before finally selling the house you all grew up in.

“You’ve earned it more than anyone.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s packing up for their flight tonight when you go into your room to pack up the life you’ve lived there.

“You’re coming with me and Haneul?” Yoongi jokes when he sees you pulling out your own luggage, the tone of his voice highly suggesting for you to become serious. He gets you to smile and that’s big enough of a win as is, the remainder of it more than substantial to hold onto when he’s away from you. Again.

“No, unfortunately. I’m packing up the room and eventually… the whole house,” you answer with a chuckle, voice trailing off when you see the crestfallen look on Yoongi’s face. He looks like someone who’s just absorbed the largest pain to man as he’s trying not to make it obvious. “We’re posting it for sale two weeks from now.”

Yoongi nods tightly, inhaling sharply as he tries to maintain his steady tone. “Then why are you packing up already?”

You could do this tomorrow. As a matter of fact, you could do it tonight because you don’t have to drive them to the airport. You have all the time in the world within two weeks to do this, yet you go into your room now when Yoongi’s still in it.

When Yoongi still hasn’t left, and neither of you know when you’re gonna see each other next.

“I have to get a move on. If I don’t move now,” you trail, voice close to trembling as you open cabinets you’ve never even given the time of day before. “I’m scared that I’ll keep holding onto this house.

Yoongi nods, even if he fully understands — even if he doesn’t want to swallow what you’re saying.

“You want out?”

“We want out — me, mom, Namjoon,” you explain, looking at him properly for the first time since he told you that he loved you. “For the longest time, we’ve held onto this place because we became this house at one point. Namjoon’s this world star, my mom’s traveling the world with your mom-…”

“Oh, they’re finally doing it?” Yoongi interrupts, a smile finally coming to his face at the news. He hasn’t talked to his mom in a month from how busy he’s been, and although he’s always missed her (even if they’re on much better terms than he and his dad could be), he’s happy knowing that your moms have each other atleast. “How about you? What will you be doing?”

“I’ll just be… living day-to-day. I’m not doing anything extremely special, but I’m happy and busy doing it,” you laugh, looking around your room that hasn’t appeared this clean, this warm, since you last stayed in it. “No one’s going to be around here anymore.”

As if on cue, Haneul runs to Yoongi’s arms to be picked up. He knows what the luggages mean and because he’s largely in denial that they have to leave later (as referenced by him crying to your mom and Namjoon), Haneul keeps pretending to sleep so that their trip gets delayed.

Yoongi’s about to put him on your bed even if he knows his son’s antics already, but in the fear that he’ll actually get to sleep and they don’t get to leave (which he isn’t opposed to at all), he keeps him in his arms.

You, on the other hand, take Haneul from him when his arms outstretch for you.

There’s the sentiment of you not having to do it that’s resting at the tip of Yoongi’s tongue but he holds himself back, the image of you and Haneul completely fitting one another, he wants to burn a copy of it to his retinas and designate it to be the last thing he’ll see if he ever goes blind.

Without putting Haneul to sleep on your bed, he goes to sleep in peace in your arms.

“Do you regret it?” Yoongi asks throughout the silence between you, sitting next to you at the edge of your bed. “Do you regret ever liking me?”

“I do,” you answer truthfully, rubbing circles at the Haneul’s back. “I regret knowing you.”

Yoongi takes the responsibility fully, even fuller than the way both your hurt and happiness could make or break him.

“I can’t take back all the hurt I’ve caused you,” he admits just as honestly, turning to look at you. He becomes surprised to learn that you’ve been looking at him the whole time. “But what I can promise you is that I’ll never do anything to hurt you again.”

“I have my share of faults too.”

“Eh. Mostly mine.”

“Mostly yours, yeah,” you laugh easily, nodding to yourself as you continue. “But I held onto you as much as you didn’t hold onto me. That’s my mistake.”

Yoongi stays silent at that, not because he agrees, but because the bias that you’ll never be wrong in his eyes overtakes your humbleness.

“Do you think he’ll remember the entirety of the trip?” you ask, gesturing to Haneul who’s already sleeping like a hibernating bear in your hold. “Or will Haneul just remember that time the power went out because he cried a lot?”

“Oh, he’ll remember everything alright. He’s good with retention and people in general,” Yoongi waves you off. “Even if he didn’t come along the trip— even if we didn’t crash the whole thing, Haneul would remember you.”

“Who am I to him?” you ask in curiosity, lips turning into a straight line before they curve in the slightest. “Appa’s friend, I bet.”

“Not really. You’re a lot of things to me,” Yoongi chuckles, looking at the way Haneul grips you as if you’ll float away if he lets go; he’d do the same too. “More like my first love.”

Yoongi loves you quietly.

He loves you quietly with the way he draws the curtains downstairs when you sleep on the couch, tired and stressed over a solution you couldn’t understand. He loves you with the way he’ll scoop the warmest, freshest, least-burnt portion of rice to your bowl without you even asking for it. He loves you with the way he’s willing to let you walk all over him.

He loves you quietly in the way that not even distance nor time could disrupt him.

Yoongi loves you quietly, it might have been too much.

“Is that a lottery ticket?” he asks suddenly as he spots the familiar face of it inside your luggage, tucked into the discreet pocket where your mother’s letters of encouragement when you went to the big city were also kept

“Oh, it’s still there,” you answer, in surprise yourself because even if this is the same luggage you use whenever you go out of the country with Jungkook, you’ve never noticed that it was still there. “I bought it when you left for the US.”

Yoongi stops in his tracks in retrieving the scratch ticket from the pocket, looking up at you in curiosity. “Why did you buy one that day?”

Haneul stirs in his sleep in your arms, waking up right at the middle of you and Yoongi being lost in each other. He mistakes the silence as a signal that they’ll be leaving already, making a mess of himself as he quickly goes down the stairs to look for your family there and cling to them instead.

You and Yoongi are alone again.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, grasping the scratch ticket you used to spend hours looking. “I guess I just needed some proof that fate was against me that day.”

“But how would you even know that?” Yoongi asks, pointing to the card that’s still covered. “You didn’t even scratch it.”

You answer honestly, the reason burnt to the back of his mind.

“Because I knew I would lose my mind if I actually lost.”

“Try,” Yoongi swallows, nudging the ticket closer to you with a gaze that mirrored yours when he left. “Try again. Please.”

You have nothing else to lose.

Yoongi isn’t yours to lose.

You retrieve the same old coin Yoongi gave to you on the same day that he bought you your first scratch ticket, the appearance of it from your luggage making his heart skip a beat.

He doesn’t speak and neither do you, gaze only fixed on the way you scratch the card almost hesitantly, as if you’re still scared of the results of something that you should’ve known five years ago. (Read: you still are.)

When you get to the last digit, you freeze. You comb through the pattern over and over again, yet you still can’t believe it.

You’ve won the highest possible prize.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” you parrot Yoongi, looking up at him as he can’t believe it either.

“You won.”

“I won,” you repeat, running a hand through your hair. You actually laugh, the lump in your throat subsiding. It’s a welcome, albeit loaded, feeling of happiness that comes in between the two of you. “I thought I would lose,” you mutter bitterly, shaking your head.

You didn’t lose. Fate wasn’t against you that day, and yet you still lost yourself thinking subconsciously what the proof of it would’ve been.

“Who would’ve thought, right?” you sigh, eyes drifting to Yoongi. “If only I took that chance years ago, I would’ve won.”

Yoongi smiles tightly, breath faltering in recollection.

“I’m familiar with the feeling,”

Yoongi doesn’t get to finish packing for him and Haneul and neither do you with your whole room, the shift in the atmosphere suddenly making him stand.

He’s breathless and he doesn’t know what for, the rapid beating of his chest making his voice louder than necessary. “Hey, what do you say you take a break? I’ll pack up your room. I have to stay alert anyway for Haneul."

You thank him before leaving him alone in your room.

Yoongi can’t find the strength in him to pack. The only power he has left in him is for him to think of taking everything out from his luggages, the thought of leaving again, this time worlds different than the last when you were begging him not to — he feels like throwing up.

Yoongi’s merely an amalgamation of you. He’s only a compilation of your every word, every feeling you’ve implanted in his heart. He’s filled with nothing but your every triumph and shortcoming; every late night hanging out with you as you attempt to study while he keeps you company, every minute he spent going out of his mind trying to look for you when you ran away from home.

Yoongi loves you silently to the point that he gets out of your room without accomplishing a single thing he said he’ll do just awhile ago.

In the grand scheme of things, Yoongi realizes that he was wrong. He was as wrong as you were right that the moment he leaves home, he’ll spend the rest of his life looking for it.

Even if you left your home like he did, even if neither of you could come home anymore the moment your childhood house gets sold, Yoongi would still search for it. He’ll still search for you. You’re no longer where you were, but you are everywhere that Yoongi is.

He looks for you in Namjoon’s room, to the dining table, and all the way outside, just to ask if he and Haneul could stay for dinner.

Yoongi finds you and Haneul eating sundaes on the pavement outside, with you on the ground and a scrap cardboard underneath Haneul so it wouldn’t be hot for him.

Fate hadn’t been against you five years ago. And even if he’s much too late, Yoongi could only pray that fate isn’t against him now.

He walks over to where you and Haneul are, grabbing another scrap of cardboard to put underneath you.

Yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

#WHEWWWWWW HOW R WE FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

676 notes · View notes

lowkeyerror · 5 months ago

Text

The Family Business Ch.14

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Ch. Notes: Angst, action, gun violence, character death

Summary: Things quickly escalate as Fisk tries to end the struggle for power once abd for all.

An: ... So it's been a minute. Sorry about that and frankly idk when the next update will be, hopefully sooner. However, whatever you thinks going to happen here, I don't think you'll see this coming.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wilson Fisk didn’t often smile. He was a sad and angry man that did his best to keep a neutral scowl on his face. What was there to smile about when he had lost everything. His wife, his daughter, his freedom, all irreplaceable. Being in prison while his wife and daughter were being buried is an ache that will never truly get over.

The void inside of him can only be filled by power and control. He will have the city and he will claim it for all that he has lost. He knew that to be a irrefutable fact.

Now, his smile was something straight out of a nightmare. It sat lopsided on his round face. It was there and it was horrifying. His smile only widens as he heard hushed voice over his phone.

When the line goes dead, he claps his hands together. He leans back in his desk chair. The smile doesn’t leave his features.

“Sleeping beauty has opened his eyes.”

Plans change at a wits notice, and things pivot, but goals could still be accomplished. Fisk wants Dragos gone and like a shark surrounding an injured surfer he smells blood in the water. It is time for him to strike.

Bowling was the activity that you came up with. Something in a place full of people, something that you enjoyed much in your youth, something that Pietro was unequivocally skilled at.

“Another strike ladies are you even trying?” Pietro gloats after looking at the scoreboard.

You might’ve been putting in a decent amount of effort, Wanda as well, but the two of you could tell Natasha was handing the man the win.

“Natasha, maybe take him down a peg,” you whisper in her ear.

“I thought we were supposed to be cheering him up, lisichka,” she taunts you with a smile.

“He can be happy without his ego being stroked,” Wanda puffs out in annoyance.

Natasha laughs at their bitterness, but nonetheless when it was her turn she quickly bowled a strike.

“Let’s go Natty,” you clap for her and Wanda let’s out a whistle.

“Is this where I realize you've been letting me win all night,” Pietro pouts.

Nat plops her hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid so."

You all share a laugh and for moment everything feels normal. You could almost forget your ties and affiliations and feel like normal people. The moments were becoming more present in your life to the domestic nature of your relationship with Wanda and Natasha.

By now you should’ve known that sitting in any of those feelings did you no good.

When your phone rings you answer it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Y/n you will get through this. Do not let this be the end of what we’ve worked for, you don’t- you don’t need me malysh.”

“Papa? You’re awake, what are you you-”

“Y/N! Listen please, just take care of our family. I called you because, I trust you.”

As he speaks on the phone you gather Wanda, Pietro, and Natasha urgently. You have to go, it’s urgent. They can tell you’re shaken and when you put the phone on speaker they understand.

“Papa I don’t understand,” your voice trembles as you speak.

“Tell Flora, that my love with her doesn’t end with my last breath. Tell my Pietro that he’s the heart of all of this. Tell Wanda that all I want from her is for her to be happy.”

Natasha is the one that ushers you all into the car as you begin to shut down slightly.

“You can’t do this to us again papa,” your voice cracks in the end.

“It’s out of my hands,” you can hear fear in his voice and it terrifies you.

You hear a dark chuckle in the background of the call, “He’s right you know, it’s not in his hands.”

The smile in Fisk’s voice is present and it scares you, but you bluff the man.

“Haven’t you already made this play before, and it didn't work out for you did it?”

“Only because you interfered, and I got you back pretty significantly for that didn't I, sweetheart?”

Your jaw clenches, “Fisk , take a moment to think, really think what you're about to do. We are already enemies, in competition for control of the city, but that’s just business. Every move you’ve made recently has been personal. Going to war over turf it’s respectable, but if we go to war over family, there’s only one way this ends.”

“This is why I enjoy you so much kid, you have such an intelligent mind. Even under pressure you string together the right words. However, you’ve got it all wrong. There’s always only been one way this is going to end,” you hear the sound of the gun clicking.

“We will leave the city, just don't shoot him,” Pietro finds his voice.

You, Wanda, and Natasha look at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I didn't know we had guests on the phone with us, what a surprise. Keep talking little Maximoff, I like what you're offering.”

Pietro begins spewing nonsense, “We will disappear from New York and never come back. We will cut all ties with city and anything in it. It will be yours for the taking. Please, just don’t shoot him.”

“Anyone else want to beg for his life?”

Wanda’s mouth opens and closes a few times as her eyes water. You take the initiative instead.

“Wilson, you lost your family. Your wife and daughter were taken from you. Good people caught in the crossfire of your criminal actions. Who helped you get back on your feet after you got out of jail ? Who kept a corner of New York for you? Who gave you a jump start on your way back to this lifestyle? Who was there for you? The history between the two of you isn’t as convoluted as you’re making it out to be.”

Kingpin takes a pause, “That’s in the past.”

“It’s only history because you are making it that way. We have made a good relationship between our businesses until recently,” you keep him on the phone.

Natasha’s only about 5 minutes from the hospital, you just need to stall a bit longer.

“I’m not a beggar or a dog, Y/Ln. I don’t take scraps,” he says in a menacing tone.

You pause when he says your last name. It’s not something you hear regularly, you don’t ever use it. How’d he know about it?

“Quiet now Y/Ln, surprised I know that name? That’s not the only thing I know about you sweetheart. I know something that the Maximoff’s have been hiding from you, something that might sway your loyalty."

You look at Wanda and Pietro who were already on edge, but worse than that, they avoid your gaze.

“This is my family, my loyalty won’t ever change,” you speak strongly.

He chuckles, “Not even when I tell you they killed your mother.”

“What?”

“They killed your mother. Ever wonder, why she didn’t come after you, why she didn’t bombard or harass you after you left? She was dead within a week. Your father was debriefed, and relocated shortly after your graduation. These people sweetheart, before your family, they’re the mob.”

You’re in front of the hospital now, but you don’t move to exit the car. It feels like something has pierced through your heart.

You want to say something to combat him, to say it doesn’t matter, but you couldn’t say that earnestly.

You push your feelings aside for a second, “We’ve both lost a lot, Fisk. Things that we can’t get back. Things that fuel us to want more than what the world has offered us.”

“We’re alike in that way sweetheart, robbed of a happy ending. Forced to create our own,” he’s trying to flip you but you aren't buying it.

“Losing another parental figure in my life isn't a happy ending for me,” you grit your teeth.

Natasha pulls you out of the car and starts giving hand signal directions.

“I sympathize with you, Y/n. You’re not one of them, you never were. I’ll tell you what, the Maximoff’s leave, but you stay and work for me. That’s my offer.”

“We aren't leaving without Y/n,” Wanda finds her words for the first time in the conversation.

“It’s either that or I put a bullet in his head. You’ve got 15 minutes to think it over, when I call back you better have an answer,” he hangs up.

“Y/n,” Pietro starts, but you don't look at him.

“We’ve got 15 minutes to save Dragos, that's what I'm focused on,” you dismiss his attempt at an explanation.

Natasha begins laying out a plan, “ We don’t know who in this building reports to Fisk, so we have to be careful if we go in. Dragos is supposed to have security at his door, I don't think the guards there would be ours if Fisk is in the room.”

“We need a deliberate distraction,” you open the car door and reach into your bag.

You bring out your laptop and hook your phone to it. You knew what room Dragos was in with Fisk’s call you should be able to ping how many devices were around him.

“3 guards, outside the rooms. These are the phone numbers, names, home addresses, close family,” you memorize the information.

You see a group walking into the hospital and figure its your best chance to blend in, “We’ve got to go now.”

Wanda and Natasha hold frustration about the way you’re moving, but they follow you nonetheless.

“We don’t have a plan for this,” Wanda argues.

“Blend in get to the floor they’re on and then I’ll handle the guards. Once they’re dealt with Natasha will go in and disarm Fisk,” you say straying from the group you walked in with to another group heading for the elevator.

Once you're in the elevator you speak to Natasha, “Send people to these addresses make sure they get pictures, the quickest means please.”

When you step off the elevator you spot the guards. You send them individual text messages, with their names addresses and a threat to their loved ones by name.

You see 2 of 3 panic while the other one believes it’s a bluff. Natasha sends the pictures of their homes to you, and you forward them to the guards.

You see them pale instantly, the look at each other and bicker lightly. Wanda wants to go forward and strike, but you shake your head. You wait as one of the guards takes off running from the room. The other follows not even a second after. The third looks at his phone and then in the direction the others had ran before doing the same as they did.

“Natasha, we’ll be on the other side of the door one steady knock when he’s disarmed so we can get in,” you instruct her.

She doesn’t hesitate to nod at your orders. Before she goes Wanda squeezes her hand in a pleading manner, but Natasha reassures her with a soft look.

You wait with baited breath when Natasha enters the room. For a moment it’s silent, no struggle can be heard, but then there’s a gunshot.

Wanda’s the first one rushing to the room door, with Pietro and yourself directly behind her. Her hand is on the handle as she attempts to yank the door open. You move her out of the way, and open it first.

Instead of a cool metal, you feel a searing hot metal burning your chest.

“Why don’t you all file in, so we can talk,” Kingpin rests the gun on your chest and you shuffle into the room, eyes shooting across to where Natasha grips her bloody arm.

Wanda and Pietro shuffle in, the red head immediately going to her wife’s side.

“Isn’t this a lovely little family affair?”

“Wilson, take the gun off of her. Your problem is with me, my family, they’ve done nothing wrong,” Dragos tries to reason with the man.

He digs the butt of the recently fired gun further into your chest and you grit your teeth, but refuse to break eye contact with the bald man.

“She is your strongest solider Dragos, she can take it. Y/n’s not even your blood, she’s your orphan project and you’ve raised her better than your incompetent children. She’s quick witted, brilliant, useful. I want her on my side,” Fisk eyes you with a shark like grin on his face.

“You’re out numbered,” Pietro reminds the man as he stands tall in room.

Fisk scoffs, “ Bed ridden patient, shot Russian, and girl with her gun to her chest. You and your sister aren’t enough to stop me, you could barely even run the business when I took your father out. None of the Maximoff’s have been running anything as of late. It’s all been Y/n, even before Wanda came back. She’s been the brains of this whole operation for a while now.”

“If you feel that way, then why would you go after Dragos first and not me?”

Fisk chuckles, “This information isn't something I've always known. I only had this epiphany a small time before I had an example made out of you.”

“I’ll never work for you,” you stand your ground.

“Then I’ll drop you where you stand and then I'll kill everyone in this room and own this cit-”

The gun was in your hand before he finished the sentence. You place it under his chin before cocking it back.

“Do it, kill me then sweetheart. This wouldn’t be your first time killing someone who just wanted to help you right? Poor little Lucas, didn’t even get the chance to grow up.”

You pull the trigger and instantly your face is covered in the mans blood. No one in the room saw it coming. You were usually better at not acting irrationally, but this time you had met your limit.

The gun drops from your hand and you rush out of the hospital without a single clue to where you were going.

“Go, someone go after her,” Dragos yells at his children and soon Wanda is on her feet.

“I will take care of it go,” Natasha reassures her.

Wanda’s eyes linger on her wife’s injured arm, “Wanda now.”

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wandanat x reader #pietro maximoff

346 notes · View notes

planetkiimchi · 3 months ago

Text

send my love | l.jh

featuring: music producer!jihoon x musician!reader, secret relationship

word count: 936 words

summary — jihoon accidentally exposes your relationship with a slip of his tongue… in front of an entire school of students.

author’s note: had sm fun writing this and doing the bonus part <3 inspired by the songwriter that came to my school today!

Jihoon stands backstage, listening to the first few seconds of your song, “breaking down walls”, play. When it stops playing, the chorus of voices doesn’t stop, and he’s shocked to hear the students singing the lyrics to the song the two of you co-wrote together, their voices loud and clear in the multi-purpose hall.

He’d thought it would stop, but he swears only the first 3 seconds of the song were played, yet they sing all the way to the chorus before stopping.

Still in a daze, he barely notices when he’s signalled to go onstage, but he pulls himself together and does exactly that. He’s prepared a presentation for the students, to let them know a little bit more about songwriting and how he came to write songs, and a few tips he has for anyone who might be looking to become a songwriter.

He was invited to speak because your song was a top hit, and the lyrics were about breaking down the barriers of mental illnesses with the help of medication, proper treatment, good relationships and healthy coping strategies.

Mental health is something that he’s struggled with for a while. Every time he feels low, and his mental health is waning, he writes a song about it.

He writes about other things, but his favourites are probably the songs that he writes coming out of a slump caused by executive dysfunction, when he manages to get his life back on track again.

The school he’s visiting is holding activities for mental health week, and this presentation he’s giving is among the last few before they wrap up the week.

Of course, Jihoon mentions you in his presentation, because you’re the singer of “breaking down walls”, a song that the two of you wrote over a series of months, rarely exiting the studio except occasionally to get food. He probably calls you stunning a couple of times—he can’t remember, but he’s always found you the better looking between both of you anyway. You’re also more popular, so he apologises that you can’t be there because you’re busy preparing for your concert the day after.

He was nervous getting onstage to speak to such a large audience, and he can’t say he’s ever been gifted at public speaking, but he thinks he does an okay job. The crowd is relatively quiet, and he hopes the soft buzz is just the students excitedly talking about the content of his presentation.

When he’s finished delivering his points, one of the music teachers that he briefly met backstage comes onstage. Two students bring out two chairs for the two of them to sit, and the Q&A segment starts.

Jihoon feels that this is the part he was most nervous for. Before getting onstage, he wondered what he would say when asked about this song. It’s very close to his heart, and while he’s co-written a different song before, with a different friend, about mental health too, it wasn’t really the same. It’s hard to explain, but the you and his other friend have different styles, and he thinks “breaking down walls” holds a special place in his heart. It’s truly an irreplaceable song.

Because of how important “breaking down walls” is to him, Jihoon finds it difficult to articulate his emotions without feeling extremely overwhelmed, and he’s afraid tears may start flowing if he thinks too much about it.

However, his fears are eased when the teacher begins speaking. The teacher asks Jihoon simple questions like what’s his favourite song he’s written, and one of your songs that he finds criminally underrated.

These are easy to answer; he barely hesitates before launching into a full-blown explanation for his two choices, and he’s bolstered by the cheers of agreement from the students.

Jihoon gets really into it when asked about “breaking down walls”, managing to word his feelings without getting too emotional. After all that worrying, he’s impressed with himself when he manages to phrase it as “writing lyrics from the bottom of his heart, with all of his soul”, expressing his gratitude for all the support the two of you have received for this song.

As the teacher brings the Q&A segment to a close, the students burst into a round of applause. Jihoon thinks you might want to see how much admiration they have for you, so, taking out his phone, he says, “I’ll send Y/n my love—I mean, your love.”

He doesn’t blush, but his palms grow sweaty. He subtly wipes them on his lap before hitting the “record” button on his phone.

”Hey, Y/n. I hope you’re having a good time preparing for the concert. There are some people who’d like to say hi to you.” He smiles, thinking about how you’ll look receiving his message in the middle of rehearsals, hoping he can give you a boost in energy.

He turns the camera around to show the students, who—to their credit—cheer so loudly his eardrums feel like they’re going to burst. When he turns it back to himself, Jihoon says, “That’s all I have to say. Enjoy the rehearsals!”

He stops recording, and turns to the students. “I’ll send it to them and let you know. Thank you so much for having me.”

He’s escorted away from the venue with a gift from the school, but all he can think of is the way he slipped up onstage. He still sends the video, but he receives a notification on X first.

Clicking it open, he finds something that makes his face turn pink. He’s glad he slipped up, after all.

—

Bonus (the tweet in question):

323 notes · View notes

subskz · 2 years ago

Text

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 01

note: this is part 1 of a series (part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, strangers to friends to lovers, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, a bit of pining, kissing, slight suggestiveness but sfw (eventually nsfw)

summary: after the past three years you’ve had, whether or not you make it through the fourth all comes down to a single thread. fortunately, you find that thread, with chan on the other end. now, it’s just a matter of who needs it more—you, or him.

word count: 15.7k

By the time the spring semester of your senior year rolled around, you were coming apart at the seams.

It was subtle, not something anyone else would notice—you wouldn’t let them. Angling and maneuvering yourself so that it could never be visible to others was a skill that came all too naturally.

Still, you knew it wasn’t a question of if those seams would ever come completely loose, it was a question of when.

The past three years had been a near-constant fight to keep yourself afloat, with each one lining up to present a brand new, life-altering event tailored just for you. Two of which seemed like the end of the world, and one that truly was.

A heartbreak of your own volition. The loss of someone irreplaceable. Another heartbreak for good measure, also of your own volition. With the number of lessons the universe had packed in for you, you were certain that you’d be able to pass on to your next life without any problems.

Third time's the charm.

That was how the saying went, but for your own sake, you had to enter your final year of university stubbornly clinging to the hope that surely, fourth time would be the charm instead.

Incidentally, charm did come, in the form of Bang Christopher Chan.

It had begun with the most trivial of interactions. On the first day of your PHYS 408: Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics course, out of breath and—despite the cool February air—nearly working up a sweat from racing around the physics building like some kind of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed freshman, you’d made the very innocuous decision to take the first empty seat you could find. Near the back of the class, close to the door; the perfect spot for someone looking to get their credits in and clock out.

What you’d failed to notice until after you’d sat down, however, was the brooding statue of a boy occupying the chair right next to yours, resting his cheek on his hand and staring at the whiteboard with a look so fierce you would think it had personally wronged him somehow.

Seo Changbin. You’d seen him around more than once, having shared a handful of classes with him over the years, but never daring to approach him. You weren’t exactly someone you’d describe as faint of heart, but something about his muscular build and intense gaze, always made darker by the shadow of a cap, had you wary enough to keep a distance.

Not that it was difficult to steer clear of him, anyway, when he was the last to arrive and the first to leave as soon as each lecture hit its designated time limit—and that was if he’d even shown up to begin with.

You still remembered the first thing you’d noticed after settling down next to him, that being, that he was surprisingly much shorter than you’d initially thought. All those times you’d spotted him from afar, tapping along to the beat of his music or killing time in the activity center between classes, had given you the impression that he was as gifted in height as he was in muscle.

That didn’t change the fact that his intimidating presence more than made up for it, and you had taken great care to not veer into his personal space when you slipped your notebook and pencils out of your bag to prepare for what was sure to be a grueling learning experience.

The second thing you’d noticed about Changbin, was that he himself didn’t have a bag—or any kind of work materials, for that matter. There he sat on the first day of class, with nothing but a caseless Samsung S23 Ultra, a pair of headphones, and a ridiculously large bottle of what you’d assumed to be some kind of energy drink. It was almost impressive, in a way, how he hadn’t even tried to fool himself into thinking he’d be productive this semester.

You’d heard horror stories from your upperclassmen about this Thermodynamics professor. His strict grading criteria and endless list of hyper-specific rules were enough to make anyone with your degree plan dread taking his course; the most notable of said rules being that he prohibited any and all forms of technology in his classroom. It hadn’t taken long for him to single out every student who had dared to present even the tiniest flash of fiberglass around him, and Changbin was no exception.

In retrospect, it should’ve been inevitable to you that twenty minutes into the introductory lecture, he’d lean over and awkwardly ask you if he could borrow a pencil.

Wordlessly, you’d nodded and passed him a complimentary sheet of paper along with your pencil bag, allowing him to choose for himself. To your astonishment, he’d reached for your pink, Sanrio-themed mechanical pencil without a single moment of hesitation, whispering his thanks.

You’d never thought a smirk could be described as shy before you saw his. It was unexpected, coming from someone who looked like he bent iron bars for fun, but a welcome surprise regardless.

What had been even more surprising, was that this strange affinity for cuteness wasn’t a one time thing for him—not even close. With every passing Tuesday and Thursday morning you spent in his company, you soon came to discover that the Seo Changbin you’d created in your mind and the Seo Changbin existing before you were two very, very different people.

“You’re here!” he piped, loud enough to turn a few heads in his direction. “I saved you a seat.”

The flimsy, neglected notebook occupying your chair as some kind of placeholder was such a pitiful sight that you couldn’t help but snort.

“The seat I’ve sat in every day since our first class?” you hummed. “Thanks, Bin.”

“You’d better mean that,” he complained. “This place is lawless, someone might get bold one day and take your spot.”

“They’d beg me to take it back after five minutes of your nagging.” You passed his notebook back to him with a grin. It was hardly used and horribly undersized for a course as rigorous as this one, but you still considered it an improvement over the sorry state he’d been in when you first met.

You slipped into the familiar spot, unzipping your bag and preparing your study materials. “Shouldn’t I be the one surprised that you’re here, anyway?” you pointed out. “To what do we owe the honor of Seo Changbin having perfect attendance in an 8:00 a.m. class?”

“You know exactly what,” Changbin shuddered. Beneath the visor of his cap, you saw his eyes dart towards the podium, landing briefly on your demon of a professor. “Besides, senior year and all. It’d be pretty sad to take an extra semester just ‘cause I slacked off.”

You made a small noise of agreement. “So, fear and pressure,” you dropped your pencil bag dramatically on the table. “Now you sound like a real college student.”

Changbin perked up as he spotted the coveted flash of pink amidst your sea of pens and highlighters. “There she is,” he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thought I’d have to make it through this quiz without my lucky charm for a sec.”

“You keep calling it that,” you mused, fishing the pencil in question out from your pouch. “What makes it so special?”

Solemnly, he took it from your hand, curling his fingers around the pink plastic with all the grace and delicacy in the world. He gestured for you to lean in closer, as if preparing to share some deep, profound secret with you.

“It never runs out of lead.”

You nodded, putting on your best fascinated face. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’d been the one refilling it.

“Plus, I’ve aced every quiz I’ve taken with it so far.” Changbin’s eyes gleamed as he continued. “It’ll get me through midterms for sure.”

You reached out mischievously, threatening to swipe it from his hands. “In that case, I might just use it for myself.”

“Don’t even joke about that!”

Though your mood was light, it still soured the slightest bit at the mention of grades. Of the three quizzes you’d taken so far this semester, Changbin had scored better than you on two of them. It was a silly thing to be bothered by. You knew by now that he wasn’t lacking in intelligence by any means, but you also knew that intelligence alone wasn’t enough when it came to this course—or astrophysics in general. Certain levels of discipline and hard work were just as essential to your success, and it was difficult to ignore the question of what you seemed to be missing in those departments, especially when Changbin came across as so carefree about his studies.

With the way everything else had been crumbling around you since you’d begun university, the last hope you could cling to was at least maintaining your GPA until graduation. It had been the one constant in your life, an oddly comforting escape that you could pour your focus into when all else failed. You couldn’t afford to slip up—to be anything less than exceptional—for even a moment, not when your field of study was so fiercely competitive.

“You’ve definitely been doing well for yourself,” you commented. “It can’t all be thanks to Cinnamoroll, can it?”

“Oh?” the corner of his mouth curved up into a smirk. “Is that your way of complimenting me?”

You rolled your eyes, immediately accepting that you wouldn’t get anywhere without buttering him up first.

“I just think it’s unfair to give my pencil all the credit instead of that genius mind of yours, that’s all.”

Your tone was far too sweet to be natural, and you were sure that Changbin could see right through it. Even if he did, he played along anyway, lifting his chin proudly and letting out a satisfied hum.

“It’s true, it’s true,” he boasted. “Keep going.”

“Beauty, brawn, and brains,” you marveled, throwing a hand over your heart to really sell the idea. “You’re living proof that a guy can have it all.”

It was hard to describe the strange, high-pitched sound he made in response. Whatever it was, it helped your efforts feel just a bit more justified. Changbin scrunched up his nose, suddenly at a loss for words, and you were once again reminded of how utterly laughable it was that just two months ago, you’d found him intimidating.

“Ah, seriously,” he cleared his throat, trying to recover from the momentary lapse in bravado. “Alright, I’ll be honest. I get a lot of help from my friend.”

Your interest piqued, and you inched a bit closer. “Your friend?”

He crossed his arms, looking contemplative, and for a second, you thought he might demand more compliments before going into any further detail.

“He’s a couple years older than us, but still studying. He used to be on the astrophysics track before switching to music composition senior year.”

Your eyes widened a bit, half-perplexed, half-impressed. Astrophysics to music. It was a bold change to say the least, not one you could ever imagine yourself making, especially if it’d been close enough to his graduation that he had to take extra semesters.

A lightbulb flickered to life in your head, effectively cutting off whatever you’d planned to say next. “Wait a minute, music composition? Don’t tell me—?”

Changbin clicked his tongue, that same, sheepish expression creeping its way right back onto his face.

“Yes.”

“The same guy you—?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “Chan. The same guy I make music with.”

No matter how hard you tried, you could never suppress your amusement when you remembered the deeply unserious name Changbin and his friends had chosen for themselves.

“So, he’s one third of the famed 3RACHA,” you said it with a bit too much glee, your smile only widening when he shushed you as if the word were some kind of bad omen.

“Why are you embarrassed? The stuff you’ve shown me is really good.”

“I know.” A genuine compliment amidst your teasing only seemed to fluster him further, and he averted his eyes with a grumble. “Ah, forget it. Can’t believe I was gonna be nice and ask if you wanted to study with us.”

You paused. It was easy to forget sometimes that Changbin could be more observant than he let on. Still, you wondered if your earlier shift in demeanor had really been that obvious.

A part of you, the more prideful part, wanted to dismiss his offer right away. It would be like admitting that you were struggling with the course—which, realistically, you knew was ridiculous to care about when every one of your peers was going through the same thing. If the average class scores that your professor so proudly made known were any indication, it’d be a miracle if you weren’t struggling.

Before you could open your mouth to respond, however, the dull, lifeless voice of Dr. Choi rang out through the room, signaling the beginning of the lecture. You put away your study materials begrudgingly, cursing yourself for becoming too immersed in your chat with Changbin to get any last-minute cramming in.

Changbin, on the other hand, looked relaxed as ever, tapping your pencil lazily against the tabletop while the quizzes were passed out. You braced yourself, mind racing with all the knowledge you’d accumulated over the past weeks as a copy of the deceptively short quiz was slid over to you. It was a mere three questions long, but you’d be lucky if you finished them all in the time given to you.

Your eyes landed on the first Gaussian Probability Distribution word problem, and your head went blank. That was all it took for you to lean over to Changbin and whisper.

“I might have to take you up on that.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Noon couldn’t come fast enough.

Your Thermodynamics quiz, not to mention the lecture that followed, had effectively drained your energy before the clock had even struck 9:00, with a full day of classes and assignments still lined up on the horizon.

As anticipated, you’d barely managed to complete the set of problems, even with all your preparation and practice. It could’ve gone much worse, but it was still enough to solidify your decision to join in on the study sessions Changbin had proposed.

He’d eagerly sorted out the details with you after class, planning to meet later this week at his and Chan’s apartment. It hadn't dawned on you until that moment that the latter of the two would probably be expecting some kind of payment for his tutoring services. After all, him helping Changbin out was one thing, but you were a complete stranger.

Changbin, however, had shut the possibility down as quickly as you’d brought it up. According to him, not only would Chan not ask you for any compensation, he’d outright refuse to accept it, even if you tried.

“The only thing Chan loves more than meeting people is helping them,” he’d told you, sounding so sure of himself that you were inclined to believe it.

Even so, it was a bit odd. A former astrophysics major, making a degree switch as drastic as music composition, and still being willing to revisit the same, headache-inducing subjects he’d so narrowly escaped, for free? The more you learned about this Chan character, the more you began to question what kind of person he really was.

Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you were, in fact, ravenous.

You picked up your pace, drawn in by the welcoming aromas wafting from the campus food court. The feeling of your cell phone vibrating against your thigh made your steps falter a bit, and before you even slipped it out of your pocket, you already had a good idea of who the caller might be.

“Hi, Iseul.”

“Where are you?” she sounded expectant and slightly annoyed, sending your brain on an urgent mission to recall if you’d somehow lost track of plans with her.

“In the student union?” you answered cautiously. “Why?”

You were met with a dramatic huff crackling through the phone speaker.

“I’m outside your place,” she said, as if it were obvious. “Please tell me you didn’t have lunch already. I picked some up for us.”

You blinked, thoroughly confused for what was neither the first nor the last time as to what this girl’s thought process could possibly look like. After two years of friendship, you could confidently say that you had no idea.

“Sorry, did you text me or something?” You pulled your phone away from your ear to open your messages.

“No,” came her reply, tinged with the slightest hint of defensiveness. “But is it so crazy for me to expect you to actually be at your apartment? Y’know, the place where you live?”

“At noon on a Tuesday? A little,” you said plainly. You chose not to bring up the fact that she had to be well aware of your schedule to organize this meeting the very instant your lunch break started.

Another huff. “Well, are you coming or not? There’s a million things I need to talk to you about and I don't know how much longer I can wait here before that security lady accuses me of loitering again.”

You checked the time. It was only a short, ten minute walk to your apartment complex, you could definitely make it before your next lecture.

“Alright, alright. I'm on my way.”

“You’re the best,” her tone changed so abruptly that you almost laughed out loud. “See you soon!”

The call ended before you could get your own goodbyes in. With how quickly she’d hung up, you’d think she had something else to do besides stand around waiting for you to arrive.

Regardless, you hardly felt irritated, well-acquainted with Iseul’s behavior by now.

Your friendship with her had blossomed by pure accident, even with some reluctance on your part. One too many times sophomore year, you’d encountered her in the computer lab at the same ungodly hour as you, battling an army of technical issues with no one around to solve them considering that even the lab assistants had long taken their leave for the night. The first two instances you’d spotted her, slamming her mouse against the desk and cursing violently at her monitor, you’d kept to yourself—albeit with a tinge of guilt—and focused on your own approaching deadlines. After the third time, however, you’d figured the universe was trying to tell you something, and decided to help her out before she rendered every piece of equipment in the lab unusable in her academia-induced fits of rage.

From there, she’d latched on to you in a heartbeat. After all, someone who could help with tasks as incomprehensible to her as troubleshooting Microsoft Excel was sure to be reliable in other areas. On top of that, her newfound interest in you had only doubled when she’d found out that you happened to be living in the newest phase of apartments on campus. Suddenly, she had made the executive decision that you were the best of friends, and that every waking moment of your free time should be spent together at your place.

You might have been offended by her comically transparent motives if you hadn’t discovered soon after that your floorplan was just a few square feet bigger than hers. What she probably wanted most, you’d figured, was a friend.

Your initial misgivings aside, you were grateful to have Iseul in your life. She was someone who could be kept at a safe distance. Not physically, (her constant barging into your space would never allow that) but emotionally. A bit too preoccupied with herself to ever delve into personal matters that you’d rather keep to yourself, but still considerate enough to care about you. At least, in the bare minimum of ways, which was really all you needed from her. She was convenient and comfortable, and you’d long found your rhythm with her despite many labeling her a pain to get along with.

As you began making your way out of the dining hall to meet her, the sight of someone entering from the far side of the building made your heart drop to your stomach.

You froze, suddenly rooted in your place, feet heavy as cinderblocks. It shouldn’t have come as such a shock to you. You were bound to see him again, eventually, whether on campus or through some other unfortunate crossing of paths later down the line. You’d known this and braced yourself for it, too.

Still, no amount of time would’ve ever been long enough.

A very specific type of dread crept up on you, one you hadn’t felt so intensely for almost a year now. But the way it filled up your chest and spread through your skin was all too familiar, like it had never left your system to begin with. Like the kind of person you were before was still inside you, lying dormant.

Resentment and remorse fought for their place in your mind. Somehow, they both felt unjustified. He didn’t deserve to be the target of those emotions, and you didn’t deserve to have them. He hadn’t done anything—that was exactly it: he hadn’t done anything.

You told yourself that you had no right to feel this way. But it didn’t change the fact that he embodied everything you wanted to forget about the past three years.

He hadn’t noticed you yet; at least, you hoped desperately that he hadn’t. You weren’t going to stick around until he did, either. You shook your head, as if to forcibly expel the thoughts before they took root in your brain, and spun on your heels, making your way towards the exit located as far away from him as possible.

In that moment, you were more grateful for Iseul’s impulsive tendencies than ever.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

You rubbed your hands together in an attempt to warm them up, praying that the clouds would hold out until you and Changbin made it to his apartment. It was an unusually cold day by April’s standards, and the sharp winds and ominous gray sky promised a rain that was sure to be bone-chilling for whoever got caught in it.

“Right there,” Changbin pointed at the building you were approaching, finger landing in the direction of a balcony on its third floor. There was a soccer jersey for a team you didn’t recognize hanging off the railing, flapping in the wind so wildly that you were concerned it may fly away altogether. “See, the walk isn’t so bad, right?”

It had been nearly half an hour. Granted, the journey home took longer than expected thanks to Changbin, despite having lived in this complex for two years, still managing to lose his way somehow.

“I’m starting to understand why getting to class on time is so hard for you.”

“I told you, I’ve never taken this route before!” he objected. “I’m just not used to coming from the east side of campus.”

You relented, deciding you’d teased him enough along the way. “It’s alright, it was a bonding experience,” you gave him a playful smile. “I just hope Chan won’t mind that we’re late.”

Changbin waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry. He’s probably holed up in his room working right now. Doubt he even knows what time it is.”

It sounded like a dig at the older boy, but there was no hint of scorn in Changbin’s voice, just honest affection.

A strange feeling had been periodically bubbling up inside you all week, and at the mention of Chan, it made its presence known yet again. Whether curiosity or anxiety was at the root of it, you weren’t quite sure, but it grew stronger and stronger with each step you took up to their apartment. By the time you reached the third floor, you found it hard to focus on anything else.

Changbin fumbled with his keys for a moment before unlocking the door and swinging it open. You made note of the plated number on the wall next to you as he did. 8-325.

“Well, we made it in one piece,” he stepped to the side, inviting you in. You accepted with an appreciative nod, and as you slipped off your shoes, your eyes scanned over the living room and kitchen areas in front of you. They were surprisingly neat, with just a few stray socks and water bottles scattered here and there. Even the state of the kitchen sink wasn’t all that bad. No rotting food, no mountain of dishes, no overflowing trashcan.

“Wow,” you murmured, impressed. “It’s clean.”

Changbin snickered at that, as if he’d anticipated your exact reaction. “Minho raises hell if we let it get any worse than this.”

Minho. You’d almost forgotten about their other roommate. Like in the case of Chan, you hadn’t met him, but you’d heard a few things here and there from Changbin. He was a year older than you—a Computer Science major, if you remembered right—but still an undergraduate due to him taking a gap year after high school to work. You wondered if Changbin was some kind of magnet for these people, with his unique balance of childish antics and emotional maturity giving any upperclassmen he came into contact with no choice but to take him under their wing, even sticking around until he graduated like true, responsible older brothers.

“Chan!” Changbin’s voice rang out through the apartment, louder than you thought was probably necessary. “Chan! We’re here!”

There was no response for a minute or so, and just as you shrank back in preparation for another ear-splitting shout from Changbin, you registered the faint sound of a door opening down the hall.

“Coming!”

For some reason, you held your breath.

Shrouded in a mass of black, from his hoodie, to his pants, to the beanie on his head, out shuffled Chan.

He was just an inch or two taller than Changbin, but similarly to him, he had a strong presence. Maybe it was the way his clothes made him look like a walking void, or maybe it was the way he appeared so friendly in contrast to them. His eyes were gentle and his face was weary, but kind. He looked like someone who smiled a lot.

“Sorry,” he pulled his headphones down, letting them rest around his neck. “I lost track of time.”

Changbin gave you a knowing look, as if to remind you that he’d told you so. “It’s okay, I figured.” He conveniently left out the fact that you and him had arrived beyond schedule.

Chan turned to you, tired eyes finding you for the first time. You introduced yourself with a quick dip of your head, and he did the same. You thought it would end at that, but to your surprise, he reached out his hand, wiggling it around slightly to push back the oversized sleeve that had been covering his palm.

“Nice to meet you!” he chirped.

You took his hand, unable to stop yourself from flinching the instant your skin brushed against his.

He was warm. Unnaturally so.

It set off every last one of your nerve-endings, seared through your veins. You might’ve attributed it to his clothing, but all three of you were dressed in thicker attire given the weather. Surely, he had to be cooking up a ridiculous level of heat in that hoodie for his skin to be burning the way it was. On top of that, he didn’t look sweaty or flushed in the slightest. There was just a natural, rosy complexion to his cheeks (which, upon second look, you noted were quite soft in comparison to the rest of his masculine features).

You blinked, realizing with a start how long you’d gone without returning Chan’s greeting.

Changbin bumped his shoulder against yours, and you cringed inwardly. That had to be some kind of record for how fast a first impression could crumble.

“Nice to meet you, too.” you tried to quell the awkwardness, but the way you pulled back all too quickly only seemed to make things worse.

Chan eyed you for a split second longer, his stare flickering down to your hand so briefly that you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it. He flexed his fingers once, then the look of concern on his face morphed into a polite smile.

It was an unfortunate moment for you to notice that he had dimples.

“Is it too toasty in here?” He angled his head towards the thermostat. “I can change it if you’re uncomfortable!”

Just a minute ago, you would’ve told him that you were fine. You’d been perfectly content with your body temperature up until you’d come into contact with the human furnace that was Bang Chan.

You had half a mind to question if he was the uncomfortable one, with all the heat that was practically radiating off of him, but Changbin spoke up first.

“Have you been outside today?” He shivered. “Trust me, this is perfect.”

At that, he strolled over to the kitchen table and plopped down his belongings, looking more prepared to learn than you had ever seen him in class. Chan's smile didn’t waver despite the fact that he obviously hadn’t been asking for Changbin’s opinion, and he exchanged a glance with you, as if you were old pals rolling your eyes over a mutual friend.

You smiled back at him, determined to let this guy believe that you were, in fact, capable of understanding social cues.

“I'm gonna grab my old notes,” he informed you. “Make yourself at home!”

You thanked him quietly, making your way over to the table and joining Changbin in the seat closest to him. As soon as Chan was out of earshot, he nudged you curiously.

“What was that?”

You put on your best neutral front. “What?”

Changbin squinted, eyeing you up and down. “You were acting weird.”

You considered playing dumb, but quickly decided against it. Knowing him, he wouldn’t stop pestering you until you gave him the answer he wanted.

“He was hot,” you shrugged.

“He was what!?”

You tensed up. “No, no, not like that. I mean he was hot, like, physically.”

His mouth hung open, and you weren’t sure what to be more annoyed with: your abysmal choice in words, or his seemingly deliberate misunderstanding of you.

“He felt hot,” you clarified. “Like, his skin. That's all.”

The explanation only seemed to tickle Changbin further, and you elbowed his side irritably, trying to shush his delighted cackles.

“Okay, so, you weren’t acting weird. You just are weird.”

“I'm serious!” you protested.

“He's not better looking than me, is he?” he continued dramatically. “You didn’t do anything like that when we first met.”

You exhaled, composing yourself before you grew defensive over something so ridiculous. “Because your hand didn’t feel like the surface of the sun.”

Changbin nodded solemnly as if he understood, but the look on his face was still completely unconvinced. “Yeah, yeah,” he clicked his tongue. “Just don’t go falling in love with him, alright?”

You snorted, not bothering to dignify him with a response.

That was the last thing you needed—the last thing you wanted, even. To spend another few years building something that you could already predict the demise of. Another few years constructing a tower that you would never even get to see completed, let alone make a home in. Because it was sure to crumble; that was the only thing it could do when its foundation was never fit to support anything to begin with.

The sound of Chan’s approaching footsteps snapped you out of your unpleasant thoughts. He'd taken longer to return than you’d expected, and you could only pray that he hadn’t overheard your conversation with Changbin. He did seem like the type, after all. To pretend like he was still in the other room so that you could be spared the embarrassment of getting caught in the middle of a conversation about him.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Two notebooks, a laptop, and the colossal textbook required for PHYS 408: Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics—co-written by Dr. Choi himself, of course—were all dropped on the table before you. You felt a glimmer of hope. Chan seemed to be serious about helping out, so much that you wondered if this arrangement truly could be the extra boost you needed to finish the semester with an A.

He settled into the chair opposite you and Changbin. “So, next up is the midterm, yeah? I guess we should start from the beginning.”

“Inexact differentials, please,” Changbin requested. “I still don’t get them.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, lips twitching in amusement. “Since when are you so ready to study?”

“Since we got our new recruit,” he leaned back in his chair. “There’s less pressure on me now that your wrath is split between us.”

You let a soft chuckle slip at that, trying to imagine what it might take to anger someone who appeared as good-natured as Chan. Said boy cleared his throat, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I swear, I’m not that harsh.”

You nodded, fully aware of Changbin’s talent for exaggeration. “I don’t think anything can scare me after Dr. Choi, anyway.”

“That’s true,” he giggled. For how charming it was, it didn’t last nearly long enough.

You pulled your eyes away before landing yourself in another incriminating situation.

“Alright, inexact differentials it is.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Forty-five minutes into your first study session, you’d come to make two very important realizations about Bang Chan.

The first, being, that he wasn’t exactly the best at explaining things.

He’d typically start on the right track, but it wasn’t long before he’d veer off on tangent upon tangent, tacking on more and more information until it became a full-blown ramble, all loosely connected with a series of “um”s and “y’know”s before being clumsily wrapped up with a final “so…uh, yeah!”

You didn’t hold it against him. He was clearly a smart guy, and you knew firsthand what a nightmare these topics could be to teach to other people, especially taking into account that it had been two years since he’d learned them. Even with his less than articulate methods, you still found yourself grasping concepts exponentially better than you ever did in your thermodynamics lecture, and that was because Chan seemed to be gifted with what you could only assume was an endless supply of patience. He’d repeat himself as many times as deemed necessary, perfectly content with rereading his notes, checking the textbook, and even searching things up online until he was certain that both you and Changbin had understood.

The second realization you’d come to, was that your concerns about whether or not you might get to hear more of his laughter had quickly been put to rest.

He giggled at everything. At you, at Changbin, at himself. Sometimes, he giggled at nothing at all, just to fill the silence. It was admittedly fascinating to see the way his face would change, from the stern expression he wore when offering guidance, to the sheepish smile that’d appear when he stumbled over his words.

After hearing his laughter for the better part of an hour, infectious and melodic and, occasionally, ending with the faintest squeak, you still hadn’t gotten sick of it. Though, you did find yourself thinking that he had to be either an extremely self-conscious person, or an extremely giddy one for giggling to come as naturally to him as breathing.

“Does that make sense?” Chan tilted his head. “Let me know if you wanna go over it again!”

“I think I got it,” you smiled.

In truth, you didn’t, but it was a matter of dignity at this point. Enthalpy was one of the most basic properties you needed to know in order to build on concepts infinitely more complicated than it, and if you held up the review any longer to focus on something so mundane, you may not be able to show your face around this guy ever again.

It didn’t help that somewhere along the line, the looming clouds outside had broken at last, bringing about the downpour that you’d anticipated all day. Each explosive clap of thunder chipped away at your focus more and more, making you prone to stupid, easily avoidable mistakes that frustrated you to no end.

You thought your answer had been convincing, even making sure to look him in the eye when you’d said it, but Chan still didn’t let up.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Oh my God,” Changbin’s voice turned up in a whine, his earlier enthusiasm nowhere to be found. “If you explain this one more time I’m seriously gonna go crazy.”

Before Chan could respond, the sound of keys jingling amidst the steady patter of rain caught everyone’s attention. You turned your head just in time to see the door creak open, letting in a violent gust of wind, and, with it, the lean figure of a stranger.

He was soaked. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, clothes hanging off of him like heavy drapes, and sneakers forming small puddles on the wooden floor.

“It’s raining,” he announced.

Changbin broke out into a fit of laughter, and you bit your lip to prevent yourself from doing the same. Chan, though clearly on the verge of losing it as well, still rose from his chair like a reflex and grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen. He tossed it to the other boy, who you could only guess was Minho.

“I was starting to wonder where you were,” Chan remarked, voice shaking with barely contained glee.

“I got sick of waiting for the rain to stop, so I made a run for it.” Minho dumped the water out of his shoes and shut the door in disgust. “Then I remembered why I don’t run.”

The small towel didn’t do much for his drenched state, and after a few moments of shaking it haphazardly in his hair, he gave up and let it rest around his neck instead.

“You should shower and dry off,” Chan told him. “You’ll catch another cold.”

Minho grunted in acknowledgement, but rather than following through, he strolled over to the kitchen. As he did, his gaze landed on you for the first time, giving you a clear view of his face.

Every striking feature of his was balanced out with a soft counterpart. Sharp, intense eyes with puffy bags underneath, a sharp, prominent nose between full cheeks, and sharp, catlike lips above a round chin. It was a delicate combination that not only made him attractive, but interesting to look at, as well.

He studied you for a moment too long, just enough to spark a sense of unease inside you.

“That’s no good, Changbin,” he clicked his tongue at last. “Don’t tell me you’re such a hopeless case that Chan had to find you a second tutor.”

“It’s a study group!” Changbin cried indignantly. “And what the hell kind of introduction is that? Say hi!”

The corner of Minho’s mouth curved into a smirk, like it was made to do exactly that. Similar to Changbin’s, it wasn’t sultry, but unlike Changbin’s, it wasn't shy. It was mischievous and playful, like that of a child’s cheeky grin.

His attention shifted back to you, and he gave you a proper greeting. It was surprisingly polite, all things considered, even ending with a short bow.

He popped open the refrigerator door, leaning forward in a way that had to be uncomfortably cold given that he was still dripping wet.

“I had a few pudding cups left in here. At least two,” he called out.

“Wasn’t me,” Chan piped with the speed of someone who was accustomed to being the first suspect.

Minho pulled his head out from behind the door, accusatory glare locking right on Changbin.

The boy shifted guiltily next to you, unable to hold eye contact with Minho for longer than a few seconds.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Minho shut the fridge with a hum. “That’s alright.” His voice was breezy and sweet, a complete contrast to what came out of his mouth next. “Just sleep with your door locked until you buy me new ones.”

“Hey,” Changbin whined. “That’s scary.”

He tugged at your arm as if expecting you to rush to his defense, and you settled for giving him a comforting pat on the back, not nearly familiar enough with Minho to joke around with him like that. Given how Chan was watching in amusement, you figured this was a regular occurrence for them, anyway.

Following Minho’s arrival, your review session more or less fell apart. The idle chit chat eventually led into a full on conversation, and when Changbin shut his textbook with a luxurious stretch, you knew there was no chance of getting him to open it again.

You didn’t mind, really. The three of you had covered a lot of ground in the time you’d spent studying, and you were already worlds more confident about the upcoming exam. Your main concern, now, was how you were going to get home. It was well past sunset, and the thick sheet of clouds had darkened the night more so than usual, not allowing even a single drop of moonlight to break through. That, coupled with the fact that it was still very much pouring outside, complicated your plans a bit.

Sitting there as the odd one out among the group of friends, you couldn’t help but feel like you were overstaying your welcome, but any attempts you made at suggesting that you brave the storm and head home were emphatically shut down.

“It’s okay,” you tried to convince them. “I really should get back and have dinner.”

“Have dinner with us!” Changbin didn’t miss a beat.

You hesitated, uncertain as to whether it would be more rude to accept or decline.

“It doesn’t look like the rain’s gonna stop anytime soon,” Chan reasoned. “Why don’t we eat first?”

Minho, in vengeance of his fallen pudding cups, loudly declared that he wouldn’t be cooking dinner for anyone. It became clear to you in that moment that he was probably the only thing standing between his roommates and malnutrition, because their go-to second option (if not their only other option) was instant ramyeon.

So, there the four of you sat, crammed together on their living room couch, watching some obscure superhero movie that Changbin seemed to know every line of, and slurping away at your noodles.

They had turned out tasty enough, with the extra spices and sauces you’d added to make the flavor a bit more appealing, but with the way Chan scarfed down his share, you might’ve thought it was the best meal he’d ever had. He was all satisfied noises and delighted fist shakes, looking happier eating instant cup noodles than you’d seen some people look their entire lives.

He was cute, you decided.

Though the movie lessened some of the pressure you felt to socialize, a faint air of awkwardness still lingered around you, only ever really ebbing when you and Changbin would interact in between his passionate lore discussions with Chan and his bickering with Minho.

Chan seemed to sense early on that you weren’t fully relaxed with the atmosphere; at least, you assumed as much judging by his periodic efforts to pull you back into the conversation.

“Everything good?” he’d asked at one point, leaning over so you could hear his whisper above the movie.

Even with Changbin serving as a buffer between you two, his persistent warmth still found you.

“Oh, yeah.”

Not your most eloquent response. To be fair, you hadn’t anticipated his question. It didn’t seem to have convinced him, but he’d given you a smile, anyway.

“Alright. Just know that you’re more than welcome here, yeah?”

You were grateful for his kindness, but at the same time, it had caught you off guard. It wasn’t a regular thing for you, being read with such ease by someone you hardly knew, and you couldn’t decide if you were just being uncharacteristically transparent that day, or if Chan was too perceptive for his own good.

Changbin was Changbin. That in itself helped you loosen up a bit, as well. He behaved in virtually the exact same way around the older boys as he did with you—albeit, leaning more into his childish side—and it filled your chest with a pleasant sort of relief. He considered you a friend; close enough to treat you with the same intimacy that he treated people he’d known for years.

Minho, on the other hand, was more of an enigma. Not rude by any means, but not overly accommodating, either. The one thing you were certain of was that he was incredibly funny. Witty, too. He didn’t speak as much as Chan or Changbin, but when he did, it was always something memorable. His voice had a playful lilt to it that never seemed to go away, like nothing he said was meant to be taken too seriously.

As the night continued and the four of you had all eaten your fill—or, several fills in Chan’s case—your reservations slowly but surely melted away. You spoke more naturally, joked with Changbin the way you always did when you were together, and even found yourself comfortable enough to make a few snarky comments about the film’s ridiculous plot and cringeworthy special effects, to which Changbin took great offense and Minho had let out a few laughs.

As for Chan’s laughter, another few hours of it still hadn't made it any less endearing. In fact, the more you heard it, the more hooked on it you became.

By the time the storm had passed and you could finally head home safely, you found yourself a bit wistful that your impromptu gathering had come to an end.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“So,” Iseul’s eyes twinkled. “What’s the verdict? Is he cute?”

Straight to the point. It was something you liked about her, usually, but in this scenario, you almost wished she’d never asked.

Ever since that day, you’d felt an inexplicable sense of…well, you didn’t quite know what it was. Discomfort, unease, foreboding; they were all too extreme to describe the feeling. All you knew was that something peculiar stirred inside you whenever you thought back to Chan. Maybe it was because of your clumsy first interaction, or maybe it was because of that nagging, uncanny belief that he could see right through you from the very first moment you met.

It was unfair, in a way, because you knew for a fact that he’d been nothing but friendly every time you’d hung out with him—a delight to be around, really. You could easily see why he was the social butterfly that Changbin made him out to be.

“Hello?” Iseul complained. “I'm not gonna stop asking, even if you ignore me.”

In retrospect, telling her about your new study routine with Changbin and his mystery friend—however offhanded it had seemed at the time—probably wasn’t your smartest move.

“Yeah. Really cute, actually.”

You may as well have told her that he’d asked for her hand in marriage with the squeal she let out. “I knew it, I knew it! Tell me everything.” She nearly knocked her drink over in her rush to scoot closer to you.

It was hard to keep a straight face. Even when you knew it was short-lived, her enthusiasm over the simplest of things was contagious.

“What’s there to tell?” you feigned nonchalance in a way that was sure to annoy her. “I go to him and Bin’s place, we study, I leave.”

“Come on,” Iseul pouted. “There has to be more to it than that. What’s he like? Do you have a picture?”

“A picture?” you echoed incredulously. “You take a commemorative selfie every time you study thermo?”

“Like, his Instagram or something!”

“He has three posts, and none are of his face.”

Iseul deflated at that, and you broke out into proud chuckles. You were being difficult, sure, but the part about his profile was at least true. A picture of his hand holding up a peace sign at the beach, a picture of what you assumed to be his dog back home, and a surprisingly clear shot of the moon; those were the three precious images Bang Chan had felt compelled to share with the world, with the most recent one being from almost two years ago.

“He’s got a nice smile,” you offered.

Iseul took the bait instantly, perking back up. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Dimples, too.”

“Cute.” She clasped her hands together, looking lost in a dream. “That’s it, I have to see him.”

“What’s got you so interested, anyway?” you mused. “Aren’t you talking to someone?”

With the way her face dropped right back into a grimace, you knew you’d touched on a sore subject. “No,” she said curtly. “I mean, am I? Does it count as talking when you’re lucky to get a reply every six hours?”

“You’re just clingy,” you teased, already bracing yourself for when her hand flew out to swipe at you.

“I’m totally low maintenance!” she cried. “Anyway, I don't even want Chan for me. This is about you.”

You shifted in your spot, that same, strange feeling twisting in your stomach, stronger this time.

“Me? What do you mean?”

Iseul put her chopsticks to the side, giving you a look that was far too serious given the topic.

“I’m finding you a boytoy.”

You nearly laughed out loud, only stopping yourself in the nick of time when you caught that she wasn’t joking in the slightest.

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!” she insisted, bravely holding her ground in the face of your disbelief. “What are you gonna do when I settle down and don’t have time for you anymore? I gotta make sure you have someone to entertain yourself with!”

Your amusement wavered just a bit. You knew she meant well, but when it came to Iseul—or anyone, for that matter—trying to do things for your sake, you’d long accepted that you’d prefer if they didn’t even bother.

“There’s no rush,” you pointed out. “You have to actually get a text back before you can settle down, right?”

“Oh my God! I'm trying to help you and this is the thanks I get?”

“Thanks, Iseul.” You reached out to give her an apologetic pat. “But I don’t need any help with that.”

Suddenly, her lips curved into a devious smirk, and you had a sneaking suspicion that she’d misunderstood what you meant.

“Oh, I know you don’t,” she drawled. “Never forgetting that dreamboat you had following you around like a lost puppy all sophomore year. What was his name again—?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you cut her off a bit too harshly, regretting it as soon as you did.

Iseul frowned. “It was just a question.”

“You’re right, sorry.”

“What ever happened to him, anyways?” she continued, apparently not taking the hint. “Things ended so suddenly with you two.”

You tried not to bristle. After your near-encounter in the dining hall the other week, he’d been occupying your thoughts far too often for your liking. That, coupled with those peculiar feelings that had sparked within you upon meeting Chan, had you unreasonably on edge ever since.

“I told you,” you tried to sound casual. “It just wasn’t a good match. I don’t think he really liked me all that much.”

Iseul scoffed, not buying it for a second. “Please, he was obsessed with you.”

The urge to tell her everything right then and there was more tempting than ever. To unload all the bitterness, the guilt that had been building up and weighing you down for the better part of two years now. You knew you couldn’t, though, not when it meant having to break the very same news to her that had led to the end of your relationship. The chances of her reacting the same way that he had were slim, but even the smallest possibility was more than enough reason for you to stay quiet. You’d kept it tucked away for far too long now, anyway. She’d only get upset if she found out now.

“Obsession isn’t the same as love.”

Iseul grew quiet for a moment.

“I guess,” she mumbled.

She turned her attention back to her soda, as if the conversation had suddenly become too heavy for her tastes.

You didn’t blame her, but it further solidified your decision to leave what you’d wanted to say buried in your heart.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Several doses of caffeine were in order.

Anyone who happened to witness the unfortunate sight of you and Changbin stumbling out of Room 118 of the physics building, spiritually battered and bruised and barely able to process your surroundings, might’ve thought you’d just gone to war.

It wasn’t much of a stretch, considering the exam you’d just taken. You felt ridiculous for ever thinking the two hour time slot was overkill; in actuality, it had been a rare display of mercy from Dr. Choi.

“I’m dropping out,” Changbin declared.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll do it,” he insisted. “Before I lose my mind for real.”

He slumped heavily against you, and it took all your strength to support his muscular body so that the both of you wouldn’t be sent toppling to the floor.

“After everything Chan’s done for you? You might just break his heart.”

Changbin seemed to take your joke a bit too seriously, a horrified look crossing his face. “Can you imagine how that would’ve gone without his help?”

“Don’t even wanna think about it,” you shuddered.

For how excruciating the thermodynamics midterm had been, it was more because of the psychological torture aspect than the difficulty of the content itself—though, its difficulty was nothing to sneeze at, either. The one positive that had come from this hellish experience was confirmation that choosing to study with Chan had undoubtedly been the right choice for you. Every topic you’d managed to review over the few meetings you’d had so far stayed fresh in your mind during the exam, so vividly that you could even recall the inflections in Chan’s voice whenever he’d sing his sentences at random. You weren’t sure if it was intentional, or if it was even something he was aware that he did, but you’d caught on to it right away.

Because his melodies helped you remember better, of course, not because you found it endearing.

“We really need to thank him,” Changbin bumped his head against yours. “Let’s bake him a cake.”

“You can’t even crack an egg.”

“Who told you that!?” he bolted upright, miraculously regaining his energy.

You kept your lips sealed, but it didn’t take long for him to narrow down the suspects.

“Minho…” he muttered. “Who the hell shares that story with someone they just met?”

“I agree that we should do something for Chan, though,” you tried to stay on topic before Changbin could get riled up about Minho. He was already sour on him after he’d bought replacement pudding cups as threatened, only to smugly be told that they were the wrong brand.

“I’ll think of something when my brain isn't fried.” Changbin shoved his hands in his pockets, looking contemplative for a second. “You never answered my question, y’know.”

“Hm?”

“About him being better looking than me.”

His words caught you so off guard that you actually stopped in your tracks, turning to give him a look of pure disbelief.

“Seo Changbin,” you said plainly. “You can’t be serious.”

“What?” his tone grew defensive. “This is important stuff! You’re supposed to be around the same level of attractiveness as your friends. It’s scientifically proven.”

You so badly wanted to hold your unimpressed stare, but it was impossible when the man in front of you was speaking without an ounce of shame.

“First of all,” you began. “I've told you a million times that it had nothing to do with his appearance.”

It was Changbin's turn to look unimpressed, but he waited for you to finish.

“Second of all, you’re a very handsome guy, Binnie,” you tacked on the nickname for maximum effectiveness. “So if I were to fall in love with anyone, it’d obviously be you.”

You truly meant the compliment, but a little extra flattery never hurt when it came to him. A wide, embarrassed smile spread across his face like clockwork, and he reached out to smack your shoulder, giggling at an unnaturally high pitch.

“Geez, don’t say it like that,” he complained. “I wasn't ready.”

You shook your head. “You’re so simple.”

For both Changbin’s peace of mind and your own, you hoped now that the issue would be dropped. You had enough confusing feelings about Chan already without Iseul and Changbin blowing things completely out of proportion.

“Wanna get some coffee?” you suggested. “There’s a really good kiosk on the first floor of the library.”

“I think I’m gonna head home and nap, actually. I’ve got another exam tonight.”

You let out a sympathetic hum. “That’s rough. Good luck, Bin.”

“Thanks,” he sighed dramatically. “Treat me for all my hard work once midterms are over.”

“Sure, I’ll even save up so I can afford your rich kid tastes.”

Changbin grinned at that. “On second thought,” he pulled his hand out of his coat pocket to reveal your pencil; his lucky charm. “You’ve given me more than enough.”

He attempted to pass it back to you, but you nudged his hand away gently.

“Keep it. Maybe it’ll help with your next exam.”

From there, you and Changbin said your goodbyes for the day. You decided to head to the coffee shop on your own, in desperate need of some kind of energy boost so you wouldn’t crash the instant you returned to your apartment.

As you made your way over to the campus library, your mind drifted back to Chan. It seemed to do that a lot, recently.

You wanted to do something to express your gratitude to him, but it was difficult to decide on what when you knew so little about the guy. Changbin could always help in that department, of course, but then there was the issue of actually getting Chan to accept it.

Despite not having walked nearly long enough to work up a sweat, you felt strangely heated when you approached the library entrance. Not only that, your hands were clammy, and you had to wipe your palm on your clothes before reaching out for the door handle. The warm, addictive scent of coffee flooded your senses as you entered the building. You almost connected your sudden rise in temperature to its cozy atmosphere—that was, until your eyes zeroed in on a figure seated at the table directly across from where you stood.

He was hunched over his laptop, consumed by his dark clothes so that he was hardly visible to anyone passing by, but you’d already reached a point where you could’ve recognized that side profile anywhere. A distinctive nose peeked out from behind the hood pulled over his head, thumb brushing over his lips as he concentrated on the screen before him.

Driven by an urge you couldn’t quite place, your feet drew you in his direction, and you had to force yourself to come to a sudden halt. He looked busy—exhausted, too—it was probably best to leave him alone.

Just as you turned to continue over to the coffee stand, dark eyes flickered up to find you, as if on cue. Recognition flooded his face, lighting up with a smile.

You gave him a small wave, and to your surprise, he gestured enthusiastically for you to come over to him. You adjusted the strap of your bag, feeling unusually self-conscious, like you’d given too much away with just your stare. Still, you steeled yourself and padded over to his table.

“Hey!” Chan removed his headphones, hood slipping off along with them. “I was just thinking of you.”

You blinked. “You were?”

“Yeah, you and Bin had your exam today, didn’t you?”

“Oh, right. He just headed home, actually.”

He pulled out the chair next to his, inviting you to take it. You hesitated for a moment before accepting, giving him a grateful nod.

As you settled in next to him, it dawned on you that this was the first time you’d ever seen him without some kind of hat or beanie on his head. You hadn't even known that his hair was curly. It felt akin to a crime to have been robbed of the sight; soft, brown ringlets falling just above his eyes and swooping out at his nape, almost like the tail of a duck.

“How’d it go?” He tilted his head curiously. “Alright, I hope?”

“Well, let’s just say I understand why you switched majors.”

Chan’s laughter filled your ears, a blissful compensation for the past two hours you’d just had. He reached out to tap your shoulder lightly as he giggled, and you weren’t sure why it made your heartbeat pick up.

“That bad, huh?”

“It would’ve gone a lot worse without your help,” you confessed. “Thanks again for studying with us, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, of course!” Chan chirped. “I’m glad to help.”

“Are you sure there’s really nothing I can do in return? I hope you’re not holding back just ‘cause I’m Changbin’s friend.”

You were careful to ask a second time after your failed attempt at convincing him to accept some kind of payment—favor, anything—during your first study session. Just as Changbin had predicted, he’d brushed you off with a polite smile, insisting that it was the least he could do. Despite your best efforts, you’d ultimately stopped pressing the issue to avoid coming off as too pushy.

Chan waved his hand, dismissive, yet again. “Nah, you don’t have to worry about that. It’s no trouble at all!”

“How about I buy you a coffee?” You motioned in the direction of the kiosk. “Just one cup, and I’ll stop nagging.”

“Ah.” He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Sorry, I don’t really drink it.”

You stared, waiting for some kind of indication that he was just messing with you, but it never came. Suddenly, his perpetually worn-out state made perfect sense.

“A college student who doesn’t drink coffee? They should study you.”

He grinned, looking a bit embarrassed. “If you need me as the subject for your research next semester, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you giggled. “But then I’d owe you double.”

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, and you tried not to focus on the way his thumb came to run over his full lips again. You’d never seen lips shaped like his before; when you looked closely enough, they resembled a soft-edged heart.

“How about this? Give me your number and we’ll call it even.”

Your mouth nearly fell open. You hadn’t pegged him as the type.

“That way, we can say we’re officially friends,” he continued, completely oblivious to your shock. “And helping out a friend is normal, yeah?”

Friends. It was odd to hear him say that. You weren’t really sure if you could consider someone you’d spent just a handful of hours with your friend, but for what it was worth, he seemed to be speaking sincerely.

Your brief moment of panic melted away. Another case of unintentional flirtatiousness on his part, after all. It was relieving, in a way, because you could only imagine the effect someone like him might have on people if only he knew how to utilize his charm.

“Alright, you win. Just a warning, though, I’m not the best texter.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “But if you ever need anything or wanna chat, I’ll be there!”

As you exchanged phone numbers, every one of your instincts called for you to be suspicious of Chan, to believe that, surely, he must have some kind of ulterior motive behind his eagerness to befriend you. But you knew what ill-intent looked like by now,—you’d be a fool if you didn’t—and there was none behind his eyes, just an honest desire to help in any way that he could.

It was almost foreign to you, something you’d never really seen in any other person but one.

“There! You’re debt-free.” Chan handed your phone back to you. He’d taken it upon himself to add a wolf emoji next to his contact name, and you shot him an amused look.

“My friends say it reminds them of me,” his voice turned a bit sheepish, as if realizing how silly it felt to say out loud.

You softened. “That’s cute.”

“You think so?” He reached up to fiddle with his piercing, and you noticed for the first time how red the tip of his ear had become. Probably a side effect of his concerning levels of body heat. “What should I put next to yours?”

“A flame?” you joked. “So you can remember me as the girl who sucks at thermo.”

Chan flexed his fingers. “I like it,” he giggled.

You stole a glance at his laptop as he edited your contact, met with a sea of sound waves, audio files, and incomprehensible icons taking up his screen.

“So, were you working on something?”

He perked up. “Oh, yeah! Just messing around with some sounds, really.”

You leaned in a bit closer despite not understanding much of what you were looking at. Even with your lack of expertise, you could see that whatever he was doing was more than just messing around.

“Is it for a class?” your interest piqued. “Or for 3RACHA?”

Chan’s breath hitched, loud enough for you to hear, and you wondered for a moment if you’d said something wrong.

“You know about that?”

“Bin’s shown me a few songs! You guys are really good.”

He ducked his head, the flush on his ears creeping up to paint his cheeks the same shade. Oh. He really had been flustered the entire time. It excited you more than it probably should have.

“Ah, thank you,” he chuckled breathlessly. “Sorry, I’m just a little caught off guard, I think.”

You considered changing the subject for the sake of his comfort. What he said next, however, quickly quelled any concerns you had. “Which one did you like the most?”

He lifted his gaze shyly, looking so hungry for approval that you made a mental note to ask him more about his music in the future.

“Zone!” you didn’t miss a beat. “I especially love the lines in Māori.”

His face broke out into a grin so wide that his eyes almost squeezed shut from sheer happiness. “I sing that part,” he beamed.

Of course he did. You tried to imagine it—the bubbly, unassuming boy in front of you delivering lines with such power and confidence. It intrigued you, just like everything else about him. From the first day Changbin had described him to you, he was like a puzzle that you were determined to collect all the pieces of, to bring your understanding of him to completion.

Your original goal in coming to the library now long forgotten, the two of you stayed at his table for at least another hour, chatting about all sorts of things. You learned that while all three members of 3RACHA had a hand in composing and songwriting (a fact that you made note of for future, Changbin-teasing purposes) Chan played the biggest role when it came to arrangement. With a bit of prompting on your part, he gave in and showed you a snippet of what he’d been working on before you arrived.

Placebo was the working title. It had a hopeful, upbeat melody that made you feel light and strangely nostalgic. There were no lyrics yet—Chan was still waiting on Jisung, the final third of the boys, to finish up his parts. As it turned out, he was the wide-eyed, messy-haired junior you’d spotted hanging around Changbin all those instances over the years, and one of the first people that Chan had befriended upon moving from Australia. How they’d come to meet when Chan was three years older than him, you had no idea, but you figured this guy could become best friends with his prison guard if he really wanted to, so it didn’t seem worth questioning.

Even with its half-finished instrumental and lack of lyrics, you could already sense a potential new favorite in Placebo. Though, if you were being honest, given the expression on Chan’s face as he played it for you—earnest and giddy and biting his fist in anticipation—you might've said the same regardless of which song it was.

“Do you really like it?” He kept his eyes on the screen, but you could see the glee plastered on his face.

“I do! It makes me happy.” You slipped his headphones off and passed them back to him. “You have to show me when it’s finished, okay?”

It didn’t seem possible, but his smile grew, cheeks rising and dimples flashing. “Okay, promise.”

He held out his pinky to seal the deal. You hesitated, wincing inwardly when you remembered what had happened the last time your skin touched his. Even so, you were determined not to fumble another interaction with him, and you braced yourself before hooking your fingers together.

The heat was still very much there, though not quite as drastic as before. It didn’t jolt through your nerve-endings like it had when you’d first met; instead, it kindled at your point of contact and spread steadily along your skin, from your pinky to your palm until it warmed your entire body. Gentle and intense, all at once.

Chan looked like he had something to say, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, your phone buzzed to life on the table. Reluctantly, you unlaced your pinky from his and reached for the device, unsurprised when you saw Iseul’s name in glowing white letters.

“Sorry, one sec,” you excused yourself, knowing that if you didn’t take her call now, many more were to come.

“Hello?” your voice came out winded, and you swallowed hard to steady it.

“Are you busy?”

Your eyes darted to Chan. He’d turned his attention back to his laptop, humming quietly to himself.

“Kinda, is everything alright?”

“Oh,” she paused. “What’s up?”

“Just in the library,” you left out the fact that you were with Chan, not keen on fueling her newfound desire for matchmaking.

“I need help planning my schedule for next semester,” she sounded stressed, but you knew by now that even the most easily-solved of problems could be the end of the world in her eyes. “Literally none of these marketing sections work for me and I need this credit to graduate. I’m going fucking crazy trying to move my other classes around.”

There was no excuse for you to say no, other than the fact that academics were the last thing you wanted to think about after the midterm you’d just had. That, and, you were enjoying your time with Chan more than you’d like to admit.

“Alright, I can help you figure it out. I’ll just need some time to get to your place.”

"You’re the best,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “Hurry, please.”

At that, she hung up, probably to get right back to abusing her laptop’s trackpad with furious clicks. You slipped your phone into your pocket, and when you began gathering up your belongings, Chan’s gaze shifted back to you.

“Heading out?”

“Yeah,” you wished you didn’t feel so wistful about it. “My friend needs help with her fall schedule, she’s kinda freaking out.”

A knowing look crossed his face, lip twitching with the faintest hint of amusement. It wasn’t lost on you, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he hummed. “Just think I understand now why you wanted to repay me so bad.”

You had half a mind to be taken aback, but it felt strangely expected of him, like you’d known that such a minor detail would be enough for him to catch on. That tendency you’d noticed from the first day you’d met him, making itself known more and more each time you crossed paths.

“Think you’re the only one who can do people favors?”

“Course not,” his smile mirrored yours. “I hope things work out with your friend.”

“Thanks.” You rose from your spot, wondering briefly if you should say what was on your mind before parting ways with him. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You, too.” He held up his phone, wiggling it around as a reminder. “We’ll talk more soon!”

In the end, you left the library without a single drop of caffeine in your system, yet somehow, you felt more energized than ever.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Six weeks and several study sessions later, you had come to make two more very important realizations about Bang Christopher Chan.

The first being, that he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d warned you about his texting habits. You’d always thought you were bad at responding in a timely manner, hell, you’d thought Changbin was bad; but when Chan said he wasn’t the best texter, he didn’t just mean that he could be dry or slow or forgetful, he meant that most of the time, he simply didn’t text at all.

Instead, he liked to call.

You didn’t really mind—you tended to prefer talking to people over texting, anyway, but you’d admittedly been stunned when, after a week of radio silence following your encounter in the library, he’d contacted you out of the blue for no reason other than to “catch up”. No warning, no opening text, just an unexpected call that ended up stretching into a thirty minute conversation before you had to hang up and head to your next class. Another short period of no contact, and then, it had happened again. This time, just a few days following your first chat.

His calls, you’d also noticed as time went on, sometimes came at the most ungodly hours of the night. Once or twice, you’d woken up in the morning to find a missed call notification followed by an apologetic text a few hours later.

chan 🐺 (5:23 a.m.) sorry haha, didn’t realize how late it was

It left you perplexed as to when this man ever got a wink of sleep.

Even with your conversations being so sporadic, you found yourself looking forward to them regardless. He always had something interesting to share with you, from stories about people he’d met and the places he’d been, to music discussions and recommendations, to a vast array of space knowledge that he seemed to have neatly filed away in his brain. He talked about space a lot, like it was his friend. The moon, especially. It was undoubtedly your favorite topic of conversation, not only because it was a shared interest, but because the pure wonder and adoration with which he spoke of it stirred a warmth inside you like no other.

On top of all that, he always made an effort to check in with things on your end as well—in fact, it was always the first thing he asked about the moment you’d pick up, which might have been the most confusing detail of all. He was simultaneously the most absent and the most attentive communicator you’d ever met.

Once it had been made apparent to you that this routine may very well become commonplace with Chan, your curiosity had piqued enough for you to finally question him about it. His explanation, however, almost had you wishing you’d never asked, because nothing could’ve prepared you for his simple, sincere, “It’s just nice to hear your voice, y’know?”

That led into your second, more troubling realization. Somewhere along the line, you seemed to have developed a bit of a soft spot for Chan.

It had dawned on you some weeks ago, when the two of you had visited a new ice cream shop near campus that you’d mentioned was your favorite. When you’d recommended the place to him, you’d never once considered that he would take it as a suggestion for you to accompany him in trying it out. In the end, he’d ordered not one, not two, but all three of the signature flavors you told him you liked the most, detailing his thoughts about each one, with plenty of delighted hums and vocalizations in the process. Much to your horror, you’d listened to him chat passionately away with the most hopelessly endeared, involuntary smile on your face, knowing right then and there that your fate was sealed.

For that reason, your limited interaction with him was more like a blessing in disguise to you. The moment you’d discovered just how often your thoughts seemed to be preoccupied with him, your first instinct had been to distance yourself, to cut off all unnecessary contact until the pesky, ever-present daydream of his melodic laughter was forcibly expelled from your brain. Your regular meetings with him and Changbin, however, had made your efforts increasingly difficult, and you couldn’t shake the fear that, with how naturally Chan seemed to tune in to your emotions, it was only a matter of time before he noticed you behaving differently around him.

Today brought with it another moment of reckoning, another test of your resolve in the form of a two hour study session. You’d managed to get by the last few without any major slip-ups, making you especially grateful that Changbin was around to ensure you behaved more like your usual self.

bin 😑 (5:36 p.m.) oh, i forgot to tell you i can’t make it today

You stared down at your phone in disbelief, nearly coming to a halt in the middle of the road.

You’d texted Changbin this morning to double check that you were still on for studying this evening, even making sure to reach out hours in advance so he could reply before it was too late. Clearly, you’d have to give him at least a day’s notice from now on, because you were just a minute away from his complex when he’d decided to graciously inform you that he wouldn’t be coming.

you (5:36 p.m.) are u serious??? i’m almost at your place

bin 😑 (5:38 p.m.) sorry sorry it’s game night w/ minho and jisung lol. but chan’s home dw

you (5:38 p.m.) game night...you do realize this is for the final right? why isn’t chan with you guys?

bin 😑 (5:39 p.m.) relax mom i’ll come to the next one ;;; and he said he’s fine studying w/ you instead

A sense of dread twisted in your stomach. Regardless of how kind-hearted Chan was, you knew there was absolutely no chance in hell he would’ve preferred to stay home on a Friday night, tutoring you on the most demonic subjects known to man, while his friends hung out without him.

bin 😑 (5:40 p.m.) are you mad ㅜ

you (5:41 p.m.) ur a bad kid

bin 😑 (5:41 p.m.) huuuu ㅜㅜ

you (5:42 p.m.) i’m just gonna head home and tell chan we should reschedule

bin 😑 (5:42 p.m.) noooo don’t do that chan doesn’t care i promise lol

bin 😑 (5:43 p.m.) he probably prefers it this way tbh

You paused, hand resting uncertainly on the stairway railing.

you (5:44 p.m.) what do you mean?

A minute passed, then another, and still no response. You huffed, assuming you’d reached your Changbin text quota for the day, and you locked your phone irritably. If Chan was expecting you, you supposed you had no choice.

It’s not a big deal, probably. You told yourself as you trudged up the stairs. Still, it felt like one. The prospect of being alone with him stressed you out as much as it excited you. No long-distance advantage of a phone call, no Changbin serving as a bridge between the two of you; just you versus Chan and his accidental charm for the next two hours.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door of unit 8-325. You wondered briefly if he’d even heard, considering his headphones were virtually glued to his ears most of the time, but you didn’t get the chance to worry much about it before the door swung open, much sooner than you’d expected.

“Hi!” he greeted cheerfully. “How’ve you been?”

No hoodie on today. It made sense, given how much the weather had warmed up, but you personally felt that the muscle tank he had on instead wasn’t really necessary. His curls were out, too.

So, it was safe to say you weren’t doing well.

“Powering through the end of the semester,” you flashed a quick smile, shuffling inside and slipping off your shoes. “You?”

Chan shut the door with a noise of sympathy. “Same here.”

Your eyes scanned over the apartment. It felt undeniably empty without Changbin’s steady, familiar presence next to you or without Minho slinking back and forth between his room and the kitchen, making sure to cause as many distractions as possible each time he did.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out. “Changbin just told me that he wasn’t coming. If you wanna do this another night and go hang out with the others, that’s totally fine.”

He looked surprised for a moment, turning to look at you properly. “It's all good! They’ve been obsessed with that game for weeks, I got kinda sick of it, anyway.”

“Oh,” you frowned.

Chan sensed that you were still unconvinced—of course he did—and he gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m here because I wanna be.”

You knew it wasn’t his intention, but your heart still skipped a beat.

“That’s what I’m so confused about, I guess.”

He simply chuckled in response, as if that were enough to explain himself. Despite your lingering concerns, you decided not to press the issue any further, and you made your way over to the kitchen table as usual to set down your bag. You realized a moment too late that you had chosen the chair right next to where his laptop was placed. Just as you were debating whether or not you could get away with switching before he noticed, he slipped into the spot next to you, blissfully unaware of the impact it’d have on your psyche for the rest of the hour.

“I’m glad you came,” he commented, setting up his own study materials. “Feels like it’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

You wondered if that was his way of letting you know that he felt you’d been avoiding him. Well, avoiding was a bit of a stretch. More like limiting your exposure, taking him in moderation so you wouldn’t get addicted.

“It does,” you agreed. “And not just ‘cause you disappear off the face of the earth when I don’t see you in person.”

“Hey, hey!” It was defensive, but good-natured as ever. “I’m just not much of a phone guy.”

“Right, you’re more of a laptop guy.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

“Speaking of,” you gestured to the device in question. “Have you made any progress on Placebo?”

He perked up, visibly brightening at your mention of the song. “A bit,” he chirped. “Actually, I rearranged some parts of it.”

“Oh?”

Chan’s eyes twinkled, and you got the feeling that something mischievous was brewing in his mind. “Not gonna show you yet, though.”

“And break our promise?” you feigned hurt.

“Our promise was for me to show you when it’s finished, yeah?” his grin was far too proud, like he’d been waiting for his chance to pull something like this. It was a newer side of him you hadn’t quite gotten used to yet—playful, cheeky.

“The fine print, huh?” you clicked your tongue in defeat. “Alright, you win.”

“That’s two for me, so far.”

With the way he giggled, it felt more like a win for you.

A good half hour had passed before the two of you began any actual studying, and it wouldn’t have bothered you—not in the slightest—if you weren’t already concerned about taking up too much of Chan’s evening. It didn’t help that he seemed to be a bit unfocused today as well, prone to veering off topic even more so than usual and leaving his attempts at explaining the material harder to follow than ever.

He pressed his lips together into an uncertain line, squinting at his laptop screen as he tried to make sense of the application of Sommerfeld expansion. Absent-mindedly, he crossed an arm over his chest to cup his neck, biceps bulging in the process. You’d learned from your talks with him that he was a swimmer, but you hadn’t quite expected him to look like that beneath the oversized jackets and hoodies that he wore so religiously. It was hard not to stare, to admire every toned curve and vein that protruded ever so slightly when he flexed his muscles.

You wondered what it’d be like to touch them; if they were as firm and powerful as they looked, or if they were surprisingly much softer, just like his demeanor. You also wondered how they might look beneath you, held down by your grasp.

“Sorry,” he sighed at last, bringing you back to your senses. “I’m not really sure about this one.”

You tore your eyes away from his arms, face heating up despite not being caught. “No worries.” You put your pen down. “Do you wanna take a break? I feel like we’re both kinda out of it tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He looked relieved, and a bit self-conscious. “To be honest, I barely even understood this stuff when I was an astrophysics major.”

It was an offhand comment, but it caught your attention. You’d admittedly begun to assume as much after your second or third study group under his guidance, given the way consulted outside sources so often, but to have it confirmed brought about a whole new level of respect for Chan. And, maybe something else.

“Have you been learning thermo all over again just for me and Bin?”

His gaze fell, as if realizing in alarm that he’d inadvertently exposed himself to you. “You could say that,” he chuckled awkwardly. “I actually think I’m studying more now than I ever did when I took this class.”

A part of you wasn’t sure whether or not to be bothered that you’d been tutored by someone who wasn’t exactly qualified for the past month and a half. But no matter how badly his act of selflessness could have ended up for all three of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but affection for the boy. Well, that, and a bit of guilt for even putting him in this position in the first place. He’d gone out of his way to re-teach himself concepts that were by no means easy to grasp, solely for the sake of helping you and Changbin out. And he had. You knew for a fact that you’d not only seen improvement in your scores since meeting him, but in your confidence in the subject as a whole.

“You’re seriously too nice for your own good,” you murmured.

He reached up for his ear, tugging at his piercing. “It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not,” you said firmly. “Not many people would do that, especially for a stranger. So, thank you.”

“Of course,” his voice was light. “We’re friends, after all.”

“Right.”

Friends. The first time he’d said it, you’d been doubtful—both in regards to whether or not you could actually call yourselves friends, and in his intentions in doing so. Hearing it now, you felt just as strange about it, but not for the same reasons. You could safely say you were friends, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was, you wanted to be more.

“Did you like astrophysics?” you asked the question before you had the chance to say something else, something far more stupid.

“I did,” he sounded genuine, but tense. “Well, for the most part. It just felt like the most…practical thing I could do, y’know?”

“Can I ask why you changed majors?”

It was a detail that had been nagging away at the back of your mind since Changbin had first mentioned it to you. You weren’t sure why it felt so important to know, like an essential piece of the puzzle.

Chan paused, an uncomfortable look crossing his face. It barely lasted a second, but it instantly had you wishing you’d curbed your curiosity and said nothing at all.

“It’s kinda a long story,” he said slowly. You could tell he was trying to sound casual about it. His body language, however, was more than enough for you to see that he wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. “I guess it was just something I needed to do at the time.”

“I understand,” you decided to drop it, for his sake. “No need to get into it, if you don’t want to.”

He gave you a grateful smile. “Some other time, yeah? Can’t be telling you my life story when I’m supposed to be helping you prepare for finals.”

You hummed softly in agreement, and just like that, the atmosphere was relaxed again.

Still, the question lingered in your mind.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

It was inevitable to you, at this point, that any and all sense of time would be lost whenever you and Chan got to talking. What you’d intended to be just a short break from studying to recharge, eventually morphed into another hour and a half of you two chatting away—with a few failed attempts to get back to work here and there. That was why, when the clock struck 9:00 p.m. to mark your third hour with him, you were hardly surprised.

“Why don’t I walk you home? It’s late.”

You tried to ignore the way his offer made your stomach flip.

“Oh, no you don’t have to.” The words were out of your mouth like an instinct. It was tempting, so, so tempting, but you knew that any more exposure to Chan was sure to make your soft spot for him develop into something much more troublesome. “It's a pretty far walk.”

He tilted his head, confused as to why the distance was even worth mentioning.

“Ohh, I see,” his voice took on that same, unfamiliar quality from before. “You don’t wanna spend any more time with me, is that it?”

You blinked, scanning his face for some sign of hurt or offense. Instead, all you found was a playful smile, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing.

He was teasing you.

“You got me,” you played along, throwing your bag dramatically over your shoulder. “I only spend my Friday nights studying thermo with people I can’t stand.”

Chan giggled. It was shy and cute; the giggle of someone completely unaware of how enamored with him you really were.

“In that case, making me walk there and back shouldn’t be a problem, right? Since you hate me so much.”

You relented. It was a losing battle from the start, anyway.

The air had grown a bit chillier after sunset, which, much to your relief, meant Chan had thrown on a jacket and covered up his criminally distracting arms. You felt a strange sense of peace as the two of you strolled along the sidewalk out of his apartment phase, stealing glances at him as often as the streetlights would allow. He had his hands in his pockets, swinging them with each step he took and swaying his head along with the breeze that brushed through his curls.

It was hopeless. You were so hopelessly taken by him.

“There she is,” you remarked, slowing your pace to gaze upwards. “That moon you love so much.”

It reflected a pure, white light among the sea of stars, owning the sky in all its Waning Gibbous glory.

“Beautiful,” you heard Chan murmur.

You looked over at him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes illuminated by the moon as he stared up in awe. Instead, you found him staring right at you.

He seemed taken aback for a moment. Even so, for once, he didn’t look away. He simply smiled.

Warmth spread through your chest, and you knew this time you couldn’t blame it on his body heat.

“I think you have us both beat,” you said softly.

At that, he broke eye contact. He ducked his head with a shy puff of laughter, pressing his cheek into his shoulder to hide his face. You rode the high of it for the rest of your walk home together.

The two of you were mostly quiet as you neared your apartment complex, letting the silence hang comfortably around you. Despite the long walk, neither of you were in any particular hurry, and when you approached the front gate of your building, you couldn’t help but feel that the time had slipped away from you all too quickly.

“Thanks again for walking me home,” you murmured. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he grinned.

Your hand rested tentatively on the handle, not yet wanting this moment to end.

“Not gonna try to return the favor, are you?” His eyes sparkled in the low light. Even when he was messing with you, he still sounded seconds away from becoming flustered himself.

You smiled. “I’ve got something in mind.”

Before he could say anything else, and before you could second guess yourself, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was quick and innocent, but it made his breath catch in his throat all the same.

When you pulled back, Chan’s fingers came to hover over the spot your lips had been moments ago. You wished the lighting in the hallway was stronger, so that you could fully see the furious blush that you knew was spreading across his face.

His eyes flickered down to your lips. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to for you to hear him willing you to do it, begging you to do it.

So, you leaned in again and kissed him.

The heat that surged through you was different this time. It didn’t make you flinch or jolt back in alarm; it drew you in. However soft you’d imagined Chan’s lips to be—plush and heart-shaped and irresistible—the reality was infinitely softer.

Your hands reached up to cup his face. His warmth fed into yours, and vice versa, and somewhere in the back of your mind, it became clear that the fire had been coming from both of you this entire time. He sighed sweetly into the kiss, tilting his head forward, trying somehow to deepen it even further, like he wouldn’t satisfied until you were completely melded together.

The two of you might have stayed that way if your lungs hadn’t begun to cry for air. Reluctantly, you pulled away, leaving you both breathless and longing for each other’s warmth again. All the efforts you’d made to hold yourself back around him seemed so laughable now. You didn’t want him in moderation, you wanted all of him.

Chan’s eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed. The sight made you want to pull him inside with you, to take him apart bit by bit and put him back together again, over and over until you knew him inside and out.

Instead, you brushed your thumb over his burning cheek, touch harboring a gentleness that masked the ache inside you.

“Get home safe, Channie,” you whispered.

#bang chan x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #bang chan imagines #stray kids imagines #skz fanfic #bang chan x you #bang chan fluff #skz x you

2K notes · View notes

do-you-ship-it-polls · 7 months ago

Text

Do you ship it?

reason: They built a very strong emotional bond inside and outside the series, Perry is there to listen to Doof's stories and thus be able to help him overcome the traumas of the past and make him a better person, meanwhile, Doof gives companionship and honest trust in return to Perry every day of the summer, to become someone more open to new experiences and feelings, which he rarely has the opportunity to allow himself to feel while working as a secret agent. They are more than enemies, more than friends, they are irreplaceable partners in each other's lives.

#so based #question mark?#phineas and ferb #heinz doofenshmirtz #perry the platypus #perryshmirtz #poll #polls #fandom polls #shipping #cartoons #may polls

237 notes · View notes

askinkiskarma · 2 years ago

Text

Cruel Summer | Chapter I: August

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k words

Warnings/notes: angst, allusions to/mentions of smut, friends-with-benefits, mutual pining, 18+ minors DNI

Synopsis: You and Neteyam have been friends since you were children, and you taught each other everything, from English and Na'vi, to movie references and hunting, to everything about your own and the other's bodies. It was the perfect friendship-with-benefits, on paper. But how long can it last in the face of all that stands to tear it apart?

A/N: I'm so excited to say my new Neteyam series is officially here, and I hope you enjoy the first chapter!! This was for some reason one of the easiest and at the same time, one of the hardest piece i've ever written, like some parts came to me almost instantly and others I STRUGGLED WITH, besties. I hope it's not super disjointed and that you're as excited as me to embark on this journey. Thank you for your patience and can't wait to hear your thoughts. As always, I deeply appreciate your replies, reblogs, likes and follows, they mean so much x ly besties xoxo

: ̗̀➛ listen to August here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

Your back beneath the sun, wishing I could write my name on it

Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinking I had you

There was so much about you and Neteyam’s relationship, if you can even call it that, that was wrong and unsightly, that was forbidden and hidden. But, as you stood in the forest, propped on your elbows, taking in the sun shining brightly through the leaves and his toned, azure back, on which patterns of the forest branches rippling in the breeze formed, you couldn’t care less if you tried. In these moments, fleeting and irreplaceable, life was everything you’ve ever wanted, more than you could have ever dreamt, and enough to keep you going. In these moments, there were no humans and Na’vi, no impending doom, no animosity over your presence in the village, no hatred emanating from Neytiri’s entire being whenever her intense and prying eyes spotted you or Spider in the crowd or amongst her kids, no woman that would soon be bearing Neteyam’s children, there was nothing else, but him and you and the promise of hushed confessions and wandering hands, of lingering stares and breakable heaven.

You couldn’t help be drawn by the silent invitation of his body, so tempting and beautiful, so big and different to yours, but just similar enough to allow for… certain enjoyable, mind-blowing pastime activities that were sure to occupy the time and every ounce of free space in your mind, and your soul, and your entire being. Your hand trailed on his back, from the nape of his neck to the band of his loincloth, moving over the scratches that you left on him just a couple hours ago, over the healed scars he got from battles and hunts that you could name and describe each of by heart, and you drew your name on his back with your fingers and the air beneath them as ink, hoping this way you’d mark him, this way you could keep him forever. Pushing the unpleasant thought aside, you playfully tugged at the purple fabric covering him. He turned around on his side to face you, his defined abs and chest fully on display, and the way he eyed you, desperate and needy, full of hunger and desire, made your stomach churn and core throb.

“What do you think you’re doing, ma Vol?”

Your mouth curved in a mischievous grin, which turned into a full-blown laugh as he grabbed your much smaller hands in one of his large blue ones and with very little visible effort, stretched your arms above your head and manoeuvred you on your back on the mossy, comfortable grass. He hovered over you, his smile mirroring your own from just a few moments ago, and he tapped the mask currently providing the oxygen needed to keep you alive with his index finger, the sound ringing in your ears like bells in a church.

“I would give anything to not have this in the way right now.”

“Me too. Death by make-out with a hot blue 9 something foot tall alien? There are worse ways to go.”

He shook his head at you and scoffed, but you could tell he was amused. The desire you felt for him instantly diminished as the thought of the fact he would be heading home soon enough, home to his family and his new mate, crept unwelcome in the back of your mind and slowly moved forward, until it was everything, until it was the only thing.

“Do you have to go back soon?”

He sighed and let you go, plopping himself back on the grass next to you, chest up and looking at the sky and the clouds moving above you, and all the shapes they made as they passed you by.

“You know I do.”

You knew. You’ve known for years, ever since the first time you and Neteyam started this game of hide and seek with the rest of the village, with each other, and with yourselves, that this was temporary, that one day, he would belong to someone else, and all you would be able to do is watch.

Salt air, and the rust on your door, I never needed anything more

Whispers of "Are you sure?", "Never have I ever before"

Your and Neteyam’s lives could not be more different. You were human, a tiny, inconsequential human, left behind after the war, unable to be hooked to cryo, so you stayed with the scientists who were fortunate enough to be allowed safe haven on this planet that was now as much their home as it was the Omatikaya’s. You knew nothing of Earth, other than stories told to you by your surrogate family and from whatever form of art they had with them, that brought them the comfort of a home long forsaken, but never forgotten. In time, it brought you comfort, too, knowing what Earth used to be like, knowing that humans were not just monsters, but had it in them to be smart, and kind, and funny, to create beautiful music, and poetry, to combine words, words that everybody had access to and everyone could speak, combine them in such a way that it brought tears in your eyes or happiness in your heart, that made you think and ponder about the meaning of growth, the meaning of love and laughter and life and death. It was beautiful, they were beautiful, and - you hoped - so were you.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You and Neteyam shared many firsts throughout your 19 years of friendship. Despite your differences, despite your incompatibility and despite so many challenges facing you, despite both knowing it was most likely wrong and shouldn’t have happened, you always found solace in each other. You found yourselves in each other. You were each other’s first kiss, first sleep over, first flirtatious touch and first wandering hands, first make-out, first second base and first third base, first secret affair. Everything you knew about each other’s bodies, about your own bodies, you learned together. What makes each other tick, what makes each other tickle, what makes each other cum. In time, you knew everything about the other and you made sure you took advantage of that knowledge as often as you could.

The first time you and Neteyam ever kissed was when you were both 12, both innocent children, both curious. At that time, he was not a lot bigger than you, as it turns out humans stopped growing in height a lot sooner than Na’vi did. Now, your full body reached his lower ribs, but at the time, he was only about a head taller than you. It was short and sweet, and so so innocent, and yet, it never left you. That kiss, which at the time was just fulfilling a curiosity more than anything else, started a complicated and convoluted journey that was full of potholes, full of tight swerves and icy roads, full of dangers and darkness, but a journey worth taking nonetheless, because in the short periods of clear skies and sun-kissed warmth, it had the most heavenly sights and luminous vistas, and it was everything.

The first time you shared a bed, you were 15. Actually, a bed is a very loose term. In reality, it was just a mess of sheets in one of the recreation rooms that no other human or avatar really frequented, outside of you and Spider. It was large and tall, and had a huge screen where you usually watched movies whenever the Sullys came by to visit. Neteyam taught you Na’vi and he, being the dutiful son and soldier that he was, would come by to learn English at least once a week when he was young, knowing it would one day come in helpful against the humans. He didn’t say it, but you knew he also did it to be more like his dad, yet another way he emulated the Toruk Makto.

His favourite way to learn is with you, as you were also learning as you went along, and both of your favourite way to learn is by watching Earth videos, and movies and tv shows, and trying to figure out what the references meant, what the idioms meant, how to use slang that made no sense to your ears without the scientists explaining it to you. When you were alone, sometimes, you liked to make your own meaning for phrases, and laughed at your own little private jokes that no one else would ever be privy to. One of those evenings, that started with studying, and a marathon of Friends, ended with tangled limbs and soft snores, covered in blankets and the warmth of each other’s bodies. It was so innocent, and so childlike, and so was the second kiss you’ve ever shared, that happened in between giggles and The One Where Ross Finds Out, where the tension that erupted between Ross and Rachel and the kiss that resulted off it, prompted a philosophical discussion around physical displays of affection and what the big deal about it was. After trying it out for yourselves, you concluded it was overrated.

That didn’t last long, as your first make-out came soon after, a little less innocent and definitely less childlike. You discovered maybe there was some truth in those shows, and you discovered that you both enjoyed the tingling on your skin and the butterflies in your stomach that each other’s touch provided. That lasted for a few years, and eventually progressed into this, whatever this was. Initially, it was just curiosity. Then it became about how good release felt, how necessary it was, how much the pleasure helped both of you unwind and go about your day, forget about frustrations about the labs, and training, and parents and surrogate families, it could all be solved by each other’s bodies. It was purely self-indulgent, it was friends with benefits at its finest.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

But I can see us lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time

'Cause it was never mine

But life never stopped around you, and the world didn’t stop around you, as much as it felt like it had when it was just the two of you. You both grew up, and while you were still the same human, still doing the same things and having the same limitations that would always plague you, Neteyam’s world was a constant whirlwind of which you were just a small breeze. In time, he took his Iknimaya and Uniltaron, he became a man, and a revered warrior, despite being only 19. Early last week, he even got a mate, and will soon consummate that mateship, and he will be bonded with her for life, and you will be just a part of the past, just a small reminder of his childhood, just a dull ache in a mass of growing pains.

“What are you thinking about, ma Vol?”

You smiled softly as his nickname pulled you out of your musings. Vol. He first called you that when you were kids, and he found out that on Earth, the eight month of the year, when you were born, was called August. The Na’vi had a name for August, and it was vospxìvol, and after the first time the word ever left his lips, so did any other name for you disappear from his mind. To everyone else, you were Y/N. To him, you were his Vol. His never-ending summer, your warmth surrounding him for all time, your day eclipsing his darkest nights.

You wanted to be honest. To tell him what you thought about, what occupied your every other thought, what weighed on your heart so heavily it felt like it would overtake you, every day, all day, was him. It was how much, despite your unspoken agreement that this was purely physical, it got to mean more to you in time. It was how much you loved him, desperately and unconditionally, impermeably and forever. You wanted to tell him that you knew the rules, you knew that whatever this was couldn’t last, wouldn’t last, but there’s nothing more you wanted in this life than a way to make it last, to make him yours. That you curse your life every day that you will never be able to understand this world the way you were meant to, that you would never understand the bond the Na'vi have with it and with the beings in it, with each other, and that the thought of his queue, the most intimate part of him, a direct influx into his thoughts and feelings, connecting to someone else’s, made you sick to your stomach, made bile and acid gather in your mouth until it burned everything in its wake as you had to swallow you back down where it belonged.

You felt stubborn tears pricking at your eyes and forced yourself to push them back away. Neteyam was your best friend, was the man that knew you more intimately than anyone else ever would and still, there were somethings better left unsaid, some cans of worms that would spoil even the most unfastidious of appetites.

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

'Cause you were never mine

“Just thinking about how I’m going to be able to explain all of these marks on my body, you fiend. I think I’m running out of ideas, there are only so many rashes Norm won’t get worried about, and only so many clothes that will cover all traces of you on me. I don’t have the luxury of shopping for more clothes, you know?”

Neteyam laughed and you knew you were out of the woods and that he wouldn’t pry anymore. It was time for you to go back, time for you to deal with the unfairness of the universe in your own room, under the cover of darkness and solitude, drowning your senses in music and mindless entertainment.

“Take me home?”

He turned his back to you and knelt, waiting. You smiled at his unspoken way of telling you to get on his back, and obliged, attaching to him like a backpack. In reality, this was easier for him than walking next to you, as you were slow and a far cry from his nimble and athletic capabilities. Plus, it meant he got to keep you close a while longer, got to feel his heart beating on his back and your chest moving as you inhaled, and your breath in the crook of his neck. It was much better than walking. It didn’t take long for Hell’s Gate to appear into view, the big, mostly decrepit ruin of a city left behind by the humans large enough that it could be spotted from miles away. It was Jake’s decision as Olo’eyktan to have the Omatikaya village close-by, an attempt at keeping close to the scientists and uniting the two worlds, both of which you had a foot in, but nothing more - enough to not be homeless, never enough to truly belong in either.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

The silence was very loud, and you sighed in a desperate attempt to fill it.

“You know you can say you’re going to see her. I’m not under any illusion that you have no contact with the woman you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with when you’re not with me.”

It was his turn to sigh, and you found yourself regretting ever asking.

“I know, but still…”

“Yes?”

“You and me… it’s… I -…”

You chuckled bitterly. Neteyam wasn’t a man of many words, but he was a man who always knew what those words would be when they did come out of his beautiful mouth. He never blabbered, or got flustered, he was the most poised and sure of himself person you’ve ever met. And yet here he was, mind blank and uncertain tone, and you felt relieved, at least to some extent, that he wasn’t completely unaffected by this whole situation, that you weren’t going through this completely by yourself.

“I know.”

“I love you, you know?”

That you did know.

Remember when I pulled up and said, "Get in the car"

And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call?

Back when I was living for the hope of it all

Neteyam’s mind tortured him today more than most other days, as so many memories of your life together enveloped him, and the warmth they provided was quickly dispersed by thoughts of a face, a new face, a known and yet strange face, the face of the woman he’s been promised to. They wrestled with images of your face, beautiful and alien, so different from everything he knew and yet so familiar, of your body that he knew so intimately, that he knew better than his own, images of it trembling under him, of your parted lips and the moans that escape it, of your eyes he dreamt about each night shut tightly as each orgasm washed over you, of your hands that always found their way to his back or his ass, pushing him deeper in you, or in his hair, pulling on it or tugging it behind his ear.

It’s been almost two years since the first time he’s known you like this. The first time, it was awkward and strange, there was so much fumbling and so much that neither of you knew, and despite how many movies you watched, there was very little information on Na’vi and human… relationships, so it took a lot of trial and error to get to where you were at now, a point of no return, a point of unspeakable pleasures and feelings that ran so deep, they’d put most oceans to shame. Feelings that he hid, because speaking them out loud would lead to only heartbreak. What you two had worked. It’s worked for so long, neither of you knew anything else. You were best friends, you knew everything about each other. So why would he ever risk it? Why would he ever ruin it, since there was no future anyway?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Neteyam knew that what you did was wrong. It was wrong, but it never felt wrong. It felt so right. Despite all of your differences, despite all of the ways you could never be together, despite the fact that he could never form tsaheylu with you, nothing compared to the feeling of you falling asleep with your limbs all over his torso, with your head in the crook of his neck. Nothing compared to the connection he felt when he sank in you and you looked in each other’s eyes, and it felt like he could hear all of your thoughts, feel everything you were feeling, and he knew you did, too. In those moments, he thinks you both knew that what you had was far away from what it was always intended to be, and far away from how simple he thought it was when you first started it.

Because now there was someone else. Another woman, a woman that he’d have to bond with, have babies with, start a family with, a woman he had to love. A woman that wasn’t you. And while the thought of it made his skin crawl, so did the thought of disappointing his parents and his clan, who he would lead one day, by refusing, by not following through, by admitting he’s been engaging in these sort of relationships with a human, an alien. A demon. His mother could barely stomach you and Spider as her kids’ friends, Neteyam knew she’d have a heart attack is she were to hear about the activities you and her son got up to on a daily basis.

Your chuckles ceased his train of thought, and he was glad.

“You can put me down now, Teyam.”

The gate to the big metal complex was so close to Neteyam he could feel the smell of metal inundating his nose and coating his tongue. He hated this smell, and he hated this place. You were the only good thing about it.

“Sorry. Got lost in thoughts.”

He heard the unmistakable sound of an oxygen mask being removed and his heart booming in his ears as panic took over him instantly, but he had no time to react to it as you turned his face towards you and placed your lips on his in a needy, desperate kiss that made him weak in the knees, that redirected his galloping heart from panic to desire, to ache… to love. Once you broke the kiss, Neteyam watched as you gasped for air and helped you tightened the mask over your face again, and then jumped from his back and onto the ground.

“What was that for?”

“Just saying thank you for a good day.”

Just saying please don’t forget me once you reach her tent tonight.

There was still a lot of commotion in the labs as you made your way through the corridors to reach your bedroom, and despite your body telling you it’s exhausted and needs sleep, you instead put on a lab coat and joined them, since you knew that going to bed meant unnecessary suffering and putting your mind through scenarios it didn’t need to think about just yet, not when they would all become reality soon and there was no point in living through it twice. You were surprised to find Spider in one of the cell culture labs, chatting animatedly with Norm. He smiled widely as he spotted you, and you tried your best to reciprocate and push aside all the ugly feelings plaguing you.

“Hey, everyone.”

“Hi, gorgeous.”

You knew Spider had a crush on you, and that he has had a crush on you for a while now. You weren’t sure if the crush was on your per se, or just on the only person who shared a similar age and species with him, but you didn’t have it in you to ever question him or turn him away. He was a good friend, and a good guy, and who knows? Maybe it was fate that you two were the only human children on Pandora, maybe it was fate that you were here together at the same time. Maybe despite your mind convulsing in pain just at the thought of him, thought of anyone else but Neteyam, he was who you would end up with, your only chance at lasting love, at a family. Maybe life was less about what you want, less about what makes you happy and more about the greater good, the greater purpose, the ability to make something out of nothing. Maybe.

“What have you been up to today, kid?”

“Not much, just training with Neteyam. Can’t you tell by my bulging muscles?”

Norm removed his eyes from the microscope they were glued to, in order to eye you intently up and down.

“All I can tell is that rash is not getting any better. You need to use the hydrocortisone cream I put in your room.”

You prayed that neither men couldn’t see the blush that made your cheeks so hot from the inside out, you were struggling to keep your hands by your side and not fanning your face aggressively.

“Will do, Norm. Need any help?”

He thought about it for a while, then pointed to one of the incubators.

“You can split the cells? I was going to ask Harry to do it, but since you’re here and want to help…”

You smile at the chance to keep your mind occupied at least for a little while, at chance to not think about whatever it was that Neteyam was doing with another girl, with someone else that wasn’t you.

The next few weeks passed in a blur, and so much has changed in your life, it was hard to keep track. The humans have officially returned to Pandora, and in their return, obliterated endless amounts of precious forest, of natural resources, of life that will never come back, that will always be mourned and missed. You were all forced to move camp, deep in the Hallelujah mountains, where the Flux Vortex was too powerful to allow for detection. It was painful and scary, and you felt numb as you had to say goodbye to the only home you’ve known for 19 years, to the forest and to the village. You couldn’t imagine how to villagers felt, how the Sullys felt… how Neteyam felt. There was only one thing that made this time bearable, and that was the fact that Neteyam’s mateship was postponed until things settled down. It was only temporary, and it meant very little in the grand scheme of things, but you were just happy you didn’t have yet another earth-shattering event clawing at your insides, ripping you to shreds.

The relief didn’t last long, though, as Neteyam might not be sleeping with another girl, but he was also not sleeping with you anymore, either. The move and the new quarters meant a lot less privacy and a lot less space. You were fortunate enough to have your own room in the new labs, but the room was tiny and sharing a wall with Norm and Max. Neteyam was forced to move back into his parents’ tent, which meant the two of you never got a chance to be together at night anymore. He hasn’t come to visit you since the last time he took you back to Hell’s gate, and that was almost 2 weeks ago.

Today, you were hoping to change that. Today, you would ask him to take you to a different floating rock, or on an Ikran ride, or anywhere else but here, in this place that felt stifling and suffocating, this place that couldn’t, wouldn’t feel like home, no matter what. You missed him. You needed him. He had been the calm in all the chaos of your mind your whole life, and especially now, the spiralling felt particularly dizzying, the current particularly hard to navigate.

As you were mindlessly pipetting some treatments of some cells, your mind wandered to the Sullys, all of whom were away today. The kids were in the forest, exploring woods that were no longer particularly safe to navigate. You knew they didn’t care, but still couldn’t help roll your eyes at the sheer irresponsibility. They asked you to come, but getting into any more trouble with Neytiri, or risking running into any humans didn’t particularly appeal to you. On the other hand, Neteyam and his parents were on a family hunt, a sweet tradition that has begun soon after Neteyam completed his Iknimaya and continued since, running of 6 years.

Spending time with the Sullys was for sure one of your favourite ways to pass the time. The kids have always loved and welcomed you and Spider into their lives and their family, no matter how much Neytiri might have tried to influence them otherwise. Though Kiri found Spider her closest friend, you and her still loved hanging out together, loved being in each other’s companies, loved speaking for hours on end about everything and nothing. Kiri was drawn to humans, as Lo’ak was, and they took to your culture, your different ways of being, and thinking and existing, more so than any other Na’vi you knew. You assumed a lot of it had to do with their own differences to the clan, differences that while to you were insignificant, to them and to the Omatikaya, it meant the difference between a true Na’vi and a half-breed, an alien. Their slightly atypical appearance, which they shared with Jake, could be overlooked in him, as he was the Olo’eyktan, the Toruk Makto, the man that helped Eywa save their planet and their clan from certain death, but unfortunately for both his kids, that courtesy rarely extended to them.

Neteyam and Tuk looked all Na’vi, and could both pass as twins of their mother’s appearance at different stages of her life. Neteyam was the prince of the Omatikayan rule. He was tall and handsome, he was lean and muscular, and while his face was his mother’s, his body was definitely his father’s. Neteyam was a warrior. Through and through, he was forged in fire, with metal bones and razor-sharp teeth. He was forged to be unbreakable, to be the hope of the clan, the heir to the throne, the perfect son, the greatest soldier. Neteyam was one of the youngest Na’vi to go through his second birth after completing his Iknimaya and Uniltaron. He is the last man to get a bow made from the original Home Tree, that was burned to the ground almost 20 years ago. He was the epitome of the Omatikaya, and he wore all of these hats proudly, and he fought permanently to be worthy of them. Neteyam didn’t know what it was like to disappoint his parents, or his people. Unlike Lo’ak, he couldn’t afford to. Because of Lo’ak, he couldn’t afford to. He was willing to give anything… everything up in order to live up to the unrealistic expectations placed on him, because to him, that’s the only way to live. You admired him, admired his resolve and admired his will. You didn’t understand it, but you were human. You were selfish in nature, and you didn’t think that was a bad thing. You didn’t think being a little selfish sometimes was bad. In your mind, you shouldn’t have to live only for others. You only had one life, a short life, and that life should be lived, and that life should be enjoyed. That was a cause of a great deal too many arguments between you and your best friend, and it is something you will never see eye to eye on.

Norm’s aggressive entrance made you yelp out in surprise, and so did his face, contorted in pain and fear, so unlike the kind, calm and chipper one you’ve gotten to know throughout the years.

“Get ready. Jake radioed me, the kids were attacked by the humans. They’re coming back now, so let’s make sure we have supplies prepared, so we can patch them up.”

You felt a shudder overtake your body, and your hands, holding a pipette in one hand and a centrifuge tube in the other, felt limp and weak, felt like the weight was too much for your body to reasonably take.

You got up from your chair almost robotically, feeling our mind blank as the information stewed and settled in it, until it reached a point it was the only thing ringing through your otherwise deafened ears.

“Come on, honey.”

“A-are…” you couldn’t even finish the sentence, couldn’t even bring your mouth to speak the words that were haunting your soul, that were constricting your heart.You were out of your mind with worry, so much worry, it was permeating through every cell of your being and bringing out toxins you didn’t even know resided in you, poisoning your blood and and making you pant, making you want to scream in anguish at the possibility of your honorary siblings, of him, being in any way hurt, in any way touched by any of the humans.

“I think they’re alright. A little banged up, and probably terrified, but I think they’re ok. Jake didn’t say much, so let’s be prepared for everything. Get suture kits, and gauze, get numbing cream, the works.”

You were grateful for Norm, now and always, for how he’s been more of a father figure to you than you could have ever anticipated or even hoped for. He’s loved and cared for you and Spider like you were his own, and you will never be able to repay him for all the attention and affection, but you strived to make him proud, strived to be a good student, a good scientist, a good person, a good daughter. That’s one of the reasons why you spent a lot of your time in Hell’s gate in the adjacent forest, and less time in the village. One of the reasons.

As you got out of the labs and were hit by the warm thin air of the Omatikaya stronghold, you gasped as your eyes landed on Neteyam, who had deep cuts that leaked blood, like your eyes were leaking tears, both dropping carelessly, his on the ground, yours gathering at the bottom of your mask. His face cleared up as it spotted you in the crowd, and a quick look of easement panned across his features, and for a second, just a second, it felt like there was no one else in this world but you two, like this planet was an empty void kept alive and spinning by the magnitude of your love, by the gravity of the feelings pulling you towards each other, electrifying the air around you.

Your feet carried you forward with a mind of their own, and before you knew it, you were running, dropping the bag of supplies on the floor and pushing people out of the way - or at least trying to, not very successful when you were as strong as a literal toddler. The relief you felt overtook all your other thoughts, all your discernment of your circumstances and you surroundings, all the self-awareness of the situation and the knowledge you had to keep your feelings under wraps. It all went out the window as you jumped in Neteyam’s arms and circled your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips and although he winced in pain, he immediately tightened his grip and you and pulled you in closer.

You moved until you came face to face with him, and you eyed him attentively to make sure he was alright, that he was really here and safe.

“Are you -?”

“I’m fine, ma Vol.” he smiled at you, and you could tell he was trying to tell you something by the way his eyes moved from yours to behind you. You were scared to follow his gaze, terrified to look behind you and see Neytiri glowering at you, and the confused, maybe scandalised faces of the rest of the Na’vi. So you didn’t. You got down and moved in line to all the rest of your surrogate siblings, doing a similar ritual, so as to not stand out from Neteyam’s. Lo’ak was happy to kneel and open his arms wide for you, and you appreciated this boy you loved so much more in this moment than you could ever tell him. He always knew what to do, he understood you well, just like you understood him.

You finished with Spider, who looked a little more hurt than all the rest of them, and you knew it’s because, unlike them, his bones weren’t made with naturally occurring carbon fibre, so his body suffered a lot more every time something didn’t go to plan. It pained you to see him like this, hurting and bruised, and it hurt you more to see the anguish and fear haunting his eyes. You touched his arm and smiled softly as heat spread out where your hands traced his injuries, and when he looked at you, he shook his head, signalling for you to not question him any further, at least not for now. You nodded silently.

As the only two humans who were born on this foreign planet, you and Spider had a special bond. You had to, you had to stick together, because no one else really understood what either of you were going through except the other. He would always be the only one who understands the pain of being stuck in this body that was weak and feeble, that only one who understood the loneliness, the deep-seeded and monstrous loneliness that plagued you, the only one who understood what it was like to want something you can never have, like a chance to be one of the people, the chance to have a family, the chance at being accepted, the chance at being loved fully and without restraint, without pushback, without secrets. Spider has loved Kiri his whole life. You knew that. You also knew how hard he was fighting against it, how hard he was trying to convince himself he liked you instead, the only person on this planet that was made for him, whose body was compatible with his. Forbidden love is one of the many similarities you two shared.

A small scream woke you up from your musings and you all snapped your head towards the sound that you now saw came from a woman, about your age, one that you knew very well, one that, despite every rational thought telling you otherwise, you hated with every fibre of your being. The woman. The dreaded woman that would one day be the mother of Neteyam’s children, the woman he’d wake up next to every day of his life, the woman he’d touch, and hold, and fuck. The woman he’d love. The woman that wasn’t you.

“Oh, Great Mother! Oh, Eywa!” Her steps were wide and rushed, and in no time at all she made her way through the crowd and stopped just in front of Neteyam’s body, and carefully traced her long, slender fingers on his body. She looked panicked and forlorn, desperate to make sure her mate-to-be was unharmed. She gasped as her gaze landed on his many bleeding scratch wounds, and took him by the hand as she pulled on his arm, willing him to go with her.

“Yawne, come on. I will prepare healing salves for you in my tent. Let’s go.”

You tried to swallow the bitterness that gathered in your mouth to no avail, as the lump that seemed like it had settled in your throat, never to leave you again, prevented it. You felt the familiar sting of tears gathering in your eyes and demanding to be released down your face, and knew you had to pull it together. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the time to think of how you’ve always been the one to heal Neteyam, it was always your hands trailing over his wounds, it was your hands that sutured his bleeding gashes, the one that made sure he wouldn’t ever scar, because the thought of anything marring his beautiful skin hurt you.

“Uhm, we’re here, too, you know?” Lo’ak send a small snarky look in the girl’s direction, and Neytiri hissed at her son, threatening him to keep quiet. The girl didn’t acknowledge his words, opting to continue pulling Neteyam away forcefully. Lo’ak didn’t like her. You didn’t know why. Unlike you, he didn’t have an obvious reason. Maybe it’s how she acted like the rest of his family didn’t really exist, like they were somehow below her. Well, not the entire family. She liked Neytiri and Mo’at, and she liked Tuk. It was just Lo’ak and Kiri that she seemed to ignore.

Your eyes remained fixed on Neteyam’s body, that was slowly getting farther away from you and closer to another woman’s tent, and you couldn’t help think how this was a fitting metaphor for your relationship and your future. He peered behind him and immediately found your face, and the look he gave you will haunt you forever. A look that told you that he loved you, that he was sorry, but he had no choice. A look that said “I wish things could be different, but they’re not”. A look that crushed your spirit and told you everything you never wanted to hear and nothing that could heal the pain currently poisoning your heart.

Spider placed a hand on the small of your back, and with one last look at your best friend, the man you loved, you turned your back to him, to her, and to the love you felt in every cell in your body and focused on the people who needed you. You motioned for Spider and Lo’ak to follow you to the labs.

“Come. I’ll patch you up.”

It was late at night when you finished everything you had planned on doing, and you dragged your feet tiredly to your room, eager to be alone, eager to be able to drop the facade you have had to maintain for the entire day and just release the anguish in your soul with a good crying session and some comfort show you have seen one too many times. You got into the shower and put the temperature as close to boiling as you possibly could, feeling the incessant need to burn a couple layers of skin, to remove the traces of Neteyam that will always be tattooed on you, the feeling of his lips on your body, that you could feel like he was here right now, the pressure of his hands as they tugged at your hips, as they wrapped around your throat, as they caressed your cheeks and pushed the hair out of your face. The tears that fell down your cheeks were removed as soon as they dropped, leaving only the memory of them, the images of what triggered them, of the anguished thoughts and deep pain that sank its teeth into you like a wild animal, tugging at and tearing apart everything they touched.

As you got out of the shower, you heard the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, and of something falling on the floor with a loud clank, and you knew exactly who it was. Your entire body was red and puffed from the shower, including your face, on which it was obvious that you have cried for the past 30 minutes. Fuck.

With a loud sigh, that you hoped would lower your rapid heartbeat and shallow breaths, you opened the door and came face to face with Neteyam, who was knelt on the ground, trying to pick up what he dropped on the floor.

“Sorry.” He says meekly. “I wish I could control my tail better, but it’s always an accident waiting to happen in these tight rooms.”

You gave him a small smile that was not reflected in your eyes, and moved past him to sit on your bed. You fixed your eyes on the ground, noting how awkward and tense the atmosphere around you was. It’s never been like this. Ever. You and Neteyam have always been comfortable around each other. Always. No matter what ever happened in your lives or around you, no matter what depths your friendship reached, no matter how many boundaries you erased or walked past, it’s always felt natural. This didn’t.

“Why are you here, Neteyam?”

“What do you mean why I am here? I can’t be here?”

You scoffed.

“You can, you just never are anymore.”

“Vol… come on. You know it’s different now than it was in the village, in Hell’s gate. We’re going to get caught.”

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want to get caught. God forbid anybody knows you fuck me in your free time.”

“Vol…”

You knew you were being unfair. You knew it deep in your soul that he didn’t deserve any of this. You both agreed to this. You agreed to this a long time ago, and, if you were being honest with yourself, it was you that initiated it.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The first time you and Neteyam had sex, you were both drunk. It was your 18th birthday party, and Norm and Max organised a bash that would have apparently made even Earth bashes seem tame. There was food and music and dancing, and yelling and laughter and a lot… a lot of drinks.

So many drinks, in fact, that in the early hours in the morning, you and Neteyam stumbled back to your room, barely being able to make out the shape of the bed before crashing unceremoniously on it, giggling like a school girl when you did and the world refused to settle around you like you did in it.

“You’re so drunk.” Neteyam said, hiccuping slightly.

“No, you’re drunk. I’m fine.”

It was a nice change of pace, seeing Neteyam so free, so uninhibited, so… happy. His life was always busy, always messy, always difficult, having to parent 3 kids he didn’t bring into this world, picking up their slack, making sure they were safe and free, while he lived shackled to his family and his clan’s expectations, to the promise of being chieftain one day and all the sacrifices that came along with it.

“At least I can sit up.”

“Well, you’re about twice larger than me, so you know…” you were wiggling your fingers in the air, trying to make a point, although the point got lost in the abyss, much like the rest of your mind.

“Yes?”

“Fuck knows, lost my train of thought.”

“Goddamn, ma Vol, you are really drunk.”

He came and lay in your bed next to you and you immediately fastened your limbs around his torso, like he was the flame and your soul was the moth that couldn't stay away.

“So what? It’s my birthday. I’m an adult now! If I can’t get drunk on my birthday, when can I?”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Do you ever think about having sex?”

Whatever thoughts Neteyam might have had evaporated quicker than water droplets in a fire, and he found himself speechless, not a totally uncommon occurrence in your presence.

“Cause I do. I think about it all the time. I mean, we watch so many movies, and series, and all humans seem to do is have sex. I heard Norm getting it on with one of the Omatikaya chicks in the village for a while now, and, all I can think of is when the hell is it going to be my turn? My turn to know what it feels like, to get to see what the big deal is, you know?”

“I know you think about it. I know you think about it with me. I can feel it, I can feel you, whenever we fall asleep together. I know you want me, Teyam. I mean, we’ve come this far, right? Might as well go all the way.”

“I hope you want me. Because I want you. You’re my best friend, you know everything about me. I want it to be you.”

Neteyam was doing everything in his power to ignore his increasingly harder-to-ignore erection and the way he was twitching at every word that came out of your mouth. Of course he wanted you. You were hot, and you were his. His best friend, the person he’s shared so many intimate moments with, the person that taught him everything he knew about girls, about pleasure, about so many things. But this might be a step too far, a step you could never take back. Neteyam always hoped that one day, by some miracle of the universe, you would get an Avatar, and you would get a chance to be one of the people. There’s nothing he wanted more in this world then to get to keep you forever. But, as the years went past, the possibility of that seemed less and less probable, and Neteyam knew he would have to find a mate one day, and he would have to love her and keep her, forever. He would sleep with her, and mate with her, and she would have his kids, and doing these things with you… he didn’t know how he was supposed to move on with his life like your presence didn’t permeate through every fibre of his being.

“I do want you, Vol. But I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea, Teyam. Think about it.” You chuckled to yourself, eyes shut tightly and fingers rubbing your temples, as if trying to summon the words into your brain.

“What was I saying?”

He laughed at your disorientated predisposition, realising he wasn’t in a much better condition.

“I forgot.” You kicked your feet up in the air as you remembered.

“Oh, yeah!! It’s a g-great idea. Because we’ve made out before, right? Multiple times. Because we’ve s-slept in the same bed before, so we know that works. Because we know each other, and we won’t tell anyone else, right? It can just be our little secret, and we have p-plenty of those anyway. Because, because… Because this way, whenever you'll get yourself a mate, you know that you will know what to do and won’t fumble around. I’m doing you a favour, if you think about it. It’s the perfect plan honestly. Foolproof.”

It was hard for Neteyam to argue with your logic, but that may be because the part of his brain that processed logic was dead now.

The first time you and Neteyam had sex, it was awkward and painful. Turns out there is a lot more fumbling and a lot more preparation and a lot more pain involved than what it is ever portrayed on the screen, and even more so since the man you were sleeping with was twice your size, and those proportions extended to… well, everything. It took a lot of lube and a lot of patience, but you knew you would have wanted no one else to have this experience with. There was no one else in the world that could have made this what it was, something that you would cherish for the rest of your life. He was kind and considerate, and he brushed the tears from your face with his thumbs when the initial pain got too much to bear, and he waited for you to adjust to his impressive length, that felt like it would tear you apart at the seams at times, and he kissed your forehead and whispered about how well you were doing, and how good you felt, and how there was no one else he would rather be doing this with, no one else in the world, not for the rest of time.

The first time promptly led to the second time, and although it took time for you to learn each other’s bodies, in a couple months, the pleasure you felt when he touched you was indescribable, the thrill you got whenever you saw him become putty under your touch boldened you, empowered you, made you want to do this every day, all day, for as long as you lived. In time, you learnt that you liked when he praised you and he loved the sounds he could coax out of you - the louder you were, the harder he got. You both enjoyed being in control once in a while, him most of the time, you - on special occasions. The dance you partook in was intricate and complicated, it was heaven and hell, it was pleasure and pain, it was everything you shouldn’t have and everything you couldn’t keep yourself from.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

As you looked at the man sitting on the ground across from you, eyes so cried out and tired they were seeing red, you knew you had no right to spit such words in his face, but the hurt and heartache, the anger at the unfairness of it all, it was clouding your judgement, making you want to hurt him like his present and upcoming absence from your life was hurting you.

“I know you’re upset about today. I’m sorry.” He looked pained, and he refused to look at you. He looked… spent. Exhausted and sad. Way sadder than you imagined he would be, if this was just about today. Something wasn’t right.

“Why would I be upset about today? You did what you had to do. I mean, she’s going to be your mate soon, right? It’s her hands that should be healing you anyway, not mine.” You eyed the wounds on his body that were now clean, but still red, and still mostly open. “Those are going to scar, by the way.”

He stood up suddenly. A step is all it took to reach you and his hand on your chest shot bouts of electricity all throughout your body, that you struggled to ignore. It took very little effort for him to push you back onto the bed until the warmth and softness of your blanket touched the skin that wasn’t wrapped in a towel. He followed suit, his body hovering on top of yours, and you felt his braids tickling your face and neck as his eyes bore intensely into yours.

“Stop. I know you are upset. I wish it could have been you. You know me, Vol. You know I wish it could have been you.”

You shook your head slightly, dreading how the tears were falling down the sides of your face and nestling in your ears. You didn’t know. Not anymore.

“You should go, Neteyam. This isn’t right. You’re engaged to someone else. I watched her today, watched how worried she was about you, how desperate to help you, to take you away so it’s just the two of you. You’re going to mate with this girl any day now. There’s no room for me in your life anymore. Not like this, anyway.”

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The first time you and Neteyam made love came after you were both spent from taking orgasm after orgasm out of each other. You were laying on his chest, tracing each twinkling freckle on it with your index finger, making patterns, making galaxies out of the stars proudly adorning his skin, the most beautiful stars to ever exist, to you.

Almost as if thinking out loud, you spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.

“You are so beautiful. It hurts me sometimes, the gaping differences between us. How dull and boring I am compared to you. How daft my skin, compared to your shiny, glowy one. How sullen my eyes look when I see them in the reflection of your bright ones, sparkling like the sun. I would give anything to look like you. Anything to be like you.” Sighing, dropping hot wet tears on his chest, you continued. “Everything would be so much easier if I looked like you.”

Almost uncharacteristically, Neteyam’s hand cupped your cheek gently and tugged slightly until your eyes met.

“Stop. Please. You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid my eyes on. You always have been. Your eyes are like the planets my satellites orbit around. I see them everywhere I go, every moment of my day, every dream I dream at night, there’s nothing else besides your eyes, besides your face, and your lips. Besides the words that come out of them, that somehow guide my every thought, focus my world and let me go on. You are more than beautiful, more than any word invented in any language that we speak. You are everything, ok? Everything.”

That did nothing to stop your tears, that fell even harder down your cheeks, forming a puddle on his chest.

“You can’t say these things, Neteyam.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

“You can’t make me fall in love with you. And you can’t fall in love with me. What we’re doing is already complicated. Already beyond what either of us could explain to anyone we love. And that’s ok, because what we have works. But it won’t work if the feelings run deeper than what depth we’re comfortable swimming in. You’re going to leave me one day, and if you leave me and I’m in love with you, it will break me. So you can’t say things like that to me.”

He had a playful smile on his face, but his eyes were forceful and full of intensity as he got on top of you and looked down into yours.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you, and you’re not going to fall in love with me. We got this, Vol. But I will never leave you. I could never leave you. You’re my best friend. You’re everything to me.”

You let out a soft sob that was silenced by his lips pressing on yours and the sound was replaced by pleasured moans and whimpered sounds, of silent confessions that marked the end of comfort and the beginning of the end.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Back when we were still changing for the better

Wanting was enough, for me, it was enough to live for the hope of it all

Cancel plans just in case you'd call and say, "Meet me behind the mall"

He sighed as he got off from on top of you, his own tears falling on your face as he did so. He didn’t look at you as he spoke.

“The engagement is broken.”

The relief that flooded your mind didn’t have time to wash over you before he continued.

“Because I’m leaving. I’m leaving the Omatikaya, and so is my family.”

You and Neteyam shared many firsts. Your first heartbreak, the one that would break your spirit and your soul and your bones and ground them into a fine dust to be blown away by the wind, would just be one of many others.

So much for summer love and saying "us"

'Cause you weren't mine to lose

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @netemoon @fanboyluvr

1K notes · View notes

satzumosupremacy · 1 year ago

Text

Lessons

Male reader x Miyeon

11.6k words

Tags: Smut, Moderate kinks, Dirty talk, kind of edited—kind of not

Being an A-list actor—you can take on any role in a drama series at such a young age, be praised by many people and others in the field, and win awards—paid off with your commitment. You pick your own roles to your likings without worries.

It was no different this time—a romantic action and revenge drama in which you decided to take a role. News articles circulate about you, building anticipation among many fans and critics. You were in the spotlight, waiting to please many fans again with your acting. Until one day, you become the center of attention with someone taking the movie's female lead.

It was none other than Miyeon, an idol and actress. You were surprised at her taking on the role as you read how her character is. It’s not an easy job for her with her acting career; as much as you respect the people working with you, her time in the acting industry wasn’t much. You call the director, worried if she can perform to their expectations.

"Is Miyeon okay to take on her character as the main female lead?"

"She’s willing to work hard, believe in her, and help her out."

"I’m worried about the ratings; I’m worried that people will bash her acting if she somehow doesn’t perform like the viewers wanted."

"That’s why we have you to guide her. We can talk at the table reading."

"Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow." You hang up and go to sleep for the table reading tomorrow.

The next day, you get up at nine in the morning and head out to the building after twenty minutes. You get in the room; Miyeon's the first one there with her manager. She stands up and greets you, and you greet her back. It’s your first time meeting her.

“I’m Miyeon, please take care of me. I’m a fan of you.” She smiles at you.

"Nice to meet you; it’s my first time meeting you." She scoots a chair for you, and you sit beside her. She sits there in silence, nervous about your presence in the room. Another colleague of yours walks into the room, greeting the both of you. After a couple of minutes, everyone is seated with the director. You read your lines, and so did everyone else who has a role in the drama. It takes three hours for everyone to read some of the lines from the beginning of the drama and give suggestions on how it should be played. Everyone starts to leave until the director pulls you and Miyeon to the side.

"There will be kissing and intimate scenes later on in the drama; I just want to point that out." It doesn’t faze you, while Miyeon looks nervous. You don’t give attention to her, knowing any industry will be harsh if you don’t commit. You learn it the hard way, thinking it’s best for her to receive it this way if she wants to become an irreplaceable actress.

You shoot your beginning scenes separately until your character crosses paths with Miyeon. It becomes a month later, crossing paths with her, all bruised and bleeding with your action scene. Miyeon’s acting is fairly good compared to your expectations, as she plays her character. The director pulls you off to shoot Miyeon’s solo scene for a while. She acts according to the director’s desire. You study her acting, pleasantly nodding at how well she acts. The director calls you up again.

"Lay on the ground with your shirt covering the small blood pouch." Miyeon knew her scene for this as soon as the camera starts rolling. She gets down on her knees, crying and weeping from seeing you lying on the ground with the amount of blood you are losing. You see how beautiful she is as Miyeon gets closer to your face and cries. You get transferred on the stretcher while she is getting dragged away, her voice being faint as you get on the stretcher to end the scene.

"Cut, that was perfect! Let’s wrap it up for today and shoot the hospital scene tomorrow."

It’s now the next day to shoot the hospital scene, and after the hospital, you get discharged to Miyeon’s house in the drama. You lay on the couch without the director telling you if he improvised the scene. He hits the slate—cameras in action. She wipes your neck with a wet towel, and your character’s feelings developed for her after taking care of you in the hospital.

“Can you stop seeking revenge and live a normal life?” She acted out her scene.

“I don’t want to live a life full of regrets.”

She sheds tears as the camera focuses on her. "I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore." She touches your face, leans closer, and gives you a kiss. You get into your character and kiss her more with your hand on her nape. She blushes without you knowing.

"Cut! One more take." She breaks the kiss, and you see how red she has gotten. Miyeon’s face was too red for the director’s liking. You and Miyeon shot the scene another three times. The director isn’t so pleased with her; you saw how displeased he was after four tries and walks to him.

"I think she needs some time today; she’s doing good, except for the kissing scene. Let’s shoot it next week?"

"Yeah, that sounds okay; I’ll see you next week." Everyone starts to slowly pack the cameras and screens, heading back to the van. You see Miyeon with her manager, and you go to Miyeon.

“Can I talk to Miyeon for a bit?” You asked her manager and nods to you.

“Miyeon, just think of it as a simple kiss from me.”

“Can I have your number?”

"Yeah, sure." You gave her your number.

“I think I’ll head home now, thanks.”

Miyeon is embarrassed by how poorly she thought she performed. She gets up and heads out of the set. You walk to your manager and start heading out, thanking everyone for their work today. You get home after an hour and get a text from Miyeon telling you to meet her at her house tomorrow. You text her, and she gives you her address. You get flustered, knowing she’s an idol and not wanting to hurt your career along with hers. You accept her invitation to do whatever she needs you for.

It’s now the next day, and you get ready to go to Miyeon by yourself in your own car. You get to her place, and you knock on her door. Miyeon opens the door shyly. She smiles, and you smile back while she guides you into her house and then sits on the couch.

“Can I ask you a favor?” She shyly asked to you.

“What is it?”

“Can we kiss? I want the scene to be perfect.”

You get flustered by her favor. She quietly stares at you for an answer.

“Miyeon” you paused for a second. “I think this is too far.”

“I never had this much intimacy for a scene. May you help me?”

You know the series would be a mess if she didn’t act accordingly to the fans' and directors' liking. She grabs your hand with hers and begs you.

“Do you want to actually do the scene right on this couch?” You asked her.

“Yes.”

You sit on the couch and she brings a wet towel, acting like she’s on set.

“Can you stop seeking revenge and live a normal life?”

“I don’t want to live a life full of regrets.”

"I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore." She touches your face, leans closer, and gives you a kiss. You hold her nape and feel her tongue; she drops the towel and places her hands on your cheeks. You feel her arching as the kiss gets more intimate than you thought it would. She wasn’t much of a good kisser, but the aura she has makes you kiss her more, as you can only hear her breathing and kissing you romantically. You snap out of the distraction, and Miyeon is still holding onto your cheeks as she looks at you. Her eyes are so pretty, making you speechless.

“I’m sorry, I got carried away.” She apologized to you.

“Miyeon, your face is very red.”

“Can we try again please, just the kissing scene.”

You start wondering if she’s just being sly or actually wanting to perfect this scene.

“Settle down until your ready, your face is still glowing red.”

She gets up, “you want some water?”

“Sure.”

She walks to the kitchen; you see the way she was dressed, showing her ass cheeks as she walks. You start wondering why she’s wearing this with you in her house. She gets a cold bottle of water and walks back. You can see her nipples through her white shirt; you didn’t notice the way she was wearing at the start. You hesitate, wondering if this is something you’re willing to help her with. She sits down close to you and fixes her hair.

“Take two?” She kindly asked.

“Take two.”

She leans in slowly and her lips touch yours. It soon becomes a French kiss, like the director wanted it to. You grab her nape, and she slowly gets on top of you, distracted from her kiss. She moans quietly and arches her back slowly.

“Miyeon.”

She doesn’t answer; you think she doesn’t want to act out the scene at this point. She breaks the kiss from you.

“I have to tell you something.” She said.

“What is it?”

“I… I like you a lot.”

“I understand you like me as a fan, but the scene isn’t suppose to be this romantic.”

“Not as a fan, but as a woman.” She gets shy with her face glowing red.

You get flustered knowing she’s beautiful, but you have no feelings for her.

“Miyeon.”

“Yes?”

“Is this why you asked me to come over?”

“I’m sorry, you’re such a great kisser. I thought about you all night.”

You don’t want to say anything bad to her as a colleague. “What is it that you really want from me, Miyeon.”

"There is a sex scene near the ending." You get surprised by her comment; you haven’t even read that far yet, but she did. "I’m not experienced with sex that much. The director might cut me from this role."

“Miyeon, I’m sorry but I’m just a colleague of yours.”

"Well, you are getting hard as I sit on you." Her words took you by surprise; you didn’t even realize your cock had become hard. "Your words may be different from what your body says." She spoke in a seductive tone, and you hesitate if you would actually help her with the sex scene. "Listen, help me out, okay? I really don’t want to be cut from the role; I don’t want people to talk bad about me, please."

You stare at her begging you, and she gets on her knees. You feel bad as a colleague if you left her alone in this harsh industry. You look at her from a different perspective—as a beautiful person with a kind personality that people love. You decide to give her a chance to make up for her flaws.

“Miyeon, I’ll help you.”

“Can we kiss?”

“Sure.”

She gets on top of you and feel her warmth between her legs, she was getting turned on just from you. She gives you a kiss, then turns into a French kiss and you hold her sides, slowly up to her arms as she places her arms on your shoulders. Miyeon moans, being touched by you romantically. She grinds slowly on your cock as she glues her lips with yours. Miyeon arches her back and you lock her in from the back. She gives you a slight quiet laugh.

“Fuck, you can handle me so gently.”

“I can handle you in a different way if you’re curious.”

“Let’s go to my bed.”

You realize you drop your honorifics along with her. She turns you on as she gets more aroused for you and walk to her bed. You sit on the bed and she strips in front of you. She turns around, showing her body and laughing. You take your shirt and pants off for her.

“Fuck” She gulps looking at your cock.

“You’re body is amazing, Miyeon.”

“I could say the same. May I get on top of you?”

“You may, princess.”

“Ahh, you know my nickname.” She gives you a kiss and inserts your cock in her. You feel how tight she is and grunt quietly.

“You love how tight and wet I am for you?”

“Yes I do, Miyeon.”

“Call me princess when we are alone together, you turn me on ever since the hospital scene.”

“I always wondered how different you can be, princess.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot of you thinking about me.”

She slowly grinds on your cock, leaning in to kiss you and hold her neck. She moans harder at you choking her.

“You turn me on so much.” Miyeon said

“Show me a different side of you, princess.”

She gets up and rides your cock faster. Your body sinks into her bedsheets as your body collides with her. Miyeon moans louder; covering her mouth and tilting her head backward. You rub her clit as she starts to scream into her mouth. She comes back down to kiss you aggressively, her lips are perfect for kissing and wondered how perfect it is for your cock.

“Miyeon, want a taste?”

She quickly releases your cock from her and gets on all fours to suck you off. You sit up, seeing her wonderful ass with her toned back. You grab her tits and gave them a feel, softly squeezing them and caressing her tits. You grab her hair to give her some room to suck you off. Miyeon gags, cleaning her saliva and helping herself for more.

“You’re not even bad at sex, Miyeon.” You speculate her choices, thinking she’s taking advantage of you. She releases her mouth and catches her breath.

“Okay, you got me.”

“Was sex the only thing you wanted from me, Cho Miyeon?”

“I’m sorry, but I really want you.”

“So, how can you blush that much to my kiss?”

“I’d admit, you’re hot, and you can kiss.”

“I’d admit, you’re a beautiful woman, but I don’t have feelings for you, Miyeon. Why did you take it this far just to have me in your bed?”

She pauses, staring at you with guilt. “Can we just be fuck buddies at the very least? This can be our secret, you’re such a perfect man.”

“There are many men in this industry who can fulfill your horny needs, not just me, Miyeon. I’m done.” You get up and dress yourself as she watches you.

“Remember me saying I have feelings for you?”

You pause, forgetting she said that earlier. “What does having sex have to do with that?” You turn cold to her. She presses her lips and bite them from your harsh comment.

“I’m very sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

You don’t answer her and storm out her house, realizing you have to put up with her for the drama. Going back home, you call your manager.

“Is it too late to drop out of this drama?”

“Wait, why, don’t, didn’t you like this?”

“I don’t know, a slight change of heart.”

“I’ll let the company know, for now it’s only a maybe.”

“Okay, just calling to ask.”

“Alright, I’ll call you back later, bye.”

You hang up the phone and drive back home. Miyeon was still on her bed, looking at the bedsheets you were laying on, realizing she messed up big time with you being an A-list celebrity that can potentially put dirt on her name more than she can put on yours. She wipes her tears, feeling guilty for taking advantage of you for her needs. She calls you and you block her phone at the traffic light on the way home. She becomes devastated, potentially messing up her career and think of ways to gain back both of your chemistry in the drama.

You get home and quickly lay on the couch; turning on the tv. You think back about her, knowing you were cold to her. You decide to clean the house to distract yourself, and a few hours later, your manager calls you.

“Um, the media found out that you’re thinking of dropping out from the drama.”

“It’s not a surprise."

“The director might call you if he sees the news.”

"I'll assure him, dont worry."

You hang up and search the internet, seeing people comment and worried about why you’re dropping out. You decide to stay and think for the better of gaining more attraction towards the series with that small speculation; putting up for Miyeon as a small chapter in your career.

It’s now the day of the house scene—a retake scene. The first two episodes aired, and look at the comments. Some of the viewers love the chemistry between you and Miyeon—little did they know what was happening behind the scenes. You haven’t contacted Miyeon since. You arrive on the scene and see her with a box of goodies to make up for the conflict between you and her.

“Can I have a word with you at the corner?”

“Sure”

“Here you go, I’m very sorry about what I did, please forgive. Can we please bring back the chemistry we have together?”

“We’ll see.”

“How can I make it up for you?”

“If you really want, try and figure it out.”

You leave her as she stands at the corner, the director sees a small conflict and comes to you.

“Is there a conflict between you and Miyeon?”

“Just a small one, don’t worry.”

“Okay then.” The director speculates. “Camera will be rolling in three minutes!” The director said on the megaphone.

You get on the couch, and Miyeon sits beside you, ready for the scene. She takes a glance at you, and as you look back, she turns around towards the camera. You stare at her in a cold way, waiting for her to look at you again. You hear the slate clap, and the camera starts rolling as she looks back to see you staring at her. She gets nervous, and you go into your acting. Miyeon becomes in awe, seeing how professional you can get within seconds.

The scene took two tries, with the director happy to finish it. The camera crew packs up for the next location. The filming took another seven hours, ending with your action scene at night with Miyeon.

“You did great today, Miyeon.” She smiles as you assure her.

"Thank you; you did great too." She gives you her hand to clap, and you clap her hand. "Want to get some barbecue? We can take our managers and crew along."

“Sure”

You gather anyone who wants barbecue and head to the restaurant. Sitting at the table, Miyeon is across from you at the end of the table. She grabs a soju bottle and pours you a shot along with her.

"Cheers!" She said it to you, smiling. Everyone that came felt like only you and Miyeon were separated in your own worlds together. The crew and managers were laughing, eating, and drinking.

"Cheers, Miyeon." You said nonchalantly to her. You pour her a shot out of respect as a senior colleague. She gets shy from you pouring her a shot. It was two hours in, drinking with Miyeon and everyone that joined. You head to the bathroom as an excuse to pay the bill for everyone without them knowing. You come back to the table, seeing Miyeon swaying from almost being drunk. You look at her manager; she was still sober enough to drive Miyeon home. Suddenly, Miyeon gets up, and you look at her walking towards the front to pay the bill.

“It was already paid.” She looks at the worker; confused.

“Who”

The worker whispers your name to her, Miyeon walks back and sits down. “Thank you for paying.”

"Yea, no problem." Some of the camera crew starts to leave, knowing you paid the bill, and thanked you. A few minutes later, it was just you, Miyeon, her manager, and the director.

"It’s getting late; I’ll head out. Thanks for paying." The director said to you and heads out.

"You can leave; I’ll take Miyeon." Her manager said to you.

"No, he’ll take me home." Miyeon interrupted. You get flustered, wondering how drunk she is.

"Miyeon, you’re drunk; let’s go." Her manager said.

"No, I’m not." You and her manager clearly see how red she is. Miyeon’s manager looks at you.

“Are you okay to take her home?” Her manager asked you.

"If that’s what she wants, then you can go; I can take care of her."

"Alright, see you at the next set." She waves at you, and you wave back. You look at Miyeon with her face leaning on her arms on the table.

“Miyeon, let’s go.” She smiles at you and gets up.

"Can you hold my hand in case I fall?" She said. You hold her hands and head to your car. You open the door for her, head to the driver's seat, and drive back to her house.

"You know, I was wrong, but my feelings for you are still the same." She said it while looking out over the bridge that you’re driving on.

“It’s okay, Miyeon.” She looks at you, knowing she’s not enough for you. Miyeon looks out the window again with the windows down.

“Was this what you meant by making up for me with food?”

“Maybe”

You wonder if she has feelings for your character or your actual self. "Are you having feelings for me or my character?"

She gets puzzled, wondering if she actually fell for you playing your own character. You glance at her; she's looking down at her legs. "I-I really don’t know." She gets sober quickly with the wind blowing in her face. "Can we at least fuck tonight? You haven’t declined to be a fuck buddy with me."

“Is this how you want to make up to me?” You teased her.

"Maybe." She teases you. "So what’s your answer? You’ve been working hard. I want to give you something special."

“You promise to keep this dirty little secret with me, Miyeon?”

"Oh, I will." She grabs your hand and makes you touch her tits. "Don’t they feel good? I know people stare at them secretly when I wear a push-up."

“Your tits are amazing.”

“It’s more amazing when I’m naked with you in bed. ”

“Dirty little princess, I know how fragile you are.”

“Ruin me.”

“Your mouth needs a lesson, princess. Should I clean that dirty mouth with something?”

"I’d fucking love it—teach me a lesson."

“You’re dirty, Miyeon.” You laugh at her.

“I know I am, that’s why I want you in my bed. Only someone like you can handle me.” She guides your hands, digging into her panties and feeling how wet she got from the dirty talking.

“Seems like someone’s horny.”

“You have your way with words. I love how you talk dirty to me.” She laughs and releases your hands. You lick your fingers, tasting her wet pussy.

“You taste amazing, Miyeon.”

“Stay with me for the night.”

“We’ll see about that, princess.”

“Fuck, you turn me on so much just by calling me princess.”

You get to her house and look outside in case people catch you and Miyeon. It’s clear—you get out, opening the door for Miyeon also. Miyeon opens her house door, then closes it as soon as you both get in. You pin her to the wall, kissing her neck as she tilts to the side. She moans softly, and you dig into her panties, rubbing her clit as soon as you feel her folds. Miyeon breathes harder, and her tits mash onto your chest. Her legs jerk as you finger her, and she slowly squats down—a good position to make her cum hard to your desire.

“Want me to make you cum?”

“Fuck, please do it.”

“Don’t be exhausted after, the lesson barely started, princess.”

She doesn’t reply; her mouth is wide open as you finger her faster. You choke her with your other hand, and she clenches her teeth. Miyeon moans louder, her legs jerking quickly. You give her a kiss, getting her more aroused, and make small squeals.

“I'll make you squirt, princess.”

“Please do it.”

She tilts her head into the wall, and her body arches forward. You kiss her more, you use your arm muscles to finger her faster, and she’s breathing harder at this point. Her legs are folded; only her feet and wall are holding her up in a squat position for you. Miyeon erotically groans and moans, which then turn into small screams.

"Cum for me, princess," you whispered into her ear. She gives you a pause; her eyes are shut hard.

"Ah!!" Her legs jerk harder as she cums, and you finger her faster. She gasped loudly from cumming hard. Your arm becomes wet from her squirting. You finger her slowly and then rub her clit after. She breathes heavily. You guide her to kneel and place your cock in front of her face. She helps herself, wrapping her mouth around your cock, and sucks you off slowly at the start before going faster. She wraps her arm around your legs, bobbing her head and sucking you off, feeling the tip of your cock shape in her cheeks. She gets messy as saliva drips down from her mouth.

She gags, taking your cock deeper into her mouth. She pauses to breathe but quickly sucks you off again. You grab her hair, pulling it upwards towards you, and she smiles. She is a wild woman, loving everything you do to her. You decide to hold her face—she pauses, knowing what you’re going to do. You thrust into her mouth, making her choke while she looks at you. She swallows every bit of saliva and your cock every time you thrust into her mouth. You thrust into her mouth deeper, using her for pleasure. She gags and chokes, not backing down, taking every abuse you give her. Saliva leaks out of her chin as it drips onto the floor.

"Your mouth feels so good, princess." You don’t stop thrusting until she suddenly taps your thighs. You pull back from her mouth, and she catches her breath and swallows the mess.

"Use me, abuse my body, fuck me like there’s no tomorrow." She sucks on your tip and waits for your reply.

“I don’t want to do abuse you that much, princess.”

"That’s so respectful, but fine. That’s hot of you." She sucks you off again, wanting to make you cum inside her mouth as much as possible. She moans, pleasing her needs. You grunt quietly; you’re almost reaching your limit as you look at each other. She’s beautiful; her eyes are filled with desire.

"Princess, I’m going to cum." You gasp for air, and she sucks you off aggressively. You hold onto her hair and start cumming. Miyeon chokes hard with your cum erupting down her throat quickly. She pauses, swallowing your cum quickly with her tongue licking your tip. She moans as she closes her eyes, finally getting a taste of your warm cum. You pull out of her mouth, and saliva drips slowly off your cock. You grab your cock and slap her cheeks softly, with her smiling brightly and laughing.

“Fuck, I might be addicted to your cum.” She licks her lips and clean her mouth. You went to grab a paper towel to wipe her mess on the floor. She looks at you clean her floor, surprised she squirted that much.

“I want to cum on your face.” She said to you.

"Go wait in the bed for me—lay on your stomach, princess."

She quickly runs to the room while you throw the wet paper towel into the trash. You walk to her room, greeted by her ass, and toned back for you. She giggles, excited to give you a taste of her and her amazing body. You grab her legs and pull them towards you to the edge, and plant your face right on her folds, licking slowly. She moans erotically and grips the bedsheet. You give her ass a hard squeeze and a slap. She screams quietly as you eat her pussy faster. Her breaths become heavy from you pleasuring her.

"Just like that, don’t stop." Miyeon pleaded. You slide a finger into her pussy, making her scream softly. You eat her slowly, tasting every bit of her juice. It becomes several minutes; she’s still moaning, knowing you want to make her cum less harder this time. You grab her legs and make her lay on her back. She opens her legs for you, seeing that smile she’s giving you, and locks her hands with yours as you eat her pussy again. She tilts her head at how your tongue feels on her pussy. Her soft, small hands squeeze yours, and she breathes harder.

“Feel free to cum, princess.”

“Just keep going.”

You kiss her folds, laughing shyly at the little romance you show her. You lick her pussy again, your warm breath coating her folds. She screams erotically; her hands tense up on your hand. You lock your hands with hers to make her not move around. She starts to cum, feeling her legs jerk as it spreads. Her moans become softer and more seductive. You suck on her pussy while she cums. She catches her breath more easily, and you kiss her inner thighs. You lay beside her, staring at each other. She gulps, exhausted from her orgasm.

“It’s been a long day, princess. Let’s have a small break, then I’ll put it in you.”

She smirks at you and turns around with her ass touching your cock slightly. You get closer to her and hold onto her tits, sleeping quickly from a long day of shooting scenes and fucking each other.

You wake up a couple hours later. She’s still sleeping and give her shoulders a kiss, then on to her nape. You hear her moan slightly and she teases you with her ass pushing onto your cock. You thrust on her crack, teasing her while she’s tired and insert your cock into her. Miyeon moans quietly and longer.

“How do you want it, princess?”

“Any way to please you and me together.”

You insert your cock deeply in her, and she moans loudly while you make her lay on her stomach. You give her ass a spank; her hands grip the pillow, moaning louder while you penetrate her. You reach for her hands, pinning them onto her back as her body sinks into the bedsheets. You thrust faster, making her take your cock as you penetrate her tight walls. You love the way she looks lying down. You give her a couple more spanks until her ass turns red. She tilts her head sideways to look at you behind her. Miyeon's eyes fill with lust as she tries hard to not close her eyes from your cock deep in her.

“You love this cock, don’t you?”

"It’s so g-" Her breaths cut her words, and she clenches her teeth. You let go of her hands and grab onto her hips. Miyeon opens one of her legs to the side, wanting it deeper in her, and you take every inch of room to thrust her deeper. She yells in a high pitch, taking your cock and not stopping until she tells you. Miyeon breathes harder and louder, loving how you abuse her body and feel the pleasure. You grab her arm up towards you, and she gets on her knees with you thrusting her. Her ass collides with your pelvis, and you grab onto her neck, choking her with moderate pressure. She moans, closing her eyes while your hands are on her neck. Miyeon is gasping for air, you slow down your thrust.

“I didn’t tell you to slow down.”

You get flustered and penetrate her walls again. You kiss her nape and choke her slightly harder. Miyeon places her hand on your arm that was choking her to hold, and the other hand on her clit; rubbing it. You love smelling her scent; it was taking over your consciousness—penetrating her walls harder. You nibble her ear, making her squeal seductively. She gasps for air from rubbing her own clit while you are deep inside her.

“Cum on this cock, princess.”

"Right there, please don’t stop." You feel her body becoming loose. Miyeon starts feeling overwhelmed, moaning louder and yelling erotically. Her body tense up as she starts to cum with her body jerking.

"Keep using that voice of yours, princess." You squeeze her tits harder and give them a slap. Parts of her body have gotten red from you abusing her for her needs. Miyeon tilts her head behind, wanting to make out with you, and she starts to grind on you to your rhythm. She moans more, catching her breath with her mouth open. You release her neck and put a finger in her mouth. Miyeon sucks on your finger, feeling her soft lips and tongue making your finger wet with her saliva.

“How do you want my cum, princess?”

“In me, it’s okay.”

You breathe more heavily as you get to your limit. “Miyeon, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum in me.”

You thrust as you reach your limit—cumming inside her. She squeals from your cock erupting and slowly falls down onto the bed along with you. Miyeon moans softer, you kiss her hair, making her giggle. You pull out and lay beside her. She quickly gets up and sucks your cock, tasting your cum that was left over. Miyeon joins you, lying beside you, and stares at each other.

She laughs, “you’re amazing.”

“You were great, princess.”

----------

"Thanks; we should sleep now." You nod, agreeing with her. You fell asleep quickly after several minutes. She doesn’t fall asleep and quietly looks towards you, admiring how well you treated her in bed. She stares at the ceiling and falls asleep.

You hear birds chirping and wake up; the sun is out. Miyeon slept facing you with her hair more messy than last night. You start to wonder if being like this with Miyeon will harm your career. You stare right at her, suddenly opening her eyes to see you looking at her.

Miyeon smiles brightly, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Miyeon.”

“It’s princess.” She giggles.

“Mhm” You’re hesitating, wanting her naked at any time but don’t want to hurt your career.

“You look deep in thought. May I know what you’re thinking?”

"You realize we can both hurt our careers if a word gets out?"

"I know, but there are always two sides to the story, right?" You nod tiredly; she’s right about that. "I remembered you getting into a scandal too; it’s nothing to be worried about." Miyeon tried to assure you.

"Something like this would be frowned upon more by the media, Miyeon, It’s going to hurt your idol career, also. I’m saying this as a senior."

"I understand; we both know cameras are pointing at us in every direction; we have no privacy. I know you’re more worried for me, but don’t be."

"Miyeon… That’s not the point I’m talking about. It’s going to stab us internally even after we both lose our careers."

“I know…” She said it in a sad tone.

“Miyeon.. this ain’t supposed to be taken lightly.”

"I know, I understand you’re looking out for me; I personally thank you, but let's just fuck until the drama ends, then we can go our own ways and just become friends after."

You lay there quietly, wondering what you’re protecting—Miyeon or your career. Okay, after this drama, this can be our secret."

“Can I get my morning taste of warm coffee?” She smirks at you.

“Come and taste it then.”

---------

She smiles going down to greet your cock. She looks at you, giving your cock a kiss on the tip. “I love taking your lessons.”

"Anytime, princess. Is lessons our secret word?"

"It is now." She wraps her mouth around your cock, bobbing and sucking you off. You grab her pillow and place it on your pillow for a better look at her sucking you off. She brushes her hair away when it gets in the way, but there’s that one strand of hair that makes her look so hot, sucking you off. Miyeon holds onto your balls, feeling her warm hands caressing them. Your cock twitches at what she’s doing. Miyeon releases herself from your cock and takes a breath with saliva strands hanging off from her mouth to your cock. She smiles at you and jerks you off slowly.

“You love my mouth don’t you?” She smirks.

"I do; you’re amazing. You have so much talent with that mouth of yours."

"Aw, thanks. I always wondered how big you were when you did that one sex scene a year ago. You fucked her so hot." She kisses your tip after.

“Dirty little girl.”

“Well, I actually find you hot regardless. I played with myself imagining how you fuck me.”

“You’re so dirty, Miyeon. I love it”

“I love how different you are without cameras, it’s so hot.” She starts to lick and make out with your cock.

“A horny idol you are. Who would of thought.”

“It’s my image, I actually have respect too. Just being with you is different, I can have my wildest dreams come true with you.”

“Let’s not talk, I want to hear that mouth of yours on my cock.”

She smirks at you, granting your command. Miyeon sucks you off deep until she gags, bobbing her head as she stares right back at you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, loving how she’s giving you such pleasure. She’s sucking you off slowly for several minutes, loving your taste in her mouth. You breathe heavily from her mouth tightly wrapping your cock. You grunt harder, and your cock starts twitching. She feels it and decides to edge you slowly until you shoot strands of cum deep into her throat. You start feeling how Miyeon sucks you off now, edging you until you can’t hold back.

“Miyeon” you took a breath, “you’re such a tease.”

She doesn’t answer you, edging you slowly to get the morning taste that she wants. She worships your cock, pleasing you until you cum hard in that dirty mouth of hers that you love so much.

"Miyeon," You grunted hard. "Miyeon," You repeated her name, letting her know that you're going to cum. She taps your stomach, letting you know she’s ready to take your cum. You erupt hard in her mouth with the amount of edging she did. She chokes hard but still takes your cum in her mouth. She moans, making noises at the surprise of your cum still erupting. She gags as you fill her mouth. You feel her swallowing your cum while she’s still wrapping her mouth. You close your eyes and breathe hard as she finishes swallowing. Miyeon slowly releases your cock from her mouth, takes a deep breath, crawls to you, and kisses your chest. She lays on your chest, feeling tits mashed onto you, and waits for you to catch your breath.

“It’s good as always.”

You couldn’t answer her, instead tapping your hands on her back. She giggles, knowing you had a good time with her.

“Want some food? It’s my treat since you came over.”

“Okay, princess.”

She gets her phone and scrolls through the menu to order. She purchases what she bought and washes up first. You lay down; her mouth was something else than you had ever experienced. You get up and dress, waiting for your turn to go to the bathroom. She comes out with a bright smile and heads to the living room. You wash up and come back to sit on the couch with her.

“Where is the sex scene for the drama?”

“After you confess your feelings to me at your house.”

“I haven’t read to that part yet, you’re committed.”

“I have to study hard to be a good lead for you anyways. I don’t have much experience as you.”

“I’ve been there, it gets easier if you find your ways.” You assured her.

“Apart from sex, you’re actually a great person, thanks.”

“I always give back my knowledge in acting, I won’t stay young forever.” The doorbell rings and miyeon gets the food. She comes back, placing it on the table.

“Let’s eat.” She gives you a spoon and fork, you both eat and talk about each others acting careers, getting closer to her. You finish your plate and wait on her. Miyeon finishes her plate minutes later.

“Well, I guess you have to leave, right?”

“Yea, I’ll see you at the next set, Miyeon.”

“Alright, see you there!” You both wave at each other and you headed home. The director calls you while you’re driving.

“There will be a sex scene next mouth.”

"Alright, let Miyeon know too." You play dumb while at the same time feeling guilty towards the director, whom you worked for many times, for not knowing about you and Miyeon’s secret.

-A month later-

You wake up and go wash up; tired and exhausted from all the filming and your tight schedule. You eat a small breakfast with your manager, who came over.

“I’m worried about Miyeon today.” Your manager said to you.

“I am too, but this is what she signed up for.” You played dumb with your manager.

“You’re going to be the talk of the town after that scene releases.”

“I can already see ahaha.”

You finish your small meal with your manager and head to the set, being the first to arrive with the director and other camera crew. Miyeon arrives after, and the director pulls the both of you to the side.

“The blanket on the bed will be covering the both of you. Miyeon only needs to wear a bra, pants will be on though.”

“Wouldn’t the scene be better if it’s more realistic?” Miyeon questioned the director.

"Uh, yeah, but I’ll need both of your consent if you both would rather do this." The director looks at you for an answer with a worried face.

“I don’t mind.” You answered.

The director nods and heads to the cameramen to notify them of the changes. You pull Miyeon to the side.

“Are you really that crazy, Miyeon?”

"It’s princess, we’ve been too busy for a month. I miss you being inside me; don’t you miss being inside me too?" She whispered to you.

“What are you doing tonight, Miyeon?”

“I’m doing you tonight.”

You nod, flustered and surprised by her answer. "You want lessons at eleven?"

“I’d love that.”

"Everyone get in your positions; cameras will roll in three minutes. Miyeon lays on the bed, covering herself until you get on top of her. You get on the bed with her. Miyeon secretly jerks you off slowly under the blankets until the director gives the both of you a signal. The camera crew comes in and gets in their positions to shoot the scene. The slate hits, and the cameras start rolling.

You make out with her, and she inserts your cock in. She moans romantically as you thrust her slowly and hugs you. Miyeon stares at you with her mouth open, turning you on even more and picking up the pace. The scene is more romantic than it was said to be. You kiss her neck as she tilts to the side for the camera.

“Cut!” The director yelled.

You get off of her, and your manager runs to you to get you a towel to walk back into the changing room. Miyeon follows along to the next stall beside you with her manager. You both don’t exchange words, trying not to be suspected by the managers. You come out, and your manager walks you to the director. Miyeon follows behind, being notified by her manager.

“You both have great chemistry, I think you both will win the best couple award.”

“Seems likely.” You laugh to the manager. Miyeon becomes silent, being flustered by the potential of getting the award with you.”

“Well sadly, the last scene will be next week. Let’s work hard.”

“Yes, director.” You and Miyeon said to the director.

Everyone heads to the next location, which takes another five hours to shoot. The last scene is a solo scene of Miyeon’s character, and you watch her through the screen. You become fascinated by Miyeon’s hard work.

"Cut! Let’s wrap it up and go home; it’s getting late." The director said. You check the time nonchalantly, and Miyeon comes beside you to look at her scenes.

“I did great.”

"You did, Miyeon." You complimented her. She goes to her manager to get ready to leave, and she thanks everyone. You head back to your manager's car while thanking everyone else as well. Miyeon’s manager drives her home, and you leave minutes later.

"The drama is ending soon; do you want to have a get-together with the actors and actresses that played a role?" Your manager asked you.

"I’m planning on it; I just don’t know where."

“Your house?” He gives you a recommendation.

“That’s actually a good idea.”

Your manager arrives at your house and drops you off. It was a quarter until eleven. You walk in your house until he leaves, and you get out again, driving to Miyeon. You get to Miyeon’s place, looking out for cameras and people, then knock on her door with a cap on. Miyeon opens the door, gladly seeing you, and walks you inside.

After she closes the door, Miyeon takes off her robe. You look at her: a push-up bra that makes her tits look so refined and bigger, tight shorts that show her thighs and ass cheeks as she walks in front of you. She catwalks, showing you her confidence to turn you off even more.

“What are you waiting for?” She walks to the hallway. You grab her tits from the back, feeling her bra pads as she laughs.

“Fuck, I deserve your body after the tigh schedules, Miyeon.”

“I deserve you in my bed also. I’ve been dying to get fucked by you.”

You pin her to the wall by her bedroom. "Let me rip your t-shirt apart; I’ll buy you a new one." You ripped her t-shirt off without her answering.

"It’s cheap; I only bought it for you to do this either way." She giggles. "Fucking handle me like this body is yours to abuse."

"Take my lessons like a good girl." You kiss her tits with her bra still on, feeling her soft tits in the small, tight bra waiting to be undone. She hugs you by the nape while you glue your face to your cleavage, licking it and kissing her tits. She pushes her tits against your face, letting you get hugged by her tits. You lick and kiss every side, grabbing her ass in her tight shorts and digging into her panties. Miyeon does the same and takes off your pants halfway to jerk your cock off.

You slide her shorts down and move her panties to the side of her inner thighs, quickly inserting your cock in as she squeals. You grab her hands, pinning her to the wall while she tiptoes. You both stare at each other with the lust between you two. You look into her beautiful, innocent eyes, knowing she loves fucking you with every chance she can get. Her little secret with you hasn’t gotten out. You fuck her harder and faster with her bra still on, looking at the amazing view of her body while you collide with her.

“Let’s go on the bed.” Miyeon asked you.

You pull out, and she walks through the door. You give her ass a slap, and she looks back, smirking at you, "You’re so aggressive today, but I fucking love it."

She lays down on her back, opening her legs, and you quickly insert your cock in without hesitation. She moans louder, and you hold her neck, choking her slowly and then putting more pressure as she smirks. Her walls get wetter and tighter, just like you want her to be. You thrust her deep and hard, hearing the sounds of bodies clapping in the room. You kiss her soft lips and make out with her aggressively. Miyeon’s loving every moment you do to her, fucking her body like you own her. She hugs your back, holding onto you as you penetrate her walls. You don’t stop fucking her for minutes, not having any rest as both of you breathe harder.

“Let me use my mouth that you love.” Miyeon asked.

"Get on top, princess." You pull out and lay on the bed. She quickly gets on her stomach and sucks you off. Miyeon bobs her head quicker, making her hair all messy. You look at her sucking you off—a beautiful idol that becomes a different person in bed. You close your eyes, feeling her mouth sucking you off so well. You grunt and gasp, she plays with your balls, asking for your warm cum to explode into her mouth. Miyeon makes more mess, saliva hanging down her chin, smudging her eyeliner and mascara in the process of her cravings.

“You must of been hungry for a month, princess.”

She releases from your cock and jerks you off slowly. "You taste so good, I can suck you off for hours, licking and making a mess on my bedsheet."

“I’ll grant you your desires after I make you cum.”

"Better not pass out if I keep making you cum; I’m not stopping. It’s been far too long without having you."

“It’s not even midnight, princess, take your time.”

Her phone rings, and she pauses to check her phone. She opens her mouth and sucks you off quietly.

“Miyeon, are you busy tomorrow?”

She quietly releases, "No, why?" Miyeon sucks you off quietly again as she waits for an answer.

“Want to go shopping?”

“Sure, what time?”

“Maybe one in the afternoon, are you eating something this late?”

“A popsicle.” She sucks your cock louder

“What flavor?”

“Guess, Minnie.” She smiles right at you.

“Orange?” Miyeon release from your cock again with Minnie’s answer.

“No, it’s so good, I’ve been addicted to this flavor.” Miyeon looks right at you saying that and smirks.

“If your not telling me then forget it.”

“Mhmm, it’s so good, Minnie.” Miyeon teases you and Minnie. You couldn’t believe she’s sucking you off while on the phone.

“Okay, just calling if you wanted to shop with us since you didn’t answer the text.”

“Okay.” She hangs up. “You love the tension don’t you?”

“That was pretty bold and hot, princess.” You complimented Miyeon.

“Shh, let me have more.”

You don’t say a word, only looking at her sucking you off loudly and messy. She arches her back, and you seeing her ass in the distance as your cock twitches.

“Seems like someone loves the view.” Miyeon said to you and sucks you off again.

“Fuck, your body is amazing, princess.”

You start getting to your limit by seeing her making a mess on your cock. She taps your thighs, knowing what’s in store for her. She goes deeper, feeling the back of her mouth hitting your cock. Miyeon’s tongue explores your cock inside her mouth. Your cock starts to pulsate, erupting quickly into her mouth as she chokes without letting go. You feel her mouth and throat trying to swallow while your cum floods her mouth. She chokes and gags harder with her eyes closed, trying to please you. She chokes harder than you ever saw and releases from your cock quickly. Cum drips from her mouth to her chin and down to the bedsheets. You get worried for her, but she puts her hand up to tell you she’s okay.

“Fuck, I couldn’t handle-” She coughs, gasping for air.

“Miyeon, why did you push yourself that hard.” You breathe heavily.

“I wanted to impress you more.” She catches her breath. Your cum drips from your tip and she lowers herself to finish the remaining cum off your cock.

“Miyeon, your already impressive. It felt good having your mouth deep on my cock, but I don’t want you hurting yourself like that.”

"I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to make me cum." She gets up and squats down on your face. You grip her thighs and explore her folds, licking her inner thighs to her clit, making her moan erotically. Miyeon grips your hair, and you dig your tongue into her wet pussy. Her moans become longer and more erotic, sounding like she was singing a chorus. You love it even more, as it makes you more turned on by her beautiful voice. You insert a finger inside her and lick her folds. She squeals at you fingering her, not knowing you would do that. She gets off and gets on her knees, then drops down on your face again.

"Just eat me; eat me until you are satisfied. I’m your meal tonight."

You lock her thighs, planning on making her jerk around harder as she cums. She holds onto her headrest and arches her back, feeling her pussy get eaten by you vigorously. She yells out cute moans that turn into little soft giggles, being so overwhelmed by your mouth. She grinds faster; her wet pussy smudges your mouth and nose, not caring; you keep making her satisfied until she cums.

Miyeon breathes harder and stands still; you know she’s getting to her limit and lock her thighs in as hard as you can to make her cum. She yells and moans while her body jerks, pinned by your arm. She arches her back, and her head drops behind. You bring your knee up in case she falls from you making her cum hard. Miyeon’s body tensed up, hearing her breathe loudly as she gasped for air. She gets quiet, slowly on the verge of cumming. Miyeon suddenly drops onto your thighs and knees, moaning loudly with her back being held.

Her hair dangles onto your legs, knowing her head is right off your knees and eat her slowly as she recovers from cumming hard. You kiss her inner thighs while they're tense and kiss her pussy while she rides out her orgasm. Miyeon's hair is still dangling as you lower your legs down for her. She brings her arm to her forehead, catching her breath with her eyes closed.

You sit up, seeing her catching her breathes, “How was it, princess?” You kiss her tits and her neck, waiting patiently for her answer. You glide your hand to her thighs, caressing them, and slowly make way to her folds to rub.

“Ah!” She yells out. You laugh at her from giving her a tease.

“May I make you cum again, princess?”

“It was so good, make me cum again.”

“You’re a good girl, princess.” You whispered in her ear.

You slowly insert two fingers into her pussy, gripping her walls and rubbing her clit. Your cock is in her view, and Miyeon grabs it, slowly jerking you off and squeezing it softly. Miyeon moans quietly and puts your cock on her lips, kissing the sides to your tip. You finger her faster as she lets go of her lips from your cock to moan. She holds onto your other arm tightly. She clenches her teeth, fighting her urge, as you finger her faster, hearing how wet and sensitive she is. You look at her tits, shaking each time you finger her walls with your fingers as she jerks her body.

Miyeon squeezes her hands tighter on your arm, knowing she’s going to cum again after a few minutes. Her beautiful face and body is something to admire that you love so much. You keep your pace while fingering her as she starts to cum. Her hands pull your arm down from the intensity of another orgasm. She yells and moans, body tenses up, and legs jerk. You slow down from fingering her, not wanting her to get exhausted. She catches her breath, and you pull your fingers out of her tight walls.

“Let me fuck you. I know you won’t last long after all this.”

You push her up towards you and make her lay on her back by the pillow. She opens her legs, and you insert your cock inside her. Miyeon grabs your hands, and you fall close to her face. You thrust quickly in her while you both stare at each other. Her eyes gleamed with passion and lust, suddenly locking her legs with yours so you wouldn’t pull out.

“I know you love this pussy.” She smirks at you, knowing it’s true.

"I’d admit." You thrust her deeper as she tilts her head back with her neck looking appetizing to kiss. You give her neck a kiss, and she hugs your back, exploring every part while you penetrate her.

"Miyeon, I’m going to cum." You look at her, and she stares back.

"Cum for me." You thrust her harder and cum inside her walls. She moans, feeling your cock pulsate deep in her—small moans and groans while you both looked into each other’s eyes. You fall beside her, still deep in her, and she hugs you tight. Miyeon gives you a kiss and pats your back. She searches for her phone and checks the time.

“Oh my, we’ve been fucking for hours, it’s almost morning!”

“What time is it?”

“It’s four thirty.”

“I guess you can suck me off for hours next time, princess.” You pull out and lay beside her.

“You aren’t leaving this late are you?”

"I'd rather sleep with you than leave, princess."

"Aw, come here and sleep on it then." You glue your face to her chest as you both close your eyes, falling asleep fast from all the sex you had with her tonight.

It’s now almost afternoon. Miyeon wakes up first and washes herself while you sleep. She walks out of the bathroom quietly and looks at you with a sad face, knowing the deal of being fuck buddies is almost over with the drama filming ending next week. Miyeon heads to the kitchen to make breakfast. You wake up minutes later to wash yourself and get out. Walking out of her room, she was sitting on the couch with food steaming from the sunlight.

“Good morning, princess.”

“Good morning.” You sit and eat with her. “You remember the deal we had?”

“What deal?”

“Where we become fuck buddies until the filming ends.” She looks down on the food.

“Oh that, yea why?” You answered her

"Hmm, nothing, just saying." Your tone made her think you wouldn’t fuck her after the filming ends.

"Okay, let’s eat up; you have to go in a couple of hours." She nods, and you both eat until the plates are finished. Miyeon washes the dishes, and you join her to help out. After washing the dishes, you leave her house. She closes the door and gets ready to go while you drive back home.

A week later after the last filming

You text Miyeon and a couple of colleagues that played a role in the filming. They all came to your house—Miyeon being the first to arrive and explores your house.

“Is this what success looks like?” Miyeon laughs.

“You’re successful too, I don’t know what your saying. I’m only successful in acting.”

“It’s a big house, you got a lot of trophies on the glass cabinet.”

“Hard work, Miyeon.”

The doorbell rings, and a group of your colleagues join, greeting you and Miyeon. You bring in some soju and beer for the small party from the drama film ending. You call them on the day the drama episode airs on TV and watch with them with alcohol and food on the table as you all watch the drama. You glance at Miyeon and the TV. Miyeon drinks a hefty amount and starts to make you question if she plans on crashing on your bed with you tonight. The other colleagues stare at the TV, enjoying everyone’s acting and complimenting each other.

The episode comes to an end, and you turn off the TV. Everyone claps for the great turnout and chemistry with each other. Everyone cleans up along with you until they go out the door, leaving Miyeon last.

"Miyeon, it’s our last time together today; I want you to enjoy every moment in my bed." You said it nonchalantly, but actually sad that it’s your last time with her.

“Okay, take me to your bed, you aren’t doing nothing tomorrow are you?”

“I freed up my schedule knowing you would say that, princess.”

“Im glad you did.” You walk her to the bed and she pulls your pants off.

“I can still keep going if you pass out, right?”

"Yes, princess." She sucks you off slowly, tasting your cock as she swallows and spits on it. You hold her hair, seeing that beautiful face of hers for the last time after today. She closes her eyes and bobs her head. Minutes later, Miyeon becomes messy, knowing today will be her last time having you. She takes off her clothes quickly to give you a view of her body. You play with her tits, and she squeals at you. Miyeon doesn’t let go of your cock but only goes deeper and slowly. You fall back onto your bed, staring at her sucking you off desperately. Slight gags and chokes fill the room with her soft moans. She rubs her clit after you fall back. Today is her day to have all the time she wanted for the last time.

She bobs her head faster, releasing momentarily to catch her breath with saliva dripping down her chin.

"You’re doing great, princess." She smiles and sucks you off again. You get distracted by looking at her the whole time, admiring her beauty, not knowing you’re getting to your limit.

“Miyeon, I’m going to cum.”

"Just what I wanted." She smirks and continues. You cum in her mouth, with Miyeon swallowing every cum until you finish. Miyeon continues to suck you off, not letting you get a rest. She uses her hands to jerk you off. Her tongue rubs against your tip, and she coats your tip with her warm breath.

"Get ready to give me more." She jerks you off and wraps her mouth around your tip. You grunt harder, realizing she’s actually not stopping until she’s fully satisfied. Miyeon jerks you off faster—her tongue takes over, licking your sensitive tip as you get overwhelmed. You breathe harder, realizing you’re going to cum again if she keeps going.

"Miyeon." She taps on your thigh, ready for another round of your cum. You tilt your head into the pillow and squeeze your hands. She keeps her pace, feeling your cock twitch in her mouth while you grunt. You breathe heavily and gasp for air, overwhelmed again by her mouth as she doesn’t stop. Your cock pulsates and then erupts in her mouth. She sucks you off faster, taking all the cum down her throat, and Miyeon gives pleasant soft moans from all the cum she’s having. Still not releasing, Miyeon goes for more, wanting you to cum as much as she can make you. Miyeon hasn’t said a word since, only having one goal for herself today. She bobs her head faster and plays with your balls. You grip the bedsheets while looking at her messy hair and mouth.

After minutes of her sucking you off constantly, she gets you to your limit again. Your body jerks more and breathes harder. You haven’t gotten a rest—her moans become louder without you knowing she’s fingering herself. Your cock begins twitching again after hearing Miyeon’s seductive soft moan. You erupt inside her again, she sucks you off faster, and your breaths turn into gasps, slowly losing sight. Miyeon sees you and jerks you off with your tip wrapped around her lips. You pass out while she helps herself to more. Miyeon starts riding your cock as you wake up again, seeing her ride you and give you a smile.

“Cum in me, then I’ll head home. I want to cum with you first.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

She rides you faster and kisses your chest as she rubs her clit. Her tight walls hug your sensitive cock, and she makes out with your neck. You grab her tits, squeezing and playing with them. Her moans get loud and erotic while she rides you. Miyeon rides you as deep as possible, making your cock penetrate her harder. She rides you for several minutes nonstop, with both of you sweating on the bedsheets. You grunt while she moans; you’re getting to your limit again by how tight she is.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum.”

“Keep going, princess, I will too.”

Miyeon tilts her head, closing her eyes to the ceiling with her back arched. She starts cumming with her moans getting louder, making her walls tighten up more as she stood still, body jerking that grinds your cock, and you cum inside her while you grunt—her nails dig into your collarbone. You catch your breath alongside her, and she comes back down, looking at you, laughing and smiling after.

“Fuck, I made you come four times, I loved every second of it.”

You gulp and catch your breath, “You’re always amazing, Miyeon.”

“Well, I’m glad we became fuck buddies, let’s act like we didn’t fuck at the award show.”

“Alright, see you in two months. I'll support you and your group.

"Thanks; I’ll cheer for you on your next projects." She gets off your cock and dresses up. You put on your clothes with her and walk her out the door, waving goodbye to each other.

Two months later

You sit at the table with your cast members for the drama, you and Miyeon were nominated for the best couple award. Miyeon comes to sit by you, followed by the rest of the cast. You and Miyeon act like nothing happened throughout the show. The host announces the best couple award with you, Miyeon, and many others nominated. The tension rises between the host and many others in the room until the host says your name and Miyeon’s. The confetti shoots out from the stage, hands clapping from colleagues and seniors in the industry.

"Can you both kiss for us like in the drama?" The host reads her lines, and you look at Miyeon and kiss her lips. She gets shy in front of everyone. Miyeon suddenly guides your face to her and kisses you back, sending everyone in the crowd cheering and yelling from the surprise.

"Oh my, is there a secret between you two, or is this chemistry so good!"

"It’s chemistry, Miyeon is a great actress—being her senior in the industry, I’d say she’s very hardworking. I loved every moment of acting alongside her. I will cheer for Miyeon when she’s dancing and singing."

“That’s some nice compliments from you! Miyeon, do you have any words to say?” The host asked.

“Yes, I’m glad I joined in this project, I got a lot of lessons from him and helped my acting. We got closer as colleagues with us supporting each other. I will always support you!” She smiles at you.

“You both aren’t dating right?” The host jokes around, you and Miyeon played it off by laughing.

“No, no, this is chemistry.” You laugh with the crowd, hearing chants and claps. The show goes on with you and Miyeon sitting until the show ends. Slowly but surely the show ends hours later.

Everyone left the table, only leaving you and Miyeon behind until she taps your shoulders, “Can you come over and gives me lessons? I really want some lesson from you.”

You give her some thought: "I think we can get some lessons done." She smiles brightly, having your guard down with the camera still rolling as it captures the whole room with you and Miyeon having a conversation. You walk her out to her manager, and you head home. Upon heading back home, news articles flood with you and Miyeon secretly dating. Being caught up in rumors many times, you laugh it off until you see the video of the conversation Miyeon had with you in the room. Luckily, no sounds were recorded; only saw a natural conversation, and you laugh at that video was just a baseless rumor.

You head to Miyeon’s house after clearing up your relationship with Miyeon on the phone with your company. You get to her house, looking out for paparazzi and people spying, then knock on her door. She greets you, laughing at all the rumors surrounding you two, and closes the door.

“Shall we continue this secret relationship of ours?”

“Why not, princess.”

#gidle smut #kpop smut #miyeon smut

680 notes · View notes

saerins · 1 year ago

Text

⋆୨ prologue ୧˚ all see through, just like glass

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ next: chapter one - thorns without flowers, bars with no drinks ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 1.6k | ೀ content warnings: modern au, rich!reader & rich!sae, fluff/angst, swearing, somewhat boys being boys, manipulation/gaslighting, bad parents, yn has a sister here but won’t be mentioned too much !

i. y/n

“Don’t be so overly emotional, sweetheart. Isn’t this absolutely perfect for you?”

“You’re saying no? Can’t believe you’d say that… you know if you don’t do this you’re only damning your little sister instead, right?”

“Sweetie, we are listening to you. But don’t you think we would know what’s best for you? We’re only criticising you because we love you.”

Marriage; a concept you’d been familiar with since young, way back when you had a dream to marry your one and only Prince Charming—someone who’d appear one day and completely sweep you off your feet. Five year olds are silly like that. You’d believe in Prince Charming and fairytale endings and that two people in love would always work things out.

Being the daughter of a very successful businessman, a lot of things were given to you as a child. You never had to ask for toys, or books, or anything at all. Your father would ensure your material needs were well taken care of, and your mother would ensure you’re pampered from head to toe, buying you designer assets and making sure you look the best you can at each instance.

Life in the upper echelon is mostly desirable; the privileges are apparent, the favouritism rampant. You’re grateful for what you have, but there’s a small ball of thought inside you that wishes for your parents not to see you as a product, but as their child. Most of the people you had met had absolutely zero problems with their upbringing, perfectly content with being handed everything on a silver plate.

Most people except Mikage Reo, your best friend since the fourth grade. He hated having his life dictated for him too, and you both found common ground in that. Ever since then, you’d both been close as ever.

“Wait wait wait,” he nearly chokes on his rice, the disbelief in his tone overwhelming, an eyebrow cocked as his fringe falls over his left eye. “Repeat that again.”

A small sigh escapes your lips, your fork poking against the rice in your bowl, any form of appetite you had earlier being sucked out just by revisiting the topic. “It’s an arranged marriage.”

Reo appears unamused, but he restrains himself from commenting too much negativity. “And… what did you say?”

That’s why he’s a good friend—he feels you out first before filtering what he needs to say. He’ll still speak his mind, but depending on your decision, he’ll choose his words carefully.

You’ve always been eternally grateful for his presence. It calms you down, that sense of comfort irreplaceable. You know that if you ever really screw anything up that bad, you’ll have him—and really, that’s enough for you. Out of everything you have, you think this friendship’s probably the most precious one.

“The wedding’s in a couple months,” you half-answer, deciding to stop playing with your food and putting your fork down. The clang of the metal hitting the marble-top table is the last sound you hear for a while before Reo clears his throat.

Before Reo can get any words out, you interject. “The guy said yes too, apparently.”

Now he chokes on his rice.

You slide the glass of water across the table and Reo chugs it down, water trickling down the sides of his lips at his urgency. “How the fuck did your parents get Itoshi Sae of all people to say yes?”

Itoshi Sae. The name of your to-be husband. You know him as much as what you can search online. Twenty-five this year. No hobbies but it’s rumoured he’s good in soccer. He’s a lot like you when it comes to status and standing in the business world—the kid of successful self-made parents who everyone in your immediate circle automatically expects good things from. The pressure to perform and become someone of note since birth is probably something you both share. Except, maybe, Itoshi Sae looks like he’s a lot less obedient than you are. He looks like he’s more rebellious than not, and that’s why you wonder if he has any hidden agendas by agreeing to this business arrangement.

You know why you’re agreeing.

“Seriously, we raised this child and yet she’s so ungrateful!”

“Y/N, you know if you don’t do this then he’s just going to force this on your little sister, right?”

How can you let that slide as a big sister? Especially when your little sister is perfectly happy in a long-term relationship? Unfortunately, threatening their children isn’t below your parents.

Even when you revisit the conversation in your head, your mother’s faux concern is nauseating. She’s always been that way; everything your father says goes and she doesn’t offer much else other than what he expects of her. Maybe that’s why you grew up to be this way.

Shrugging, you turn your attention back to Reo, a small pout forming on your lips. “You know my dad. He’s always been good at talking.”

“What about you though? Are you really okay with this?”

At this point, Reo’s the only one who’s genuinely concerned for you. Maybe because he knows about all your childish dreams about finding The One. While you appreciate his concern, you brush it off.

“Yeah, I mean, how bad could things possibly get with Sae?”

Reo’s eyebrows show he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t say more.

“I’ll be fine, Reo, promise.”

You’ll just have to win Itoshi Sae over. Even if it’s hard, you’re determined to try and make the most of it. It won’t be that bad if you work hard on it… right?

ii. itoshi sae

“Either do this, or I’ll get Rin instead. It’ll be a pain, but don’t think I won’t do it.”

“Honey! Stop speaking like that… Sae, please try to understand, this will be a huge opportunity. It’s the least you owe us, hm?”

“You lost your shot, do you want Rin to lose his too?”

“If you don’t want her, I'll take her.”

“Go ahead.”

Sae’s completely tuned out of the conversation, the thoughts of his upcoming wedding filling his head. Now that everything’s settled between yours and his parents, it’s really kicking in that fuck, did he really let them dictate his love life like that?

“She’s pretty hot, though. I think she’s just a year younger than you?” Oliver’s scrolling through your Instagram—typical behaviour from his end. The moment Sae told them your name, it took only half a minute for Oliver and Otoya to find your online presence.

L/N Y/N. He’s always heard of you. Your name constantly leaves his parents’ mouths, ever since he was a kid. Apparently, your parents and his have been tight since high school. Sae is sceptical about the relationship, though. Nothing is ever that plain and simple between rich families. There must be a reason Sae’s never personally seen you, after all, despite his parents claiming to have a good relationship with yours.

“What the fuck’s going through their heads?”

And by that, Sae assumes that Otoya means his parents. If that’s the case, Sae has long decided he’s given up trying to understand what goes on in their heads—but if he had to guess, it’s probably all because of a simple business deal.

Having their kids wed each other would mean that one of them is absorbing the other. A little side knowledge that Sae doesn’t care for, so he only shrugs in response.

“Aw, little Sae is growing up,” Oliver sneers, earning a snicker from Otoya and a middle finger from Sae himself.

Otoya eggs him on, adding to the fire. “Yeah, to think that the guy who only ever dated once in his whole fucking life is the one getting married first,” he comments, eyes gazing to the side in deep thought, “what was her name again? Mirin?”

“Oh fuck, yeah I forgot about her,” Oliver exclaims, smirking at Sae. “First love type shit, right?”

Sae rolls his eyes, ignoring him, forcing him to change the subject.

“Shit, didn’t think you were the kind to ever say yes though,” Oliver remarks, eyes still glued onto the screen, likely still scrolling through your posts.

Oliver’s standards are quite high. Are you really that pretty? Sae’s never actually seen what you look like.

“I’m not fucking marrying her. I don’t even know her.”

“Maybe we should just pull Rin out then, get him to come back here and handle all this.”

“Sae, be a good boy and listen to us, okay? How about this—if it ever gets too bad, we’ll look into a divorce in the future, hm?”

As if he believes that. His parents are insufferable. There’s no point in ranting to this group though, so Sae brushes it off.

“Not like I care about this marriage shit,” he leans back, an air of nonchalance around him. “I’ll just shut my parents up and wait for the right time to leave.”

Otoya scoffs, smirking. “Lucky girl.” Sarcasm is his forté.

Oliver laughs, finally putting his phone down. “Okay you do that, and then I’ll pop up and be her Prince Charming and sweep her off her feet.”

Sae inwardly sighs to himself. His friends are insufferable as well, though he’d argue whether that’s the correct term for them. They’re only a group because their families happened to meet often. Somehow, Sae had been dragged into this weird association one day, and the rest is history.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

The rest of the night, Sae drowns out their conversation, choosing to ignore whatever shit they’re talking about. In his head, he’s only thinking about how long it’ll take before he can safely absolve himself from you without his parents threatening his younger brother’s career. More importantly, he’s wondering how the fuck he’s going to tell you he’s thinking of a divorce even before you get married.

Surely, you don’t really expect anything to come out of this either, do you?

If you do, you’ve got a rude awakening coming.

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover

#itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #bllk itoshi sae #itoshi sae #૪ aeri’s fics !

374 notes · View notes

faelorelia · 8 months ago

Text

"Will's love towards Mike is a really beautiful thing." – Finn Wolfhard

And he is absolutely right. Throughout the whole series, the "Stranger Things" creators have made it clear to the audience how special Will and Mike's bond is and how much Mike truly means to Will. They have consistently highlighted the depth of Will's feelings towards Mike, and his love has saved the day quite a few times already. ❤️

Will's love for Mike is sincere, pure, quiet and completely unconditional. It's a love unspoken, yet expressed a million times through his actions. Will couldn't keep the truth from Mike in S1, even though it was just a small detail related to D&D. Despite being possessed, Will drew strength from Mike's presence and care, as if Mike was his beacon of light in the darkness. Mike's heartfelt monologue to Will about how asking him to be his friend was "the best thing he's ever done" reached Will's soul thanks to the love he felt, and that helped them all to stop the Mind Flayer in S2. In that same season, Mike was the one who Will was able to recognize after his possession because of how strong his feelings for the boy were.

We also saw the tender and emotional moments between Will and Mike in S3 and S4. Will's heartbreaking confession of "not going to fall in love" when he was (probably) already aware of his romantic feelings for his childhood best friend hits even harder when you think about it. Despite the times Mike unintentionally hurt Will, Will's love for him has remained too strong for him to simply forget and move on. There is just no way Will could ever get that boy out of his heart.

Because that's the thing – Mike is his heart, and Will hinted at it himself (albeit in a veiled form). Will's unconditional love for Mike is what led this sweet, sensitive and traumatized kid to set aside his own desires and pain just to ensure the happiness of the boy he loves. Even if Mike's happiness lies with his girlfriend (who also happens to be Will's new sister). Even if it means Mike is happy without him. But Will has long accepted this because he's inherently selfless and caring. He prioritizes the happiness of his loved ones over his own.

Will promised Mike he'd never be replaced and stayed fiercely loyal, as we saw in that unforgettable "Not possible" moment in S3 and later on in the show. Will was always there for Mike in S4 when he needed support and encouragement. He tried his best to patch things up between Mike and El, thinking it was what Mike wanted. Will even pushed Mike to open up to El, reminding him of his irreplaceable role in the party. Through it all, Will did everything he could to lift Mike's spirits, making sure he felt needed, valued and loved (even if it was indirectly through others).

And to prove, once again, how beautiful Will's love towards Mike is, I want to remind you of his monologue in the van scene where he was expressing his feelings for Mike by disguising them as Eleven's (slightly adapted to fit the purpose):

“Anyway, my point is, see how you're leading us here? You're guiding the whole party, inspiring us. That… That's what you do. And see your coat of arms here? It's a heart. And I know it's sort of on the nose, but that's what holds this party together. Heart. Because, I mean, without heart, we'd all fall apart. Even [me]. Especially [me]. These past few months, [I've] been so lost without you. It's just, [I'm] so different from other people, and… when you're… when you're different, sometimes… you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I'm] not a mistake at all. Like [I'm] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it's because [I'm] scared of losing you, like you're scared of losing [El]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I… I think [I'd] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. So, yeah, [I] need you, Mike. And [I] always will.”

If Will's love for Mike isn't beautiful, then I don't know what is. Because "Stranger Things" shows us the true power of love and how it can change the world for the better. I find it truly inspiring. ❤️‍🩹

#byler #byler tumblr #byler nation #will byers x mike wheeler #will x mike #will and mike #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things

223 notes · View notes

writeforfandoms · 1 year ago

Text

Born for Greatness 8

Find the series masterlist

Well here we are! This is the last official chapter of the story. I do have one short bonus chapter written that is Price and Logan, and I’m open to doing more! I may try to revisit this pack again. If you have ideas/requests, feel free to let me know!

In which we finally get answers. All of us.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, pack cuddles, the boys are too cute, brief mention of drugs (from last chapter), I finally get to make the joke

John Price x f!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Four days after the forced shift incident, you had been gently but firmly shooed out of the investigation. Which was fine by you - you were not an investigator. You’d handed everything over to John and wiped your hands clean of the mess.

But it had put some things into perspective for you.

“Finally made up your mind?” Logan dropped down next to you, leaning back to join you laying on the grass.

“Mmhm.” You smiled up at the sky, oddly peaceful despite the butterflies in your tummy.

“And?” Logan nudged you, clearly not patient enough to wait you out this time.

You breathed in, slow and deep. You hadn’t quite told John your plans yet, but he’d been busy trying to figure out who’d sent the letter. So. You’d update him as soon as he came up for air.

“I’ve got a moving company lined up to take care of my apartment,” you told him, still looking up at the clouds. “I was gonna ask you to supervise. You’ll know what’s important and what can get shoved in storage.”

“Storage.” Logan snorted. “Send it to my place, I’ve got room.”

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best?”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You laughed, quiet but sincere. “I figured you’ll have to send me a few more things, but we can figure that out when you’re at the apartment. I still have no idea what all is damaged.”

“Not botherin’ you?” Logan glanced at you, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s just stuff.” You shrugged. “I keep the irreplaceable things with me.”

“Smart kid.” Logan chuckled. “And the pack?”

You hesitated for a moment. You hadn’t said the words out loud yet, despite knowing what you wanted. You swallowed and tipped your head to look at him. “I’m staying here.”

Logan chuckled. “Atta girl.”

“Oh shut up.” But you were grinning, relaxing under his clear approval.

“Figured that out, have you?”

“Eh.” You wiggled one hand back and forth in a so-so motion. “I know I want to stay. They want me to stay. We haven’t actually discussed the details of it, but… I trust they’ll figure it out.”

Logan smiled. “Well. That’s a change from your normal.”

“It is.” You swallowed, glancing over at him. “Figured I’d actually listen to you for once.”

He snorted. “Had to happen eventually.”

The two of you lapsed into silence for a few minutes, both enjoying the gentle warmth of the sunshine.

“This doesn’t mean I won’t see you anymore, or anything,” you suddenly pointed out. Because that was something you’d thought about before.

“Course not,” Logan agreed. “Else I’d come kidnap you.”

You snorted. He would, too, if he felt he had to. “Figured when they’re gone doing their thing, I can fly out and stay with you, at least some of the time.”

“That would be good.” He spoke slowly, but he couldn’t hide the emotion in his voice.

“What?” You rolled onto your side, alarmed, looking him over quickly.

But Logan smiled and shook his head. “Not a bad thing,” he muttered, waving you off. “Just. You finally stopped running.”

You warmed and ducked your head, rolling back onto your back. “Yeah. Guess I did.” You side-eyed him. “But if you throw me into the pond again, I’ll get Ghost to throw you in for me.”

“Fair,” Logan allowed. The two of you lapsed into quiet again, comfortable and easy.

At least until Logan stretched. “When is the moving company set to start?”

“They estimated in three days, but I told them I’d get back to them for sure after I talked to you.”

He grunted. “That’s fine. Better go book a ticket.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind doing this for me?”

“Kid, it’s going through your crap. How hard can it be?” Logan smirked, getting to his feet and holding a hand down to you. “I’ll just annoy the crap outta you until you give me all the answers.”

You laughed, taking his hand and letting him haul you up. “You’re an ass.”

“I’d say you volunteered, but you didn’t.” He smirked at you, easy and amused.

You both turned when you heard a woof, and Soap attempted to tackle you. Attempted, because you stepped out of the way. His paws hit the ground and he huffed at you.

“Nuh uh,” you scolded gently. “No tackling.”

“You’ll have your hands full with that one,” Logan muttered, grinning like the little shit he clearly was. “Payback.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, and only realized a moment too late what he’d done. Soap jumped up on his hind legs, front paws balanced against your stomach, tail wagging about a mile a minute. “Uh. You didn’t hear anything, Soap. I have to talk to John first.”

He barked and ran off a few steps before running back to circle you and run away again.

“I think I’m being herded,” you told Logan, voice dry.

“You better go before he starts nipping,” Logan agreed, just as dry. “I’ll find you later.”

You nodded and hesitated a moment before you darted in to hug him, tight. Just for a moment. Then you backed off and walked away.

Soap boofed at you, tail still wagging, high-stepping through the grass.

“Oh hush. You menace.”

Soap just wagged his tail before running ahead of you. You opened the door into the building for him, and he trotted straight to John’s office and sat.

“Alright, thanks. Now shoo.”

His ears lowered and he hunched a little, looking up at you with big sad eyes.

“No, I don’t care. Do not give me those eyes. This is a private conversation and you’re not invited.”

Soap huffed but slunk off down the corridor. Shaking your head, you knocked on the door.

“Come in,” John called.

He was seated behind his desk, paperwork spread in front of him, though he was looking at you. His lips twitched in a soft little smile.

“You busy?” You closed the door gently behind you.

“Not for you.” He pushed back from his desk, though he let you decide where you wanted to be. You settled on the couch, because at the very least you wanted to be comfortable for this discussion.

“So. Never got to answer your question the other day.”

John joined you on the couch, though he did leave a bit of space between you. Likely for your comfort, because you saw him start to reach for you and pull back. “We got interrupted.”

“We did.” You took a deep breath, reaching over to take his hand. He watched you but he didn’t push, giving you time. “I was going to tell you yes. I want to stay.”

The smile that inspired was warm and big and possibly one of your new favorite things. “Yeah?”

“Yes, John.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little, squeezing his hand.

“I’ve got a follow up question, then.” He shifted closer to you, eyes bright.

“Okay.” You smiled, watching him.

“Would you allow me to court you?” He took your free hand as well, dipping his head a little to hold your gaze. “Properly.”

You warmed under his gaze but nodded. “I’d like that very much,” you agreed, soft and almost shy.

There was a whoop from outside the door, almost immediately muffled, followed by a thump. Then another thump.

John sighed, his head dropping forward, even as your shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Fuckin’ muppets.”

“They’re yours,” you pointed out, extremely unhelpfully.

“They will be yours too, soon.” John released your hands and stood, marching over to the door and yanking it open. “Sergeants!”

Leaving Soap to sputter through an explanation, Gaz darted around him and straight to you, nearly bowling you over in his excitement.

“You’re a menace,” you muttered, unable to keep the affection from your tone.

“Only a bit.” Gaz deliberately met your gaze, beaming, held it for a count of three, and then dropped his gaze. This was much more intentional than the last time he’d done it, a very clear showing that you were higher ranked in the pack than he was. And, as if that wasn’t enough, he squirmed in until he could tuck his head under your chin.

You melted. Just a little. Sure, this was a grown-ass man who was taller than you, but he was just. Too damn cute.

“Not at all excited, huh?” you couldn’t help but tease, turning your head to rest your cheek on top of his head.

“Just a bit,” he muttered back, arms tight around your waist. “I’m just… You’re good for him. For us. I’m happy you’re staying.”

You smiled, rubbing your cheek on top of his head, even though it didn’t quite work the same way as it would from a shifter. He still shivered and melted into you, totally relaxed.

“You’re still in trouble,” John grumbled, even as his weight dropped down next to you. “Even if you are being cute.”

“Yes sir,” Gaz muttered, grin clear in his voice.

“Sure you wanna deal with these muppets?” John asked, curling one arm around your shoulders.

“I think they’ll give me less of a hard time than they do you.” You couldn’t help but slant an amused smirk at him.

“Probably right.”

“We’ll behave,” Soap added, as he popped up on your free side and very nearly gave you a heart attack with how stealthy he’d been.

“Bells,” you grumbled, tightening your grip on Gaz. “I’m putting bells on all of you.”

“Sounds distracting.” Ghost lounged in the doorway, smirking.

“Hopefully.” You raised an eyebrow at him, waiting to see if he’d come closer.

He didn’t. “Johnny, move your arse.”

Soap grumbled but got up again, tapping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz sighed against your shoulder, squeezed you one more time, and then released you. Ghost shut the door after them.

“Now,” John murmured, a teasing little smile on his lips, “where were we…?”

“Something about courting,” you teased right back, though you did shift to face him on the couch.

“Mm, yes.” His hands settled on your waist, pulling you slowly but inexorably closer. “And you said yes.”

“Did I?” You feigned surprise. “Hmm. Sounds reasonable.”

John chuckled. “Tease,” he murmured, the word soaked in soft affection.

This time, he didn’t give you a chance to respond. He just kissed you, slow and sweet and exploratory. He pulled back, but you didn’t give him a lot of space, dipping your head to kiss the corner of his lips. His jaw. The underside of his chin. His soft groan rumbled through the air between his chest and yours, and you hummed a satisfied note.

“You are gonna be a handful,” he murmured, hands tightening around you.

“Only if I’m doing this right.” You smiled against his skin, pressing one last kiss to his throat.

“What do you need from me? To help you settle in more permanently.” One big hand left your waist, rubbing up your back to settle at the nape of your neck.

You shrugged. “Logan is going to pack up my apartment, so he’ll send me a few more things. Other than that… I don’t really need much.”

“Think about it,” he encouraged. “And tell me what you think.”

“Alright.” You didn’t think you’d come up with much, but he was the alpha. It was his job to make sure everyone had what they needed.

“When is Logan leaving?”

“Not sure. He had to go get tickets, said he’d update me when he had them.”

John grunted softly, leaning back and pulling you with him until you were cuddled against his chest, your cheek against his shoulder. You could definitely get used to this.

“There’s one more thing I need to do,” you murmured into the gentle, quiet space between you two. “It won’t be the only time, but it’s tradition.”

“What’s that?” John asked softly, his nose nudging your temple.

“Cook dinner for you. I always cook dinner for packs, usually right at the end of the job.”

“You haven’t officially finished yet?” But John didn’t sound upset, just mildly surprised.

“The letter incident pushed back the completion of the job.”

“Hm.” John nudged your temple again. “You’ll let me know what you need?”

“Yes but only because that was a question.”

John snorted, squeezing the back of your neck gently. “I should get back to work.”

“Five more minutes?”

He acquiesced with a little sigh, holding you close.

It took you until the next day to get everything taken care of. The last of the paperwork had been signed. Your final check had been deposited in your account.

You were truly free and clear of any work.

So, naturally, you were making more food than you needed. But with five shifters to feed, you figured that would do just about right.

“Need any help?”

You didn’t jump only because you’d heard Logan coming. He didn’t bother to sneak much of anywhere.

“No, I got it.” You looked at him and then did a double take. “I thought your flight wasn’t leaving until the morning?”

“Got a call from an old friend,” he murmured, stepping closer and setting his duffel bag down momentarily. “Gonna go visit them for the night before I head back.”

“Oh.” You couldn’t help the way your chest clenched at that. You knew you’d see him again, probably sooner than later, but still. You’d thought you’d have a little more time.

“Sorry, kid.” He stopped in front of you. “Especially sorry to miss out on this.”

That got you to snort. “Next time.”

“Next time,” he agreed softly. He pulled you into a hug, tight and warm and familiar. You relaxed into him with a little hum, holding him tight.

When he pulled back, you let him go. “Safe trip and all that.”

“Thanks,” he drawled, stepping back and picking up his duffel bag again. “Don’t burn anything.”

“Ass,” you grumbled as you turned back to the stove. “Say hi to Charles for me.”

“I’m not visiting him,” Logan called back, only a little annoyed.

You smirked. “Say hi to Erik for me.”

“Definitely not that asshole,” Logan shouted back from the hall. And then he was gone, leaving you to cackle to yourself. Sometimes it was just too easy to rile him up.

You didn’t bother to plate things up in any fancy way, just laying out the selection for the pack and then stepping out of the way so you’d have a good view when they came in.

Which you did. And you took in the awed expressions with absolute glee.

“Christ, love.” John walked over to you first, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Trying to spoil us?”

“Maybe a little.” You shrugged, unrepentant. “Sit.”

You let them settle first, though you kept half your attention on Ghost, figuring he’d want some privacy.

But he surprised you, meeting your eyes for a split second before he nodded to the chair left open on John’s left. Across from him. You raised one eyebrow but moved to the chair and sat, curious.

“Don’t need to be so cautious,” Ghost grumbled, passing a dish to John.

“You like your privacy.” You shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal, not to you.

He huffed something like a laugh, folding the bottom of his mask up to just above his nose. Scars gone silvery with age marked his skin in the brief glimpse you allowed yourself before you returned your gaze to his forehead.

“You’re pack now,” was all he said before he took a bite of food. You had the pleasure of watching his eyes widen, just a little.

Your satisfied smile didn’t go unnoticed, but John only chuckled at you and put more food on your plate. You weren’t surprised - that was very much courting behavior for a shifter.

“Forgot to mention, love.” John glanced at you. “Figured out who sent that letter.”

“Yeah?” You tipped your head, curious.

“Keyes.”

“That’s disappointing but not surprising. I’m sure he’s got the contacts to get that kind of drug.” You shrugged. “I trust he’s being handled?”

“Thoroughly.” John’s smirk was small but satisfied.

“Oi.” Gaz huffed at the both of you. “Stop talking shop and eat.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Oh yeah. Life was definitely not going to be boring with this pack.

To say that dinner was a success was putting it mildly. Most of the food was demolished. Soap and Gaz both ate too much and groaned their way to the couch to collapse.

“Your emotional support dog abandoned you,” you drawled to Ghost.

“What?” He blinked, startled.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those videos.” You perked up, a grin slowly stretching your lips.

“What videos?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

Holding back your evil cackles, you turned on the TV and quickly navigated to your favorite zoo. “In zoos, cheetahs are like balls of anxiety, right? So this one zoo started pairing a cheetah with an emotional support dog, letting the dog be the more dominant partner. Which allowed them to do things like take their cheetahs on walks and show off their speed and stuff, because if the dog is relaxed, the cheetah is relaxed.” You pointed at the screen where a dog and a cheetah were walking calmly together. “It’s you and Soap.”

For a moment there was silence before Gaz burst out laughing.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost sighed, dropping his head. “I’ll remember this.”

“Oh I know.” Far too smug, you grinned and settled on the couch, totally unsurprised when Soap immediately used your thigh as a pillow.

“Where is this?” he asked, grinning up at you.

“The San Diego Zoo was the first to do it, but I believe the practice has been adopted by several zoos now.” You paused for dramatic effect. “And one task force.”

Gaz rolled onto his stomach to muffle his giggling into the couch, while Soap just covered his face with one hand, laughing so hard he was actually nearly silent.

“Stop pokin’ fun at him.” John dropped down next to you, arm settling across your shoulders.

“He’ll get his revenge eventually.” You leaned a little into him, fingers carding idly through Soap’s hair.

“When did you get so snarky?” Ghost grumbled even as he settled in his normal seat.

“When this stopped being a job.” You grinned, unrepentant, even as you switched away from the zoo video and over to some sci-fi movie you’d been meaning to rewatch. “Now I wanna see how confused you all get with this.”

“Mean.” But John was smiling as he said it, tugging you closer until you were cuddled in against his side, Soap still using your thigh as a pillow.

You knew things wouldn’t always be this easy, this lighthearted. But for once you were prepared to work for it. For them. To keep them. The way they were clearly willing to work to keep you. And that was enough.

#born for greatness #john price x reader #john price x you #shifter au #f!reader

590 notes · View notes

neobomb · 1 year ago

Text

give into things i (dont) want to [mark lee]

Toxic! (yandere ish) possessive/jealous! bsf!Mark x nerd! innocent!reader, hints of Jaemin x reader. Warnings: dark and triggering content, mature themes, toxic behaviour, manipulation, forcing??, inappropriate behaviour, MDNI, there will be smut in other parts First part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. [Pt.1] [Pt.2] Word Count: 1.1k Summary: Your best friend Mark doesn't like it when you go out on a date. © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

“Who did you go on that date with?” Mark's voice was tinged with impatience. You paused, your attention torn between the problem sheet in front of you and his probing question.

“Seriously, Mark? Now’s not the time.” Your voice was weary, the familiar topic weighing on you.

“Look, Y/N, we’ve been inseparable since we were kids. I’m your best friend. You’re supposed to tell me everything.” His voice softened, his desperation evident. There was always a buzz of curiosity about you, mainly because dating was never your focal point. Your peers saw you as a diligent student, so engrossed in academics that romance was a distant thought.

Taking a deep breath, you met his eyes. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But promise you won’t overreact.” You knew Mark all too well. Over the years, you'd come to understand Mark's protective streak. It wasn't just about keeping suitors at bay; it was deeper than that. He was ever-present, casting a watchful eye over anyone who tried to get close. Sometimes, you wondered why you tolerated his constant presence, but a part of you appreciated the bond you two shared. After all these years, he stuck to you like glue.

“I went out on a date with Jaemin last friday when you were on your way back from Canada. He took me to his favorite café. That’s all.” you blurted out. For a moment, the room felt still, the weight of your words settling between you.

“I was just curious, you know.” he murmured, his gaze drifting to your lips. “I was away for two damn weeks and you’re already looking to replace me.” Confusion clouded your eyes as you met his gaze. A tangible hint of betrayal was evident in his expression. You could sense the tension building between the two of you. “Mark, don’t say it like that. You know that you’re irreplaceable to me.” The pain in his eyes was unbearable, and you wished you could take back your words. Regret surged through you for having shared that piece of information with him.

“I’ve come to realize that… I don’t even like him in that way. We're just planning to hang out as friends, that's all.” Even as the words left your lips, you knew Mark could see through them. That was a blatant lie, a desperate attempt to make the situation better. You’ve had a crush on Jaemin for ages, and you never expected him to ask you out.

“Jaemin is the complete opposite of you. He’s too cocky and you’re very naive. He doesn’t deserve you.” A shadow of disappointment crossed Mark's face, his intense gaze making it difficult for you to meet his eyes.

“You shouldn't surround yourself with people like him. He won’t ever be your true friend. Why isn't just having me in your life enough for you?“ A tear slowly fell from your eye out of sheer distress. The last thing you wanted was for Mark to feel undervalued. In truth, he meant more to you than words could express. No one knew you like he did. He would do anything for you. You did not deserve him.

“I’m sorry, Mark,” you whispered. Gently, he cradled your face in his hand, brushing away the tear with his thumb.

“You’re so pretty when you cry.” he murmured, his face moving closer. Just as your lips were almost brushing against each other, you turned your head, breaking free from his hold, refusing to give into whatever he desperately tried to manipulate you into. “You’re really hurting me, you know that, right?” he says in disappointment.

"If by 'hurting you' you mean not letting you use this situation to manipulate me, then yes," you responded firmly, realizing the precariousness of the situation. The wetness of your tears was replaced by a steely resolve as you recognized the toxicity of his approach. “It’s both a blessing and a curse that we know each other so well” he smirked and continued to let silence fill the room for the next hour or two.

"Did anything happen between you and Jaemin?" he asked, attempting to redirect the conversation and breaking the long comforting silence. “I bet he tried to kiss you.”

“No, I was too self conscious to let anything happen.” you responded, your pen moving steadily across your notebook, scribbling rounded shapes.

“So you need someone you’re comfortable with. Someone you can fully trust.” he says in a husky voice while his hand grabs your thigh, slowly making moves up your thigh, playing with the hem of your skirt.

“Mark, don’t-'' you stop him. Placing both of your hands on his, pushing it away from moving dangerously close to your inner thigh. “Y/N, give me one good reason why we can’t continue this.” He grips onto your wrist, making you stop in your tracks. “We’ve been through this many times, Mark. I can give you a million reasons.”

“You say a lot of things, Y/N” he whispers to you softly, closing the distance between the two of you once again. Mark is tired of hearing your nonsense. He is resentful of the confines of the title 'best friend' you assigned him. He yearns for you to see beyond those constraints, to envision a future with him. He desperately wants to be more than your friend, yet the fear of confessing and potentially losing you holds him back. It has been holding him back for years.

“None of your reasons can explain the look you give me. I mean, you don’t look at someone like that unless you’re in love, right?” Your cheeks flush, taken aback by his ability to see right through you. Breathless, you find yourself entranced as his eyes flit between your lips and your gaze. His grip held your thigh so tightly, nails digging into your sensitive skin.

“I’m scared, Mark. This feels weird.” you say while desperately trying to look away from him. Your attempts would ultimately fail as he brings his hand to cup your chin, forcefully turning your face to meet his. His intense stare is making you shake to your core.

“The panic in your face does wonders to me” he says as he finally presses his lips onto yours, kissing you roughly. His endless passion pouring into the kiss made you swallow your meaningless innocent pleas in between kisses. You were unaware of the depth of his yearning, blind to the years of unwavering devotion he had silently offered you. He has been longing for you for way too long. His patience has run out.

357 notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 10 months ago

Text

Lasting Pictures: Interrogation (pt.6)

Pairing: Poly!Task Force 141 x Photographer!Reader

Summary: Stress is weighing down every part of your life, your relationships are strained, your work is becoming sloppy and you are desperate for answers- yet where will those answers lead you to and at what cost?

Warnings: 4592 words, slowburn, swearing, depictions of PTSD, blood, and injury. Allusions to jealousy.

A/N: we are reaching the end? (not really ahhaha). Apologies for the lack of uploads- uni has been serving up hell recently :/

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

↳ Three Weeks Until Mission “Spill”

Across the next few days you were splitting your time between weapons and strength training while packing your gear into a travel bag and cleaning your gun in the dining room as a break. The apartment was empty for the afternoon and you had left Spoons back at your apartment with care instructions to your elderly neighbour tapped to the fridge. Placing the shining metal against the blanket you had laid out. Looking down at the disassembled gun, a shiver runs down your spine as you see yourself reflected over and over again in the shimmers. You think about the scenario you are about to place yourself in. There was no need for an intelligence gatherer today, no- they had requested you to be a part of the infiltration team. You would be returning directly to your old position and be cleaning rooms with a barrel raised and ammunition strapped to your chest.

There was no option nor any choice, you had the full knowledge of every desired hostile target to be eliminated and all those connected who were valuable to be integrated after. You knew exactly how to grip the answers out of their skull, falling loose at the lips as you would push forward. Room after room, bodies hitting the floor leading up your most important mission yet. There were millions of lives at stake, a country of people who breathed, who loved and were loved, who deserved to see the light of day again.

You were determined to ensure their lives but at what cost. At what cost could you put yourself towards more… irreplaceable damage, as a therapist once told you. Shaking your head as you heard the door open, you placed a solid smile across your face before reassembling your gun. Hearing each piece slide effortlessly into place and finally with a click you were looking down your scope, fixing the last bells and whistles before loading up your vest.

Not paying attention to Köing who somehow managed to enter the locked apartment and sat at the table silently. He unloaded his own gun against the table, keeping you company as he followed your actions, reaching across to pick up the cloth as he polished some of the knives scattered across his uniform. Only when the Austrian hummed a familiar tune, one that your old squad listened and recited before every mission had you slipping beneath your mask- a true small smile lost to time as of recently.

You both became lost in the… somewhat domestic moment together. Humming in harmony before your phone dinged repeatedly from inside your duffle bag. Huffling while giving the tall man an apology, he simply placed another knife against the table before waving a hand in your face. Telling you to go take your call as he disassembled his gun and began humming once more.

Swiping without checking to see who it was, all you received on the other end was some hurried breathing and then static. Taking the device away from your ear, you look down to see the call has ended and no number has been tracked. Tapping your foot against the hardwood floors as you debate on asking Köing to take a look or not- you decide against it and send a text towards Gabby with a screenshot of the phone logs before returning to pack your bag.

“Everything alright, Maus?”

“It's been awhile since I heard you call me that,” you reply with a slight laugh in your voice.

“It has… but might as well start someplace? Is that not what you and your American friends say?”

Throwing your head back now in laughter, you grip the Austrains shoulder into a small side-hug before moving around the table and folding more of your shirts.

“You never answered my question.”

“Hm?” you reply without looking up.

“Who was on the phone, you began to do your pacing thing- someone say something?” Köing comments while tilting his head and reaching over the table to hold your forearm, halting your motions.

“Oh, nothing like that… just some miscommunication from within the team, that's all,” you reply before dropping your shirt into the bag and look towards the opening door- your squad appeared to be coming back from the gym.

“Okay then… see you again soon Maus,” Köing adds quietly with a wink before attaching his gear back into place, giving you a small hug and making his way out of the apartment. Your face falls once more, realising that none of the boys had greeted you since arriving as you place the last pair of pants into the bag before zipping it closed.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder you head out the apartment to place your gear for easy access the next morning in the locker room. As you pass by the living room Soap and Ghost sit on the couch cuddling one another- the infamous plaid blanket draped across their legs as a game plays across the television screen. Gaz comes out of the shower, towel wrapped around his legs and you receive no usual smirk from the man as Price enters the apartment, phone pressed into his ear as he side-steps you before moving into his room. Clutching the shoulder-strap you close the door gently behind yourself before watching the numbers tick down the elevator floors. The past meets the present once more, is the only message that passes through your mind when the doors open.

When suiting up in the locker rooms the next morning, a lack of caffeine has you tying your two boots together with a groan exiting between your lips. Your alarm had awakened you yet again and the lack of light touches to your hair from Gaz in the morning had your heart feeling heavier than your eyes from a lack of sleep. Soap didn’t chase you around the apartment in the afternoons nor did he whisper dad-jokes to you during dinnertime. You ate alone in your room, at your desk with your journals scattered across its surface.

You tugged on your vest, tightening the labels across your chest while shimmying on your gloves, testing the feeling of your fingers trapped beneath the material as you gave your helmet a good few knocks- ensuring it was secured tightly to your head. A member from a joining squad came to check your gear as they helped to tighten the back straps of your vest and to apply your jumping gear.

Giving you a quick pat on the shoulder, you moved to stand against the wall beside Ghost who turned to give you a close lookover- obviously not trusting the man from earlier that just checked you over. His bone-gloved hands move across every latch, zipper and button before he turns to stand in line once more- as if nothing had happened.

Your cheeks still hold a familiar pink hue to them as Laswell walks down the line and faces Price standing at the top. They hold one another's stares for a few moments, neither wanting to fold first yet a cough coming from a younger recruit snaps them out of their miniature competition as they both glare down the line to see who interrupted.

“Task force 141 you will be split into squads 0-1 through 0-9, you all will be placed on action items one through four, objective sites are lit when you arrive. NODs are to be equipped for the night execution of this mission when you will arrive by air. Jump distance to objective is cleared to be 10 clicks away, are there any questions?” Laswell demands to the group, a satisfied smile displaying across her face once being met with silence.

You all enter the plane, hooking yourself in as you watch various new and old faces do the same around you. The slight tug back in your seat comforts you in its familiary to the plane ascending, in four hours you would be placed back, combat focused after all those years away. You closed your eyes as the engines hummed, drawing out most worrying thoughts that usually accompanied you. You gripped your gun between your gloves as you prayed for the training sessions to prove worthy.

Once dropping into the site. You felt your heart beating through your head and helmet, the drum-like beat that kept you moving, kept your gun raised as you kicked open door after door. You were assigned as head of another squad, their eyes follow your every action, their weapons raised to your beck and call. Many of them young and bright in the eyes, not having seen the hells of warfare or pulling a trigger to sever a lifeforce. The pressure mounted on your shoulders as these thoughts consumed you, hardly feeling when you got slammed into a wall. One of your targets emerged in a dimly lit room, too bright for your night vision yet concealed enough to pull a knife against your side.

You felt as the blood dripped down your pant leg as you hooked your leg underneath his knee. Forcing him downwards as you wrestled on the ground. The knife dropped as you kicked it towards one of your squad members stationed at the door. A grunt erupts from the man as you slam your hand against his windpipe, he chokes for a moment- limbs going slack so that you can twist his arm, forcing pressure against his shoulder as you call out for restraints to be placed.

Brining the man to the car, you lock the door behind him before regrouping with your team and the results repeat. A door opened, a room scanned to either house a knife or gun barreling towards your face. You soon forget the gash on your leg as adrenaline takes over your form- a woman stands on the other side of the door, gun drawn as one of your men falls against the wall- clutching their shoulder with a shout.

You tackle the woman to the ground, reaching towards your secondary as she fumbles to load another shot. A bullet begins to be loaded in the barrel as you drive again to take the shot, a young Lance Corporal stands behind you, it was only his second mission. The ringing in your ears is ever more potent as a shot rings out in the room, wizzing right past your ear as the woman's corpse lies heavy against your chest.

So close to the edge- once more, your hands shake but you hold resolve to face the worried troops. “Are you okay, lieutenant?” A young man calls to you, caught between dressing a wound and eyeing up your own.

“I’m al’right, good shot Matthew.”

“It was either one of ours or theirs- easy choice,” they reply, eyes confident as their hands become caked in the blood of their brother.

“It will get harder as your time progresses, nevertheless we are to regroup with the other squads. This was the last room to be cleared,” you say as you throw the body off your own and stand, doing your best to wipe the blood off your chest as you radio to Laswell, “Watcher this is Dice, squad-04 has cleared region C. Exiting to regroup at the rally point.”

“Good job- Dice. Clean work?” you pause your radio to let out a groan, doing your best to walk out to the awaiting truck as the rest carry out the injured soldier behind you.

“Negative, one dead- four on route for interrogation. Based upon an ID found from Price’s team- they are some kind of scientist organization working with the aggressor group. Connections lead to Shepard intelligence- Farah I think?”

“Correct. The evidence matches these series of attacks. We just need to track down that oligarch and the rest of the cards should fall into place”

“Never knew you to be a cards gambler, Laswell.”

“You are one to speak with the company you kept.”

Silence carries through on the radio as you debate a reply and load up into the truck, tapping the roof twice before the wheels dig into the muddied ground. The transport shakes as a storm brews in the sky. The wind rumbling the wings of the plane, as the metal of your seat groans underneath the pressure as you tighten your holds. Matthew gives you a thumbs up with a tilt to his head as you nod once back in reply while doing your best to cross your legs- hiding the wound for the duration of the flight as your head falls light.

You do not remember walking off the plane, nor do you remember being placed inside Gabbys office once again as her appearance is a blurry image, caressing your cheeks as she whisper-shouts into your face.

“Bestie- please- this is not funny! I need your attention now, Dice!” She shakes your head as you groan, trying to shut your eyes once more due to the brightness of the room. Yet as you shift your body into a more comfortable position, you hiss out, the stitches placed against your thigh still red from their recent incision.

“Y/N, come on Y/N- don’t be a weak bastard now. I still need you to do all this paperwork- I’m drowning over here. Oh fuck, you probebly are shell-shocked- Don’t even know what I am saying-”

“Fucking hell Gabs, can you shut up one moment so I can get some shut-eye? I got stabbed, ‘Yippee’!” you produce jazz hands in Fish’s face before shoving her away slightly so you can sit upright with a groan. She rushes over with an extra pillow that had fallen to the floor as she grips your hand.

“Ouch! Lessen your grip, please. I swear I’m fine. Blood Loss and all that I assume,” you reply with a large side of sarcasm as you watch Gabby feverishly nod her head before dropping it in your lap with a sigh, you comb your fingers through her hair as cries out a little. Relief coating her system in a familiar hug to your hands.

“When I saw the reports flood in, a-and saw that those evil fucks managed to get some of our own guys- I could not help but imagine you lifeless on that plane home. Fuck, Dice-” Gabby says while shaking her head in your lap before you pick her head up, forcing her eyes towards your own.

“You are not getting rid of me that quickly, Fish. And you know if I ever did- you would be coming down with me.”

Throwing her head back in mixed tears and laughter, she hands you a glass of water before she dries her tears from the issue box. “I am keeping your word to that,” Gabby says while looking up towards the ceiling once more, blinking back any remaining tears as you rub her back.

“In the face of death- we shall never part then.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Hmm,” you let out thoughtfully before looking down at your watch, 3AM glowed brightly as your stomach grumbled, Gabbys echoing the same as she blushed a bright red.

“Dinner reservations at the caf?”

“Sounds like a date. Never knew you to be such a romantic, Fish.”

“I have my uses beside books and good looks,” she says before giving you a signature wink. Shaking your head you stumble to a stand before Gabby comes rushing over, using her as a semi-crutch you both heat up microwavable meals while going over new reports as morning birds begin to chirp out and you both are found sleeping on the bench.

But as you both were found hours later, rest was not available while the wicked still breathed. Finding yourself swamped in familiar paperwork, adding to Gabbys intelligence board within the office while also hearing General Shepard yell down your ears every other day on web calls was a treat in itself.

You both were so close to discovering the answers that you needed, one last red string to be laid as you listened into an interrogation happening from one of the men you intercepted from the last mission. Looking through the mirrored glass, you saw them stare down at you. You know they could not see you in reality, but the little stir down your spine did deter you to take a small step back while readjusting your headset.

They were telling stories in circles, so close to breaking, you were so close to having a breakthrough. All you needed was that last little push to redeem yourself in the eyes of superiors, to redeem yourself in your own reflection from not having the strength earlier.

“I do not know anything- I swear to you!”

“You swear- do you?” Gabby counters, her hands slamming against the metal desk as it rattle within the empty room. “Then please explain to me why biological weapon plans were found taped underneath your dresser, or better yet- how your wife was found at a charity Gala with criminal bosses or maybe how your precious sister died because she believed so heavily in the plan and not in you, yourself-hm?”

“I-I, she’s not dead. W-WHAT DID YOU MONSTERS DO TO HER!”

Sweat dripped down your back as you clutched the console, finger hovering over the communications button. But Gabby switches techniques quickly, dropping her head as she leans against the table now in a more relaxed position.

“She shot, we shot. That is all to be said- you can imagine the rest I believe with a character of your strengths. All I would need is a location…”

The man spits in her face as Gabby wipes the liquid away with the sleeve of her shirt in disgust before sighing and looking through the class, tapping a finger to her chin in contemplation.

“I serve the cause, we are to restore the beauty of the lands which have been taken.”

“Mhmm, and there is beauty to be found when the ground you rest your head upon is soaked in the blood of thousands of innocent people- children included. What would your own child think of you-hm? The one studying abroad currently… or was…” Gabby closes her eyes for a moment, as if praying for this line to sink in as she turns to face the man in the next instance. Walking over to lean down right beside his ear, “...temporarily moved… will she greet you with open arms screaming “Daddy!” with a big ol smile, kissing your cheek in that lonely yellow floral dress. Or maybe- actually probably- never mind that. She will look at you for the man you hide to be… a slaughterer of others daughters. That hateful look of disgust, a pity really it would be to sour such a good relationship…”

Gabby backs away, walking towards the door as the man begins to thrash in his chair- pulling at the cuffs on the metal table. “ALCOVE BLOCK. I-It’s a disabled mineral and forestry site. Farmland for miles surrounds it- you will find the accountant. Powerful member to the fight- t-they…” the man trails off fear beginning to overwhelm his stressed system.

“They. What?” Gabby presses, turning back to face the man as she slowly walks back over, a menacing tilt to her head as they lean away from her body and that is when you decide to enter the room. A small, pleasant appearing smile is plastered across your features as you kneel by the sitting scientist.

“Hey, hey. Deep breaths, I promise no harm to come to you while I am here,” is all you say before pushing Gabby out of the room. Turning to face away from the camera behind the man, you whisper out to the room only filled by light breathing and the tick of a distant clock. “I am on your side, I have seen you as you have me- is that not what our friends say?”

A few deep breaths in and out go-by before the man's shoulders slump forward in relief as he speaks out softly, The accountant is to be promoting us all. Direct return is very much necessary- I will speak good words of your efforts as I know you have much to report. They leave in a few days time, you get me out of here- and I promise that you will be served well by the leader.”

“A promotion you say?” you tease as you hear Gabbys small cheers coming through your earpiece. Looking over the man, you let off a tisk, tisk, tisk before exiting much to his confusion.

Leaning against the closed door, you rip your headset off before storming back into the room as the man yells out in frustration as the guards move him back into the holding cell. Once inside you find Laswell and Gabby already pulling you into a hug while voicing their thanks.

A ragged breath escapes between your lips, good enough is all that floats around your head. The last red line goes up moments later as another round of coffee is served in celebration before you are packing your bags once more, disregarding your injury for the new week upon you.

As the night falls upon you once more, the notes from the interrogation earlier in the day left to flock through the system. You lay wide awake in your bed, the ceiling fan spinning once again as the heater hums in the living room. You feel as Gabby stirs beside you, equally as restless to the sounds of Soaps snoring from the next room over. She looks over your features in the moonlight, concern overpowering her senses as she reaches out to hold your hand underneath the covers.

“You never told me how you know that expression…” Gabby whispers, the secrets you held eating her alive.

“...You promised to keep no secrets, but as of recently… I feel that I barely know you anymore. We have gotten so caught up in work…” her finger trails up your arm before she pulls you into a hug. “I feel that sometimes… I should have never asked you to return.“

Your breath hitches, “Gabriela-”

“Full name. Now I know we're truly serious,” Gabby says with a giggle, the seriousness returning to her tone the next moment, “Do you think you are going back after the mission? I am even thinking of leaving after all of this is over.”

You hum while giving her a squeeze. “Really? Knowing you- you will be itching to do something not even half-a-day after signing the papers.” You laugh out into a saddened sigh, “Sometime ago I said that I would stay… But with how things are going, I don’t quite know now… Wow I am such an asshole, stringing everyone with shit loaded promises-”

“No. You were being truthful to the moment, couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“Still- Gabby- I-”

“No, Dice. I asked you to come, you do not need me or anyone to hold you from staying after this mission.”

“But that's the thing Gabs. What about everyone once I leave?” you question, tears welling in your eyes as memories consume you- slight shakes forming at the hands has Gabby sitting upright to look down at you- giving your side a small tickle in distraction as you kick your feet out towards her in reaction before you hide your wince of pain. Your injury almost healed from a secret visit to the nurses office.

“You did not get to choose then, but you do now. That is what is different- what I am trying to tell you. I am not saying life will ever go back to normal, but whatever beginnings of normal you found within that apartment- I think you could find peace there.”

You contemplate Gabbys words, twirling a strand of her hair in your finger as you start to form a small braid, the sequences that your parent taught you. “I was hiding in that apartment, Gabs, behind my desk and in my journals. I-I don’t know where to go…”

Gabby lets out a hum as a delicate smile appears, “a gift- not knowing is; where to go, who to be, when to do what. It allows us to account for anything we ever wanted or find we want for nothing at all.”

You watch as she lays back down, turning her back to face you before speaking up once more, “take time as much as you spend it, Dice. Know that I will be here no matter what you decide.”

Letting out yet another ragged breath, you sniffle while trying to blink away tears of thankfulness, “Thank you, Fish. I would not know life without you- truthfully.”

“That makes two of us, now go the fuck to sleep. You look like a dying rat.”

You wheeze out into your bedroom as Gabby covers her face in the pillow, muffling her sleep-deprived cackles.

When you awake in the morning, Gabby's side of the small bed is empty, the sheets a mess and the shower running in tune to her horrid singing voice that has Gaz slamming on the door, voicing a complaint as he walks by your room. Ghost follows in tow with a hand against Kyle’s back- ushering him forwards.

Rubbing your eyes awake, you open your phone in the living room, seeing a few messages and selfies sent from Horangi and Köing as they pose in their gear- holding a thumbs up. Sending a text back, you were happy to see that they made a safe flight over the pond as you read off on emails the next minute.

You end up eating breakfast in Gabby’s office as you rattle off strategies with Laswell and Graves on video-call. You twirl in the chair once you close the tab- mind racing yet bags packed and waiting by the door. So much has happened in so little time, you think to yourself while adding more change to the fishbowl. You watch the coins fall and clank against the glass before loading up your belongings. While rolling up the charging cable, a knock is sounded from the door that has you bumping your head from underneath the desk.

Cursing and rubbing your hand- your eyes fall wide in shock seeing a dishevelled Laswell forcing herself into the office before quickly locking the door behind herself and motioning for you to sit back down. Kate walks around to the desk, sitting down to look at you from across the table while throwing her head against the desk with a groan escaping her.

“Everything alright-”

“Just peachy, Dice. I need you to leave sooner than expected.”

“Okay… like tomorrow or in 20 minutes?” you joke out, wincing at the bags underneath her eyes.

“1 hour- close but no cigar.”

“Dang, could use one of those right now…”

“Gods, you and Johnny with the jokes- really helping to do my head in.”

“Apologies, Laswell, I will get moving.”

With one hand on the door handle, Kate calls out your name as you turn back around to face her. “And do speak to John after this mission- please.”

You meet her words with silence before she speaks up again, “He’s become the offspring of a mother hen and grizzly bear recently. Whatever has been stirred- try to ensure it doesn't come into the field. I can look past many things from over the years- but I will not stand to hide piss-poor work, am I clear?”

“Crystal, Ma’am.”

“Safe travels, Dice.”

Lasting Pictures Series Masterlist

↳ Taglist: @ashy-kit

171 notes · View notes