#it’s not a thing but I made the joke once and I am committing too it

[seagull-scribbles]

They’re out of touch

[1/7] next>

[dearmini]

𐔌 아이엔 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ how to braid a heart.

YANG JEONGIN! ⓘ when you walk in on him learning to braid hair.. for you?

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff ! 4300wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, intimacy, cursing, unfunny jokes, bickering, rain (again). ┆ ☆ ⋮ drabble .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ and back again with another mini drabble! I'M SORRY IT KEEPS GETTING LONG. I CAN'T HELP IT. I SWEAR I TRIED MY BEST OKAY. happy reading!

it starts on a rainy afternoon.

the sky’s an overcast blur, cottony grey and soft like the hush of a lullaby. outside the window, the rain’s been drizzling for hours—persistent, gentle. the kind that makes people want to curl into themselves and disappear under a hoodie. the kind that fills a boy’s bedroom with the scent of petrichor and lazy light and something warm, something waiting.

inside, the air is thick with the hum of effort and youtube hair tutorials.

yang jeongin is frowning.

deeply. intensely. so much that the tiny crease between his brows could write a thesis on how absolutely ridiculous this is.

his long legs are folded awkwardly on his bed, laptop perched dangerously on a too-fluffy pillow, volume turned down low like he’s committing a crime. on-screen, a chipper woman with shiny nails is explaining, once again, how to start a simple three-strand braid. he doesn’t know what “detangle thoroughly” is supposed to mean when the practice mannequin he bought off some shady online store came tangled, like the thing had beef with him in a past life.

jeongin sighs. sharp and dramatic. like a man defeated by plastic hair.

"why am i doing this," he mutters, though it's the twentieth time he’s said it and the answer never changes.

his fingers, ringed and slender, hover in the air like he’s diffusing a bomb. he’s watched four videos already—two american vloggers, one british lady, and a girl named chloe who made it look suspiciously easy. they all say the same thing: divide the hair, cross one over the other, repeat.

but his fingers? his fingers are traitors. they fumble. they hesitate. they grip too hard, twist the strands weirdly, somehow create a knot so intense it feels personal.

"great," he deadpans, staring down at the mess he’s made. “it looks like i braided a broomstick with anxiety.”

still, he doesn’t stop.

not even when his phone buzzes with a message from seungmin in their group chat.

[minimin]: iyennie what are you doing you’re too quiet [maknaeontop]: cry-typing bc love makes me stupid [minimin]: ew [minimin]: oh wait are you actually

he locks his phone without replying, because yes, he is actually. and he’s not ready to be bullied about it.

he exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. model face, they always say. sharp jawline, perfect skin, annoyingly symmetrical.

and yet here he is—sitting cross-legged in neon pyjama pants with strawberries on them, practicing braiding on a fake head like he’s training for the olympics of soft boyfriend behaviour.

he looks back at the wig head. it sits on his desk, propped up like a little goblin staring into his soul. its blank eyes challenge him.

“don’t look at me like that,” jeongin says flatly. “you’re the one who’s not cooperating.”

but the thing is—he’s serious about this.

it started two weeks ago, the first time you’d complained that your hair was being "super annoying" and you just wanted to 'chop it all off and live like a boy in the 2000s.'

you’d said it in passing, curling up against him on the couch, head tilted, the glow of the tv painting shadows across your cheek.

and he’d looked at you then. really looked.

the pout on your lips. the strands falling over your eyes. the quiet frustration under your breath as your fingers tugged a bit too roughly at a knot.

something about it stuck.

that night, after you’d fallen asleep, soft breathing tangled in his hoodie, the loverboy here had stared at the ceiling and thought.. 'i wish i could help. i wish i could do that for her.'

and that was that.

now he’s five videos deep, wrist aching, knees numb from sitting weird. his fingers are shaking, not from exhaustion, but from how hard he’s trying. his tongue sticks out in concentration—just a little, just the tiniest sliver of pink against the sharp lines of his mouth. adorable and determined.

outside, thunder rolls lazily. the window fogs up from the warmth of the room. he smells the faint citrus of his candle—the one you picked out, teasing him for liking “bougie scents” before sneakily smelling it three more times. the one he keeps lit when he misses you. which is often.

the mannequin head tilts slightly as he tugs on a finished braid. it’s not perfect. it’s kinda uneven. a few strands are sticking out. but—it's a braid.

his first real one.

he stares at it for a moment, expression unreadable, then lets out a quiet laugh under his breath. the kind that almost doesn't make a sound. just breath, and pride, and affection leaking out through the cracks in his self-deprecating walls.

“y/n,” he mumbles to himself, “you better bawl when i do this on you.”

a beat. he stares down at the wig, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“…or at least pretend to be impressed. i’m emotionally fragile.”

and with that, he hits play on the next video. french braids this time. no one said love was easy. but jeongin's always been the type to take his time with the things that matter.

and you?

you matter most of all.

. . .

the braid unravels the second he blinks.

one second, he’s staring at it—fingers suspended mid-air like he’s diffusing a bomb, heart beating with the gentle anticipation of accomplishment—and the next, the strands slip like water through his hands.

and the softest little “nooo…” escapes him.

it’s quiet. gentle. like a child watching their sandcastle wash away.

jeongin sighs, slow and guttural, tilting his head back until it thumps softly against his headboard. the rain outside has softened to a drizzle, the kind that clings to windows like a lullaby. the sky is still grey, but there’s a warmth in his room now—a lemony-citrus kind of haze, mixing with the cotton scent of fabric softener from the blanket twisted around his legs. a comfort cocoon. a secret mission cave. the jeongin love lab™ (unofficial name. do not repeat this to anyone).

he’s surrounded by crime scene evidence: a bobby pin clamped between his teeth, a broken hair tie hanging from his wrist, a video paused on the screen of some lady who braided her own hair in twenty seconds. with french flair. while smiling.

jeongin narrows his eyes at her like she owes him money.

"she's mocking me,” he says under his breath, chewing dramatically on the bobby pin.

his phone buzzes again.

[minimin]: are u ok [sooniedoongiedori]: is the kid crying over love again [hyuniret]: what happened to my baby [maknaeontop]: get out [hyuniret]: not until you tell mama what’s wrong [hyuniret]: i’ll bake you cookies [hyuniret]: i’ll kiss your cheeks

jeongin’s nose scrunches, but his heart does that annoying soft thing. the warm thing. the “ugh i guess i like you idiots” thing.

he hesitates only a second before tapping hyunjin’s name. video call.

it rings once.

twice.

and then—

hyunjin answers dramatically. black buzzcut adorned with a pink headband, face glistening from what looks like a very intense skincare routine, lips pursed like a mum who’s just been told her son failed math.

“iyennie!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “you look pale. did someone break your heart? was it seungmin? i’ll kill him.”

“i’m literally fine,” jeongin deadpans, leaning back against the pillow mountain behind him. “this is not a therapy session.”

hyunjin gasps again, but more offended this time. “how dare. first of all, every call with me is a healing experience. second of all—what’s that behind you?”

jeongin freezes.

too slow.

too suspicious.

hyunjin leans in on the screen like a hawk. “is that a… wig head? is that… blonde hair? are you—are you braiding something?!”

silence.

jeongin stares blankly at the screen. “this call is over.”

“nope—nope—not a chance—explain yourself,” hyunjin screeches, kicking something off-screen and nearly knocking over his phone in the process. “wait—is it for y/n? you’re learning to braid for her aren’t you—”

“keep your voice down!” jeongin hisses, darting to shut his bedroom door like a teenager caught sneaking out. “what if she hears you? she’s not even home yet but still—what if the walls are thin or something.”

“my precious soft romantic noodle.”

“don’t.”

“my little handsy craftsman—”

“i will hang up, hyung.”

“so you are braiding! oh my god. you’re literally adorable. i knew you loved her but this is like—baking-level devotion. you're spending too much time with the main loverboy. aka me.”

jeongin mutters something unintelligible and grabs the mannequin again. its plastic eyes haunt him. “i’m just trying to get it right. my fingers keep slipping and she has this one little piece that always falls loose—she tucks it behind her ear, like—like this.”

he mimics it, almost absentmindedly. his eyes soften.

hyunjin notices, and for once, doesn’t interrupt.

there’s something about watching jeongin like this. all his sharp little edges dulled into domestic softness. not performing, not teasing, not being the chaotic maknae or the class clown or the guy who always says something sarcastic when things get too sincere.

he’s just… quiet. and trying.

and that’s the most vulnerable thing of all.

hyunjin clears his throat, gentler now. “okay, listen. i used to braid my hair all the time before i chopped it off, remember?”

jeongin perks up. “yeah, you were like… weirdly good at it.”

“still am, thank you very much. i even practiced on lixie a few times. he giggled the whole time like i was tickling him with angel wings.”

“of course he did.”

“anyway,” hyunjin continues, flipping his camera to demonstrate on a random knit scarf from his bed. “it’s not about making it perfect. it’s about rhythm. breathe with it. like—left, right, center. it’s a heartbeat, not math.”

jeongin raises an eyebrow. “that’s… kinda poetic.”

“i’m kinda a genius.”

“you’re kinda a nerd.”

“you’re kinda in love.”

he doesn’t deny it.

instead, jeongin copies him—slowly, carefully, the way you reach for something delicate in the dark. one strand over. then another. he’s holding his breath again. his knuckles are tense. but his fingers don’t slip this time.

the braid takes shape like a secret blooming.

“hey,” hyunjin says after a minute, voice quieter, eyes warm through the screen. “she’s gonna love it, you know.”

jeongin looks down at the messy braid in his hands. it’s still a little uneven. a little frayed at the end. but it holds. it stays.

he exhales.

“yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “i think so too.”

hyunjin smiles like he knows something ancient. “text me when she cries.”

“i’m not trying to make her cry.”

“no, no, like in a good way. like happy tears. you’re gonna ruin her standards forever.”

“…that’d be kinda iconic, actually.”

“that’s my boy.”

and for once, jeongin lets himself grin.

just a little. just enough.

the screen dims as the call ends. the room is quiet again—only rain against glass, the soft fizz of his candle, the faint smell of vanilla-laced cotton, the memory of your voice somewhere in the fabric of his hoodie.

the braid rests on the mannequin’s shoulder, gentle and crooked and completely real.

and somewhere in his chest, jeongin feels it.

the heartbeat of it. left, right, center.

you, you, always you.

the front door sighs open with the softest creak.

it’s after 6pm—the kind of dusky grey that makes everything feel like it’s been filtered through nostalgia. your arms are full—bag slipping off your shoulder, scarf unraveling from your neck, a paper coffee cup still lukewarm from earlier. you’re tired, windblown, and ever so slightly damp from the rain, which now smells like petrichor and wet pavement and the faint trace of ozone.

“iyennie?” you call out softly, toeing off your shoes, already craving the warmth of him.

no reply.

you frown a little, peeking into the hallway. there’s no music playing. no clatter of a game controller. no fake scoffing at your outfit or teasing demand for a bite of your snack.

nothing. just quiet. thicker than usual.

the lights are on in his room, though. warm, gold-toned. inviting. like honey melting across the walls.

you pause.

knock lightly. “jeongin?”

still no answer.

and so—curious, maybe a little concerned, you push the door open.

what you find… isn’t something you could’ve imagined in a hundred years.

jeongin—model-faced, sharp-jawed, fashion-manicured chaos incarnate jeongin—is on the floor. legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, face scrunched in deep concentration. his tongue pokes out at the corner of his mouth. a wig head with synthetic blonde hair rests in front of him like a bizarre shrine, and his long fingers are tangled awkwardly in the strands.

he doesn’t notice you. not at all. he’s whisper-counting under his breath.

“left, right, center… center, left, wait—fuck—no, that’s not center, wait—why is this so hard?”

he groans. not dramatically. genuinely. like this braid has personally insulted him, his ancestors, and the entire yang bloodline.

you blink.

and then you do the only logical thing in that moment.

you burst out laughing.

jeongin jumps so violently he flings the poor wig head across the carpet. his eyes fly up, wide and accusatory, like you’re the villain in his villain origin story.

“what the fuck— oh my god.”

you’re already wheezing, hand to your chest, leaning against the doorframe. “oh my god. oh my god. you were talking to it. you were braiding a mannequin—iyen-ah, what the hell?”

“i was not—shut up—get out!”

you stumble in further, nearly dropping your coffee. “no way. you can’t erase this from my brain. this is permanent. this is my core memory now.”

jeongin scoffs, snatching the wig like it’s a bomb he’s shielding you from. “why are you even home already? you said six-thirty!”

you blink through your laughter. “it is six-thirty.”

he freezes.

then mutters, “…traitorous clock.”

you drop your bag with a dramatic thud and crawl onto the bed like a predator, face lit up with delight. “oh my god, this is amazing. who were you gonna show? or were you just planning to become a secret braid master and drop it casually in conversation like, ‘oh yeah, i do complicated french braids now, no big deal’?”

“shut up,” he mutters again, cheeks visibly pink.

you hum, sitting cross-legged like royalty, chin in your palm. “so who’s the lucky client, hm?”

jeongin glares. “it’s not for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

you lift an eyebrow, unbothered. “oh no?”

“no,” he says, entirely too fast. “your dumb hair’s always falling everywhere. like a goddamn waterfall. it’s annoying.”

you press your lips together to hide the grin threatening to split your face. “right. so naturally, your first instinct is to learn an entire skill set to deal with my dumb hair.”

he throws a pillow at you. you catch it easily.

“you’re so—ugh—you’re so full of yourself,” he grumbles, yanking the hoodie sleeves back down and refusing to look at you. “not everything i do is about you.”

you lean back against the headboard, stretching with a content little sigh. “except when it is.”

he groans again, flopping backwards like a teenager in agony. “i hate you.”

you smile, impossibly fond. “no, you don’t.”

he peeks at you from one eye. “no. i really do.”

you stretch your leg out and nudge his thigh with your socked toe. “you were doing so well, too. you almost had it.”

“whatever. i didn’t even care.”

you nod solemnly. “of course. you were just… having a casual braid session with your… headless friend.”

“she has a name,” he says without thinking.

you gasp. “oh my god, you named her—”

he lobs another pillow, this one stronger. “get out.”

but you’re both laughing now—open and loud and soft around the edges, like this room has folded in to make space for something warmer.

your laughter fades into a smile. your eyes meet his, and there’s a lull, a hush, like the rain’s listening too.

“yennie,” you say, softer now, “you’re actually kind of a genius.”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t hide the way his lips twitch upward. “took you long enough to realize.”

you crawl closer, curling up beside him, the scent of your shampoo mingling with the faint cinnamon-sugar of his hoodie. your knee brushes his. your fingers reach out, tangle lightly in the edge of the messy braid still clinging to life.

he watches your hand.

you watch him.

and he says, low, quiet: “i just wanted to get it right.”

your heart does something dumb and fluttery. “why?”

he shrugs. doesn’t meet your eyes. “just figured… you let me touch your hair so much. i should at least learn to do something useful with it.”

silence.

heavy. sweet.

you lean in, press your forehead to his shoulder. he stiffens, then melts.

you murmur, “you’re a dumbass.”

“i know.”

“…but like, my favourite one.”

he grins—smug and shy all at once. “i better be.”

and the rain keeps falling.

and the mannequin keeps watching.

and you—two kids tangled up in love, in sarcasm, in shitty synthetic braids and soft secret affections—just stay there, skin against skin, laughter still echoing like thunder trailing behind lightning.

and you think—this must be what it feels like.

true love, in a room full of pillows and mistakes and too many words.

braided gently between your hearts.

. . .

the next morning is gentle in a way only weekend scan be—slow and sticky, syrup-dripped around the corners.

the room smells like jeongin: bergamot and laundry detergent, worn cotton and leftover vanilla candle from last night. he’s sprawled across your shared bed like a prince who owns the morning, blanket kicked halfway off, hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of tan skin above his waistband.

you’re already awake, curled into your corner of the mattress, pillow hugging your chest.

watching him.

thinking.

the image of him practicing braids on a wig still lives in your brain rent-free. it flickers behind your eyes every time you look at him now. and you can’t stop smiling. can’t stop remembering the way his fingers fumbled through strands like they were secrets. how he muttered to himself like the mannequin had personally offended him. how he told you, with his whole heart and no eye contact, “i just wanted to get it right.”

you’d kissed his cheek before bed.

he hadn’t brought it up again.

but now—

now, as golden light curls through the curtains and your boyfriend begins to stir—grumbling softly, smacking his lips like a grumpy cat—you decide it’s time.

“hey,” you whisper, reaching to nudge his side.

he flinches, groans. “don’t touch me.”

“it’s ten thirty.”

“i’m asleep.”

“you’re talking.”

“sleep talking. stop flirting with me.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “get up, braid-boy.”

he cracks one eye open, all sleepy lashes and morning puff. “say that again and i’m breaking up with you.”

you crawl closer, lips brushing his temple. “get up. braid. my. hair.”

he stares at you for a long, suspicious second.

then sighs, dramatically. “you’re serious?”

you nod.

and now he’s sitting upright—barely—but upright, hoodie sleeve wiping at his puffy face like a child. his voice is rough and low and wholly unimpressed. “fine. but don’t blame me if you end up looking like a scarecrow.”

“i will cry.”

“you always do,” he mutters, standing up and stretching like a sleepy cat. his hoodie lifts again. you stare. you’re only human.

you grab your brush and sit cross-legged on the floor, facing away from him. “you’re going to regret saying yes when i post this on instagram with the caption; ‘my boyfriend is a hairstylist now.’”

from behind you.. “post that and i’m deleting your animal crossing island in your sleep.”

you gasp. “that’s evil.”

he plops down behind you, cross-legged, his knees brushing yours. his fingers skim your shoulder blades as he gathers your hair in his palms.

“you’re evil,” he murmurs, and somehow it sounds loving.

your breath catches.

there’s something about the way his fingers move through your hair—careful, cautious, reverent. jeongin is often clumsy with affection, never sure what to do with the way he feels things. but now? with your head bowed, his hands sifting through strands like wind through grass?

it’s almost reverent.

almost sacred.

“you’re being weirdly gentle,” you mumble.

“shut up. your hair���s delicate. like a baby angel’s.”

you snort. “i’m going to vomit.”

“you asked for this.”

his fingers begin to work—slowly, hesitantly. a tug here. a curse there.

you feel his knuckles brush your scalp, his thumbs press against your crown.

it’s quiet, but not heavy.

your eyes close.

you breathe in: the crisp cotton of his hoodie. the faint smell of coffee from the kitchen. the feel of his breath ghosting the back of your neck.

then:

“ow—jeongin!”

“you moved!”

“i breathed.”

“well, breathe quieter.”

you twist around just enough to glare at him. “you are insufferable.”

he meets your eyes, lips twitching. “and yet, you’re letting me braid your precious princess hair.”

you frown. cross your arms. sulk.

jeongin pauses.

“oh no,” he says flatly. “the pout’s out. god save us.”

you jut your bottom lip farther out.

he groans, head dropping against your shoulder. “you’re going to milk this forever, aren’t you?”

you nod, slowly.

he laughs softly into your shoulder. “god, i’m in love with an actual cartoon character.”

you whisper, teasing, “you love me.”

he breathes, “so much it makes me stupid.”

and he doesn’t say it like a confession. he says it like it’s already been written somewhere in the sky, like it’s just fact. like “the sun rises,” or “your hair always gets stuck to his hoodie,” or “you make him soft without trying.”

you swallow.

your pout melts.

you whisper, “then make it pretty.”

he smiles. “always.”

and he keeps braiding.

the rest is gentle chaos.

he loses a strand. swears. starts over. pulls too tight. apologizes. yells at the hair. tells it to behave. tells your hair to behave.

you nearly cry laughing.

he finishes eventually.

“it’s awful,” he says, smug.

you glance at the mirror. it’s crooked. a little lumpy. possibly about to fall apart.

you beam. “it’s perfect.”

he rolls his eyes. “you’re such a liar.”

you grab his hoodie and yank him toward you. “no. i’m in love.”

he blinks. all that sass melts from his face like butter in sun.

“i—”

you press your forehead to his, breath tangled. “you don’t have to say it back.”

he does, of course.

“but i do. and i'm in love with you, too.”

you’re still turned toward him, knees touching, the scent of his hoodie weaving its way through your senses like thread through needle. the room hums with the afterglow of laughter, the kind that’s still stitched into the corners of your cheeks, still warming the undersides of your ribs.

you giggle—forehead brushing his, your breath ghosting between the spaces where his lashes flutter.

soft.

sacred.

“it is really good,” you whisper, like it’s a secret meant for no one but him. “you should become a hairstylist—”

and suddenly, he moves.

not away.

toward you.

he grabs your wrists with gentle fingers, tugging you forward so fast your balance tips. a startled squeak leaves your lips as you tumble into his chest, all cotton warmth and steady heartbeat, your hands pressed flat against the soft fabric of his hoodie, your nose bumping against his collarbone.

he laughs.

of course he laughs—rich and golden and boyish, like the sound of sunlight finding a windchime. you’re still gathering breath, blinking up at him, when his arms wrap around you—tight but not suffocating, possessive in the softest way. like a secret folded into a sweater. like a kiss that already happened, even before lips met.

“don’t—” you breathe, muffled into his hoodie, “ambush me.”

“you were being cute,” he murmurs, somewhere near your hairline. his voice is velvet and sin. “i couldn’t help it.”

“warn me next time—”

“nope,” he says, smiling into your scalp, “i like this method.”

and then—he pulls back just enough to see your face.

his fingers curl beneath your jaw. his thumb brushes a stray hair behind your ear. your breath hitches—because his eyes, usually full of mockery and sass, are now soft. unsharpened. like dusk settling into the horizon.

“say it again,” he smirks.

you blink. “say what?”

“that it’s good. the braid.”

you roll your eyes, pretending your heart isn’t melting like butter on a stovetop. “you’re really fishing for validation, huh?”

“i braided human hair for the first time. i deserve a grammy.”

“that’s not how that works—”

he silences your teasing with a kiss.

gentle.

melting.

a touch of lips that feels like a promise made without language.

you don’t realize your hands have slid up to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the warm dip where his neck meets hoodie. his skin is soft there. familiar. yours.

the kiss deepens—not in pressure, but in emotion. it stretches long, like honey poured slow. like time forgot to tick forward.

and when he pulls back, it’s only enough to whisper, “thank you.”

you tilt your head. “for what?”

“for letting me touch your hair.”

you blink, thrown off by the sincerity.

his grin is lopsided, his thumb still drawing lazy circles into your skin. “it’s… i don’t know. it feels like… trust.”

you go silent.

because it is.

because he gets it.

and that’s how you know—really know—you’re in love. with him.

you lean forward and rest your forehead against his again, both of you folded in like an origami heart—quiet, intricate, impossible to untangle.

“i love you, you know,” you whisper.

he hums. smirks. presses another kiss to your nose like punctuation. “i know.”

then adds, smug, “you love my braid skills and my face. admit it.”

you groan. “you ruined it.”

he snickers, pulling you closer again, your braid getting smooshed between your shoulders and his hoodie.

“baby.”

“what?”

“you’re stuck with me.”

you grin against his shoulder. “yeah. i know.”

and the world, for one small moment, feels like a soft pillow, a warm hoodie, and the safest arms to ever exist.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @inlovewithstraykids @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika @jeonginsbaee @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes — fill out this form to be added !!

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3 © heartsbyani, dearmini '25 ★

[werezmastarbucks]

three hugs

idol!yoongi x f!reader oneshot

oneshot

oneshot!!!!

You will do well to remember that Yoongi is in love with his job first; he is married to his music and is merely cheating with you. There's no space or capacity in his life for commitment to a human; only, the way he cares for you betrays his inconvenient feelings.

warnings/tags: FWB, unreciprocated feelings, jealousy, emotionally cold lovers, dual pov, aerophobia, lovers to exes to ???, drunk sex, cursing, emotionally unavailable Yoongi, hiking in Japan, smut kind of hits you in the face a little, but it's not super graphic?

word count: 12652

music: on the low by justin park, i like it by skz, spring attitude by sunwoojunga

author's note: guys i am stuck in dramatic present. break me out pls

"Shit".

"What?"

You slide the chapstick over your lips.

"It's mint".

Yoongi makes the curious cat-face, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.

"Let me try?"

He found you on the balcony at one of the corporate parties. Those same parties where there was always one particular asshole recording things from under the elbow, in secret, for "reassurance". Thankfully, that evening didn't leak. Yoongi found you on the balcony when you were standing with your hand outstretched, catching rain, and he thought, thank fuck. A normal person. Some piano music was playing, reminding him of Mount Tate. It made him think of low Japanese pines and the fresh morning up above the ground. The droplets were gathering in your palm. You recognized his silhouette although you hadn't spoken before that. You were in too deep from the very beginning.

Now he is kissing you in the corridor of your Hannam-dong apartment, tasting the chapstick and making a face.

"It's freezing".

He's leaving first. You leave fifteen minutes later after his car is half way out of the neighbourhood. You aren't seen together in the street or establishments, unless it's an idol-approved restaurant where mobile phone use is banned altogether, and all the staff is on a massive pile of various NDAs. You do not get to hold hands or speak sweetly to each other, but he gets to watch his dick slide in and out of you, your lips wrap around it, gets to squeeze your breast and twist it, slap your thigh as you bounce on his lap, gets to mess your hair in his fist, yanking your head back, and you get to hear him produce god-fearing moans as he is orgasming under you. You do not date, you are four times removed colleagues and fuck buddies, and for the longest time it works well and boosts productivity tenfold. Stressed? Fuck. Depressed? Fuck. Yoongi can growl at his soundboard, then fall backwards onto his chair and keep falling until he lands head first on your lap. You are careful not to linger with your hand in his hair for too long lest he gives you that look that you don't like. When the tint of pleasure and casuallness slips off his pupil and he starts looking inside of you.

The reason is has been working so well was because you were both too busy and aloof to think about it. Two consenting adults, surviving on coffee shots and IVs, just trying to cum once in a while, and have someone around, who doesn't piss you off. Who doesn't know the people you talk shit about, so they don't side with them.

The fallout happened for you when you noticed him wrinkle his whole face as he squeezed a silicone slime, anatomically correct heart, in a futile attempt to "release the stress". Producer laughed at his snoot. You thought, oh, he's cute.

Oh, shit, he's cute.

Then the whole wagon of romance bullshit started filling your head and it felt like from then on you had about twice as much work. The load that feelings put on you cannot be overestimated. It's the constant thinking, even when you need to be concentrated. It drains the fun out of the sexual arrangement because now, instead of laughing at his jokes, you feel the fire at your ears and awkwardly giggle.

As he brushes his open palm across your hip in a mindless gesture, all of a suden, your whole body jerks, reacts, like a car starting all over again, like you've been zipped.

"Whoa. Haven't had enough?" he asks in the deep, rumbling voice that always gives you one promise. If you want, he can fuck for hours. Ten minutes in between rounds, glass of water, and he's good to go again. Yoongi is never stingy with compliments about your body; he always lets you know when you look breathtaking, and how the angle is to die for, and how nice your curves are, and how he appreciates you.

What he isn't generous with, is the actual connection.

On the day when you simply hang out in the same space, you, with your laptop, getting the documents ready, you decide to annoy him under the guise of being mad at everybody else. You're glad you have established earlier that you're an easily irritable person, because now Yoongi isn't suspicious when you seek his company.

But when you step to him from behind, completely misreading the atmosphere, and put your hands around his shoulders, he flinches. Yoongi never yells, god forbid, or even grunts at you, but instead, he turns around quite coldly, and says,

"Don't make it weird, okay? There was no need for that".

He shows you your place. You are, to each other, instruments. Friends almost, he enjoys your sense of humour when you're cool, and, preferably, naked. He respects your space and expects you to do the same with him. You know he is somebody who needs a lot of alone time. You are the same. The elite type of people who know how to be alone. But you have miscalculated that, after all the sixty-nines, maybe, a hug wouldn't be too out of the line. It is though.

It hurts you because you had already lost. The day when he found you on the balcony catching the rain and made an adorably cautious conversation, you had recognized his frame before he stepped into the pool of light, and you should have known that the cup will overflow and you will fall in love with him.

Like, it's ridiculous, who wouldn't? He constantly makes these funny faces, shaking his oval head, and crunches his nose, and is so quiet that it draws you in. When he comes over for the first time, the fucking doesn't start for thirty minutes because he is fixing a closet door that caught his eye. He is this... an effortlessly lovable, rare person. Emotionally shut, which you interpret as manipulation instead of a fact. His gaze tells you, yes, it only takes two screws. What's the big deal?

You are deeply hurt by his rejection, then a little concerned when he doesn't text for a whole week; it's getting dangerous because you don't know where the line is, that you shouldn't cross. You practice with his brothers: Namjoon seems to like you, and you tend to work with him a lot, sampling his voice and sending him variants. You learn this about yourself: casual touch isn't a norm at all, so it's fair that Yoongi got alarmed at it. You avoid touching people even when you are very drunk: no matter how soft, attractive, squishy they look, you tend to keep your hands to yourself. His suspicion in quenched after a bit, he starts looking you in the eye again as you play annoyance. Yoongi is the type to quietly retreat from an argument, to give up if it takes too much effort to battle; to pretend not to notice rather than confront. When there's a quarrel breaking out, which happens relatively often considering how many different people he is surrounded with, and him, having his authentic, strong opinions; when there's a fight, he visibly shuts off, covers his stomach with his arms and slightly turns around, checks out. Especially when it doesn't concern him or his band. Especially with people he doesn't love.

And he doesn't love you. He likes you, respects you, finds you very attractive for some reason. But he shows love in a completely obvious, unmistakeable way. You know he loves Jimin because he never flinches when Jimin assaults him with hugs. He loves music because he spends all of his waking time with her; he speaks about music; he sees the world through her. He loves mountains, and it's simply easily readable in the way he looks around sometimes. He opens up rarely, and when it's about something that he wants to do, it's usually going to the mountains.

He doesn't love you because it's inconvenient, stressful and isn't booked in his schedule. In his daily life, almost every minute is dedicated to doing something. Even sleep is rationed; he knows what time he eats and what time he showers. There's very little space for improvisation, and at first you felt sorry for him. Because, even though you work in the same place, you are simply an office rat. You walk around the building teaching language models and giving them idol voices. You have days off, evenings off, lunch time and a circle outside work. You can walk the street without covering your head with a hood, a hat, glasses and a mask. You used to feel sorry for him because you thought Yoongi and his other boys were kind of victims to their jobs, but soon learnt that his insane schedule is his own doing. He made it. Training, gym, English, Japanese, guitar, vocals, piano, doctors, meetings, shooting, repeat. Asking him why he lives like that would be stupid. It's because he loves it.

You close up. Losers are left with feeling the sorrow and like the third wheel. That's what you get for catching feelings when you never wanted them in the first place. You're not star-struck: you see him in his least glamourous, in the mornings when he is so groggy that he looks like an old man, dragging his feet around the room, struggling to find his own pants. His hair is all but dead, dry, burnt, occasionally it gets softer when his hairdresser undertakes emergency treatments. You stop thinking of Yoongi as an idol three months into fucking him. That part of his life is constantly present, of course; you even get to see him in his public persona from time to time, but he feels like a different person then. Yoongi is just - surrounded by limits, often a physically unreachable lover, that you happened to get a crush on. You keep on living, having this affair, thinking that the feelings, undeveloped, tend to die sooner or later.

The only thing you can't forget is the look he has given you when he refused your hug. You're not enough to have the right to distract him from work. You aren't loved enough to nag on him or call him without a purpose. You should remember your place. He does good in not invading your space, so what's your excuse?

Otherwise, he's a good guy. Yoongi is generally kind and patient with everybody. If there's a choice, he chooses to do good.

─────────────────────────────────────

Like now.

You click your tongue and swipe the web page closed.

"Hm?"

Your favourite band is touring across Europe without thinking of dropping by your place, or at least somewhere in Asia.

"I can even get the tickets, but flights are too expensive because it's the season".

"Berlin?"

"Yeah", you reply absent-mindedly.

"I can take you. I can go there earlier".

"Don't you have the show in May?"

"They've asked me to choose the date, and I haven't decided yet", Yoongi stretches his arms, then falls on the side like a cat, pressing the top of his head to your ribs as his hand tickles them under your other arm. You shift. He knows you don't like tickling too much and does it when he wants a reaction. You clutch his hand shortly to tell him to stop, and his palm settles.

"But we have to go for three days then".

"I can't get time off work. On Monday I need to be back".

"Tell them you're sick".

You brush it off. It's not a big deal anyway. Yeah you haven't been to concerts in years, but you're not seventeen anymore. Life doesn't make it easy to constantly give in to all you desire. You don't have the power to move events like he does. Your hand instinctively touches his hair, and you manage to swipe through it once, before you catch yourself and let go. Yoongi isn't prickly at all, but that one time was more than enough. You don't need to be told twice.

"You know I can't just clear my schedule like that. They need me".

Even though your brain starts working immediately, weighing options, creating loopholes. Maybe you can say you have an emergency, or even leverage Yoongi himself telling them that since he is taking you out of the kindness of his heart, the management should give you a Friday and Monday off. He sighs without making it too sincere.

"You got time to think until tomorrow afternoon".

"Don't adapt for me".

"It's not a problem".

He leaves as usual, quickly and tidy, and you're thinking about the band. You haven't seen them in such a long time. If you get a free shot at going, you should probably take it. You shove all the other reasons deeper and out of the way because you know when Yoongi is working, he is all but absent.

By midnight, you send him a message saying you have dealt with it. He texts back a thumbs up. Asks if you need a ticket, too. Offers to go with you, and you don't take it as anything because when Yoongi is with you, he is actually nice. He is the kind of person who will offer help and then won't pout when it's accepted. You respond to him that you will go to the pit to thrash your head and slam people around, and he retracts the offer.

Then next time you meet, it's already on the private jet. You're taken to the plane fifteen minutes earlier by a security guy wearing flip-flops, while the airport is buzzing and waiting for Yoongi. You slither right through the crowd and to the gate, leaving them behind expecting the real star.

The star climbs up into the plane clutching his knitted hat in his hand and with a cup of iced coffee. Yoongi's eyes dart to the double seats on the other side where Mr Lee makes himself comfortable. You've chosen a single seat at the window, facing forward, so he crashes across the table from you, recalling vaguely that you are maybe afraid of flying. His memory is proven right when the take off begins, and he sees your face stuck to the window, hands clutching the armrests, mouth a lopsided smile like you're judging the gravity. He is sure there's something very loud going on in the airpods in your ears. He keeps observing, notifying with displeasure, that you're afraid for the most part of the flight, uneasy the whole way as the plane soars up, gaining speed and altitude, and then only mildly bothered for the other thirteen hours, only to get panicked again at the beginning of landing. As the runway approaches, he can see your chest freezing, like you are expecting to crash right into the ground, and he can't take it anymore: nudges your foot with his, pushing lightly, then leans over the table. You are too stressed to take an airpod out, so you just grab the hand that he puts out over the table, without taking your eyes off the land. The hold is so strong that Yoongi unwillingly imagines what it will be like at, say, childbirth. You will probably break his wrist.

"Why don't you drink before flight?" he asks, when the plane is firmly on the rest, as he stands up to get his bag from a nearby seat. Mr Lee leaves the plane with the manager and the stylists, to check if everything is ready.

"I get sick if there's turbulence. Once vomited all over a tiny Ryanair plane, it was horrible", you mumble. You feel positively exhausted after an excrutiatingly long flight. Yoongi had motioned towards the bed in the front segment of the plane, but you can never sleep while in the air: it's like the only thing keeping this thing going without nose diving is your pure terror.

"Jimin is coming, too. He wants to show up at the second performance", he remembers, "so you better fly back with us, too".

"Oh. The two us in one plane?"

He shrugs with a smile. Yoongi likes to note how you are a little similar to Jimin. He never clarifies in what ways; you don't work with his youngster a lot, so you have vague image of the guy. But you hear nice things about him, and like him by extention.

He hums instead of a goodbye, then leaves the plane as per Mr Lee's permission. You leave fifteen minutes later, when the arrivals hall is already clear, and the big SUV circles the terminal to pick you up on the corner. You feel happy after having survived yet another flight.

You attend your show and Yoongi attends his; only, while you're thrashing the life out of yourself in the pit to the favourite music, he is sitting like a good boy in the first row of a game, looking pretty. The next day, you would have left on your own to give everybody a surprise at work by showing up on time, but you weigh everything and realize that, if you were so terrified on a private flight, fifteen hours in commercial will be absolutely unbearable and result in some sticky mess. So you linger around Berlin, wander the city for the day after sleeping in, get cold in April weather, get caught up in the rain, eat some curry wurst and in the evening, go to see Yoongi's private performance for the lack of better things to do.

You hang around the dressing rooms before the performance, watching the stylists doll him up: it's always a pleasant sight. Brushes poking his button nose, he squeezes his eyes shut, moving the phone glued to his palm around. You know people are generally curious what the fuck he is constantly doing on his phone. Watches videos or plays mobile games. At the age of thirty-two, he already has several striking features of an old man, and the forecast doesn't look optimistic. Soon, he will start grumbling about the weather, too. His eyes dart to you as you start fidgeting with the coffee machine.

"Can I have one, too?"

"I am putting star anise in".

His stylist, a short quirky girl, turns around to give you a face full of disgust.

"Why?" Yoongo hoots. Like it's a crime.

"Experiment".

"You shouldn't have coffee now", his manager says.

"It tastes okay".

He is sent off to the tiny stage where he is going to entertain selected European fans and show off his average English. You wander around the place, expecting to see Jimin, who can't go on a week without his genius hyung's company. You heard he has a very packed month, promotions and too many rehearsals, all that while his knee injury isn't healed yet, but Jimin is always in a state of panic so he never wants to pedal back. Now he clawed three days out and darted from Seoul to Berlin to show support because he knows Yoongi doesn't feel too comfortable in Europe on his own. Even though he will never say. It's new information for you, and you have to constantly remind yourself you aren't entitled to it at all.

You find him in the smaller dressing room with monitors, observing Yoongi from a distance. There's a whole crew with the light and cameras swarming around him, while Jimin is hunched up on a chair, not even looking at the screens. His head is down, the lid of the cap hiding his face, hands in his pockets, one knee jerking up and down. You feel something like short-fused anger rise in you and don't think much before stepping in and getting into a shot.

"Hey", you look into the camera, then at the man trying to swerve around you, but you outpace him, making your way towards Jimin in little steps. You've seen this tiny guy at work often. Always running somewhere, his strong legs working. Always a smile on his face. You know much more about him from Yoongi who likes talking about his brothers. You know enough to want to protect him, which means, Yoongi always wants to protect him.

"Do you have to record him when he is like this?"

You can only see the tip of his chin, but then Jimin looks up at you, his eyes timid and glistening.

"He is upset. Is this content, too?"

You tilt your head, meeting their eyes. The crew starts grunting something quietly, cameras rolling.

"I am already in it, so I guess you'll have to delete it".

You sit down in front of him like he's a kid. Frankly, a lot of them look like kids. Most of them are only grown on paper, the age in their passports often doesn't respond to how they are. Many boys, stuck in the tender ages they have been traumatised in, by the company. Yoongi often acts like he is a mature twenty-year old which aligns with his debut age.

You put your hands on his knees and lower your voice.

"Who did this, Jiminie?"

The tone makes him chuckle immediately. He sighs like it's a relief. You're glad you have that sense of humour, coupled with your small size, that makes guys smile.

"I'm alright".

"Yeah? You just tell me who upset you, and I'll beat them up".

The recording crew retreats dissatisfied because you refuse to leave his side. Jimin throws them one cautious look and his face lights up just a little.

"Beat them up?"

"Yeah, I go to gym, bro, I punch the bag all the time".

His left knee shakes with his laughter. He adjusts the cap and takes the second hand out of the pocket of his hoodie.

"Thank you".

"No problem. I am a very angry person, I am always ready to protect pretty boys like you".

Yoongi returns to the dressing room a little sweaty, just a little agitated, his nervous system alarmed but satisfied with yet another linguistic adventure overcome without a catastrophe, and sees Jimin snicker at your words as your hands clutch his knees like he is the little princess and you're his suitor. He sees it from the door the handle of which he clutches, and he notices things instantly. How you smile, bowing to see his eyes, how Jimin's hand flies up to his neck, how his voice rumbles deeply to make him sound more manly. Yoongi also notices the tremor in his injured knee and walks over to join you.

As you see him, you stand up and give space.

Yoongi's hand caresses Jimin's head.

"Don't be upset about it".

"I let you down, hyung".

"You didn't. You're here, aren't you? I am happy you're here".

You step away quietly as Yoongi keeps comforting him, glowing in his white outfit, hair slicked back and with highlighter on his cheeks. Looks too much like a groom.

Back at the hotel, Yoongi keeps waddling in and out of the bathroom with a brush in his mouth, one hand in his hair.

"How was the concert?"

"You asked me yesterday and I told you everything", you reply, without taking your eyes off the phone.

"Right. You caught any confetti?"

"No".

"Why not? People gather them and stuff them in jars, you know. We always try to invent new shapes for confetti so that ours will have different jars with different confetti".

You look up at him. He looks like a guy you could spend the rest of your life with, and it hurts quite frankly. So cosy, handsome with his hair undone, plain white tee, one hand sawing something in his mouth with the toothbrush.

"You had coffee, didn't you?"

He shrugs.

"Why don't you ever babygirl me like you did with Jimin?"

A chuckle rumbles in your chest.

"You never show any weakness".

You see that makes him think, actually. Yoongi is probably too caught up in his life to notice such things, to pay attention to himself. He produces a short pondering hm and disappears back into bathroom. This chitchat pisses you off. He is usually way less talkative. Polite, friendly, but not very open. You don't like it when he acts like you have hope. The old grudge you have festers in you for too long, growing from a little childish sore into a sort of trauma. You avoid touching him for too long, talking to him about personal stuff. He usually doesn't respond anything, at best. Establishing limits in the beginning was kind of humiliating; he would take your hand off his shoulder softly, saying he will vacate you at once if you find someone serious. The same goes for him.

Now he gets into bed and his hand is on the top of your head, patting. His arm wraps around your waist as he pushes himself closer. These two days were too tiring and busy so you didn't have any sex, thus, it's even more intimate when he does this. You don't flinch, but instead tense your body up, bitterness a juice in your brain.

"Don't make it weird", you ask. Yoongi lifts himself up on an elbow to look you in the face.

"Huh?"

"I am uncomfortable when you hug me like this".

In the bluish darkness of the room, you can see his bewildered, surprised expression.

"Are you serious right now?"

And you know, you know his mind wanders back to that one time he flinched. Because you know he remembers.

You nod.

"I can't fall asleep with your arm on me anyway", you lie, "it's too heavy".

With a sigh in between his teeth, he removes his hand but doesn't turn away yet.

"What's gotten into you?" then pause, "is it because I told you to back off once?"

It's spectacular how for both of you, that one occasion is a sharp rock shining painful white of awkwardness and unspoken spite.

"Hey, I don't need you to repeat. But you have to respect the limits, too", you say calmly. You understand his shock, because nothing this evening indicated there were any problems. But the outburst is inevitable from time to time, simply because you react to his touch the way you wish you didn't. When it's not during sex, when it's not possessive, you have to ask yourself what's the reason for touching you at all. Yoongi sniffs through his nose.

"Isn't it a little too dramatic? You're really sore about that?"

"I am not".

"Then what's the problem? We sleep like this all the time".

"After we fuck".

"So let's fuck".

You fall back on your pillow and brush through your hair.

"Fine, Jesus", he closes up, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Yoongi does this very well, removes himself, it's not worth it. It's not worth being straightforward, and because he doesn't push, doesn't try to speak to you, you understand his touch, in fact, didn't mean anything. You're one of those soft, warm breathing pillows that help the sleeping. He simply turns around on the other side and purrs like he always does when relaxing his whole body. He doesn't snore and is quite proud of it.

In the morning things are back to normal. It was a slight glitch; in the dark, you can both bury it and pretend nothing happened. Yoongi is allergic to being direct with you, it's all subtle. You see he avoids brushing hands by accident as he takes your bag and pushes it in the trunk; then by the time you make it to the airport, and you go first, he is casual and light again, happy to go home. He gives you one concerned look then says nothing, pushing the mask up his face even though he stays in the car. You go fifteen minutes before him and pass through the waiting crowd, invisible, efficient, led by the security guy in flip-flops.

Mr Lee enters the plane first, and he motions to you, looking you in the eye with a kind smile:

"Take that seat, by the window".

Yoongi follows him and nods at the double seats as well and you understand he wants to make the flight a little better for you. So you plunge in the wide seat at the window, looking outside at the greyish Berlin sky, unassuming white keeping your night trick hidden away. Yoongi sits down next to you, quite ready to fence if you start acting up again, but you don't. The fear of death is much stronger now. Jimin arrives unexpectedly because you have completely forgotten he flies back with you: he lights up the space, happier than yesterday, ruffles his raspberry-lilac hair and eases the tension. Yoongi's gaze clicks onto him and you are grateful for that. You can suffer in silence and alone. Jimin notices how wide your eyes are, and how you clutch onto Yoongi's hand that reaches out as the plane starts moving. The rain makes it worse: you look at the trees bending in the distance, thinking about how a wind like this can knock a vehicle off the course easily.

"You're scared of flying?"

He also asks this because seeing Yoongi hold someone's hand - a girl's hand - is remarkably unusual for him. He studies this clutch of interlocked fingers with curiousity, like it's an animal he thought was extinct.

"That's to put it lightly", you coo back. The plane gains speed, and you are pressed against the back of your seat. Primal horror snatches your breath.

"You know planes crash very rarely? This one definitely isn't going to. Carrying South Korea's most important producer".

His rambling doesn't help. On the opposite, it exposes how naive Jimin's thinking is. You apprecite the movement of his plump, smiling lips, trying to distract you, but he only makes it worse. The plane doesn't care who it carries; if it crashes, it crashes, killing everyone.

"The only dangerous times of the flight are the take off and the landing", he continues, thinking he is setting your mind at peace. You are well aware of that. And for now, you just so happen to be in the middle of a take off.

"Jimin", Yoongi hoots, "you're not helping".

"Sorry", he smiles sweetly, like a little shit. You chuckle at that nasty grin and look away at the window again. Luckily Yoongi's hand actually helps. If you die, you die holding the person you love. The plane dips slightly as the gear kisses the ground goodbye, and you squeeze it, begging silently. For some reason, he thinks of child labour again, wondering why he gets this specific association. The grip is so strong it hurts his hand, and he gives in to the pain, takes it, without realizing what it means.

─────────────────────────────────────

The sex changes slightly, and it's a sign you're doing worse. You can't help it when he is close to you, with the body you have come to know well and love a lot, you start shoving your face close to his to catch his breathing, and Yoongi seems to enjoy that, feeding into your delusion. He is a needy, universal lover, always down for some tenderness, who likes to be handled with care. Always a giver, a helper in everyday life, he replenishes the affection from you by being caressed and held tightly, without asking. Only, it hurts you when he does this - allows you to pull him closer, share a kiss that's too gentle as you come undone, because for several seconds it feels like you love each other. But it's a position that he comes to like a lot: you on his lap, faces pressed together as he hunches his back a little to be on the same eye level, to then fall on the side like in water, clutching to each other.

"We okay?" he asks out of nowhere. You look at his soft profile. His upper lip trembling a little, the lower part of his stomach contracting. You push his thigh with your knee.

"Yes? Why wouldn't we be?"

He nods like he is getting ready to jump into a well full of sharks, or go on stage. Closing his eyes for a second, then heaves himself off the bed, like he usually does. He doesn't like to linger, sensory overload of your sweaty body pressed against his. He takes a quick shower and then leaves tidying after himself, ready to work. He never has you at his place like it's too sacred, or like he has some secrets there. It's always hotels or your apartment, a car, a locked office with no windows. He says something about his home being too far away, and how inconvenient it is. He knows it's bullshit, and you know it too. You live in the same neighbourhood.

─────────────────────────────────────

Jimin keeps smiling and it suddenly pisses him off. Yoongi folds a napkin and attempts to make a swan out of it, but all that comes out is a plane. He taps Jimin on the shoulder and hands him his little present.

Jungkook's eyes widen at the sight of it.

"And for me? Me, hyung?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, catching a stare from Taehyung, too.

"Is it his birthday?" the second youngest demands.

"It's not Jimin's birthday", Jungkook confirms.

"What's that for?" Jimin asks, quite pleased.

He wants to jab him playfully, so naturally, it's a bribe: stop staring at my girl. It baffles him. His guts drop. Like when he realizes two meetings clash on his schedule. In that case, after a second of panic, he takes a deep breath and calls his manager. Now, he can't call his manager and say, hey, there's an inconvenience. I don't like the way Jimin can't seem to shut up about Y/N after she touched his leg and smiled at him in Berlin. This glitch is all his. And he closes up. Feelings, undeveloped, tend to die on their own. Whether he needs them is out of question: he doesn't. He's been doing that naturally; of course he'd developed an innocent crush on someone he has sex regularly with. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do that properly. He's a feeling, inspired human, artistic: he can't do it without trust. That's how his head works at least. This kind of light infatuation adds to the sex, it makes it truly relaxing and non-stressful without needing to act on it. Of course he feels something. It's a kind of a driving force in his work, as well.

The real problem arises when there's someone else in the equation.

─────────────────────────────────────

Namjoon is focused like a hawk as you fight for your life. You hate losing; perhaps something from childhood when your cousin constantly beat you and then gloated about it; there was a saying in your family, as a game was over, if you can't work your brains, work your hands. The loser shuffled the deck back in order. You hated being the loser. But against Namjoon it is impossible. He beats you every time, although thankfully, he isn't an asshole about it. But allowing himself to throw hands in the air victoriously. You smile about it, press your jaws together, crunch your nose to laugh it off.

You rarely play cards at all, maybe only in the breaks like these, while the laptop is working and you have to wait; and the foyer is realtively empty, and the disposition is relaxed. You have a coffee at your side on the low table, and the faint music creates a comfortable bubble to lose to your friends at a game of cards. You strike the table with the rest of yours, and Namjoon smiles with dimples, pacifying you.

Yoongi takes his place.

"Rematch".

He is surprisingly bad at it. To the point where his friend is at his side, pushing him with his thigh, so that Yoongi has to scoot over on the small couch to let the giant sit next to him.

"Yoongi hyung, but there's a..."

"Shh. I have a strategy".

You observe his eyes above the cards as he glances at you. The feral looks you give to each other are fun. Namjoon hums something when Yoongi has to scoop the cards and take them to himself, losing more and more.

"The strategy sucks", he muses.

"I know what I'm doing".

It makes you concerned but you beat him in the end with a little bit of wit, and at least it's not too humiliating. Namjoon gives him a look, then turns away, and there are dimples again. The banana palm on your side throws a shade on the table as the sun moves across the sky outside. You look at them both as your nostrils grow in size.

"Oh you let me win, didn't you?"

You lean over the table to get to him and see the cards, but Yoongi moves away, then takes the deck and starts mixing.

"I wish. Maybe I'm just bad at it".

Namjoon stands up with a swing, still with that shit-eating grin on his transparent face. Thing about him, he's not good at three things: acting, keeping secrets and lying. His eyebrows give him away every time.

─────────────────────────────────────

For you, it's like living. The feeling of love is a familiar thing to you, especially with him. He is a warm, unique human and as long as you meet from time to time, it's only half-way bad. You have things to distract you from it, and you postpone doing something about it, like breaking this arrangement. Maybe next month. Maybe next month again.

For Yoongi, it's like falling. Like his house of cards crashing down. Carefully curated existence spinning out of control. Control is very important to him: he likes to have control over his personal affairs. He likes to know what he is doing every minute of the day. He doesn't have obsessions; doesn't have urges that control him instead. Even though he is a feeling human, he isn't a victim to his desires. Now all of a sudden the peace is tilted, and he snaps. It's like a foot catching air instead of a step. He simply doesn't have time for this, it makes no sense. Feeling in love seems to him like someone demanding giving up his work and his freedom, and he will never do that. It actually makes him aggressive, feels like invasion of his space, and he doesn't like that. How dare you clutch the shirt on his chest in your fist, making those eyes he knows he isn't able to resist, saying "let's ruin it?" Will you buy him a new one? How dare you groan at your computer in a way that makes him so hard that he hits his dick on the desk, trying to stand up? How dare you have that laugh that sounds like gripping his hand, giving birht to his babies?

Love is a thing idols cannot afford. It's nonsense for others. He, he has a goal. A point to his existence, he has something to say and something to prove. It's below him to settle like the peak of his life has been reached, and all his ambition satisfied. Far from it. He gets angry with himself when he lets you beat him in a card game because he doesn't understand himself where the impulse came from. It's not that deep.

He breaks it off. Says he doesn't have time anymore. He memorizes your eyes when you size him up and say,

"I figured".

Although there was no indication before, because you were "okay". He lets it slide, the way you let go of him too easily, without questioning it, almost with a sense of relief. He tells himself it's not his burden anymore, and it should clear his head and lighten the load. After all, the affairs like these are often doomed from the start. One of you might fall in love, or meet someone else, or just grow tired. It's not supposed to be for life. He goes back inside his mind and assesses things left after you: memory of your elbow, twice smaller than his; hairs on his hoodie; the feeling of mountains; a new type of coffee: milk, cinnamon and star anise. He's sure there's more, but the feeling of frustration, like he was about to sneeze and never did, floods him and blocks his brains from thinking.

There's also mint. He remembers it when Jimin comes in one day smelling like it. Yoongi gives him a long look as his shoulders go cold.

"Hm?"

He shakes his head nothing.

─────────────────────────────────────

He also gets dreams. They aren't exactly dreams - rather, the lingering visions in his eyelids when on the brink of falling asleep. Pleasant pictures of something he regrets losing; if only there was a way to keep his emotions out of it, he'd watch your stomach contract under his hand forever. Gentle, careful knot of your belly button. The muscles in your sides flexing, soft birthmarks scattered on the skin, the tasty curve of your hip. He dreams again about that one evening when he paid a visit, but was in such a good mood that you ended up cuddling; he couldn't get enough of the sight of your ass in the underwear, squeezing, while you watched funny videos on his phone, and you laughed, thunderously, into his poor ear, snorted with laughter, your body shaking, until he suddenly started noticing the scent of your hair, too.

That's the adult way out: everybody has feelings. The choice is whether to act on them or not; you think, your feelings are only your business and nobody else's. If Yoongi asked, and you feel that at some point he was close to that, you'd tell him to fuck off and mind his affairs. You get to keep what you have inside your head.

Now, as he enters the studio with the hood on, you feel perfectly balanced and calm. Love hasn't hurt you as much as this man; he takes off the hood and you nod to the booth, and he casually follows your instructions. You step after him and hand him a sheet of paper. He's been to a facial recently, you can tell. His nose pores are clear and he's glowing, giving him a slightly pouty look. Smells like star anise. Imagining hugging him in his car as it's raining outside, hiding your face in his clean hoodie, his hair obedient under your palm, is so simple you could draw a picture if you had any talent for it.

"Read from here when you see the green light".

"I know how recording works", he chuckles, a little shy. You smile back and brush him off. He picks on the skin on his thumb and you shake his hands apart out of the habit you haven't smothered yet. However, he complies and puts them in the pockets, looking at the paper. You leave the booth and go to the laptop where you get ready.

"In Japan, women are considered superior divers", he begins reading, his voice unfiltered by his acting. Yoongi has many voices, you've heard most of them you think. The favourite of yours is the purring request he used to send straight into your ear canal, pressing his lips against the side of your head: turn to me, I want to see your face. His speaking voice betrays his origin, and you specifically asked that he drops the Seoul accent when recording. So it's authentic Min Suga, hands in pockets, hair on his eyes, head slightly moving with his own rhythm he weaves easily.

"...due to distribution of fat in their bodies and ability to hold their breaths underwater. Pearl fetching was a dangerous business and required light, swift, nimble women who could at the same time withstand the harsh underwater conditions. Very often they would swim up all blue, but pearls tucked neatly in the pouches on their waists. Gifts of the sea have never been easy to retrieve".

He is done in fifteen minutes, reading overall two pages of text. You can see he's not worried and stressed. Probably sleeps well; he unzips his hoodie and takes it off because it's a bit hot in the studio - you get cold sooner and easier than other people. As he pulls it off himself, the shoulder tugs on the hem of his T-shirt and exposes a bit of his skin, and you see a dark-blue bruise.

"Tsk".

He leaves the booth, turning his head like a mill, a little distracted.

"What?"

"That's such an asshole move".

When there's nothing to lose, as you've lost him already, you actually feel more liberated to speak your mind exactly as it feels. Yoongi is a bit lost, looking at you.

"Huh?"

"So big, as well. You told me you have no time for that business anymore?"

You actually pout, feeling shockingly indifferent. Your feelings have been, so to say, stomped upon, dull under all the cruelty.

His hand reaches for his shoulder as fingers send the impulse back into the brain, and he stretches,

"That- I'm a big boy, alright?"

You cock your eyebrow shortly.

"Could've just said you don't like me personally", you download the file containing his voice and begin renaming it according to the protocol.

"That's not it", he even puts the hoodie back on. "On the opposite, it was getting too personal".

"I agree. I am just surprised you found someone else so soon, that's all", you mutter, your eyes on your work. He hums. Retreats, it's what he does best. Slithers quietly through the door after making sure he is done here.

You tell him he is, hissing the words with a stretch, giving them double meaning.

Yoongi leaves, hands pulling on the sides of his zip-up hoodie, up and down, up and down, thinking about the idiocy of it. He's finished filming a Run BTS episode yesterday, where punishment was cupping. He's lucky he only lost once. Taehyung was roaring with pleasure as he vaccumed the fuck out of his shoulder. What would you say if you saw the back of Namjoon, who lost five times?

─────────────────────────────────────

Yoongi believes in karma and all that shit. Especially when he's drunk; he keeps thinking about that little misunderstanding and how your cheeks pouted as you stared into the laptop, accusing him of getting hickeys a week after he ended the arrangement. He's not feeling guilty or anything, but it's unnatural for him to not keep things straight. Although with you, he thinks, there's already so much shit tangled that he could as well just leave it be. First of all, never talked out that weird rejected hug incident; then again the breakup itself, like walking on the straight road and sudeenly falling into a manhole. He's not in the habit of leaving things piled up, but he just can't seem to learn to be direct with you. It's bad enough you make him horny like he is going through puberty again, you also tie his tongue down. He preferred to keep it deep inside of you to avoid talking at all. After all, that was the deal.

When he starts getting drunk at the Another Billion party, this awkwardness returns to him and he gathers all his might and good will to search you out and tell you what the bruise was about. He is ready to drag the other members with him so that they vouch for it; he finds he doesn't need to do so, because Namjoon and Jimin, of course, are already glued to you. Next to an ugly black-glass sculpture supposed to represent an idol throwing their arms up. Namjoon is swaying, he can't take his alcohol. Jimin is sturdier than him, but is also red in the neck; both listening to you with their mouths slightly ajar. When you talk, people around always listen, and Yoongi hates that, too. That this ability of yours, together with your body, your deafening screeching laughter, your iron grip, your moans, your fears, the mint of your lips, don't belong to him. He doesn't want any of it - but it sucks that other people get to experience it, too. He almost goes blind for a second, slapping his glasses back to his face, as the idea of Jimin knowing what the chapstick tastes like, crosses his mind.

"...that I was a huge black dragon. This is the best dream I've ever had in my life", you enunciate, making sure they are listening to you. Both Joon and Jiminie are so out of it, it makes you shake with the laughter you push down for the sake of the story.

"I was big, I felt big, I remember the feeling of absolute freedom" (Namjoon has exactly one hiccup) "as I was flying above the Aegean sea during black storm. Black dragon, black storm, the waves were gigantic".

"How did you know it was Aegean sea?" Jimin asks.

"I had this dream when I was staying in Greece. It's also my favourite sea".

"Yoongi really likes mountains", Namjoon mutters. You stare at him for a second.

"Okay?"

"Continue".

"And I was flying around, laughing out of happiness, I was so elated I actually laughed, and I was throwing these black pearls into the sea..."

"Sea and mountains", Namjoon continues, funnily, "nuah?"

"Are you sure it wasn't Black sea?" Jimin tries to ignore his hyung, putting his hand on Namjoon's chest as the leader starts to tilt forward.

"I mean you were black, storm was black, the pearls were black..."

You purse your lips because he makes a good point. In between their heads, you see Yoongi adjust his glasses and glaring at you three like you are dismembering a freshly caught deer with your bare hands.

"What's up with the nerd slut?" you nod at him, and the two turn around. The blood rushes back from Jimin's neck as his face lights up in a smile. His imperfect teeth make his smile infectious.

"Yoongi-ah", he coos softly as the cloud approaches.

"I need to talk to you", you can hear he's had a two or six, or sixteen. Yoongi is way too good at drinking, he can take a lot of it and then be drunk for a lot of time, hiding it, and only burst if someone really pushes him. His eyes are glossy behind the lenses of his glasses.

"You tired?" Namjoon becomes perceptive when he drinks. Yoongi nods and extends his hand on the waist level. You do not take it but follow him as he nods in the direction of a quieter corridor. Big hall is booming with music and it irritates you both; everybody reacts differently to alcohol: Taehyung is throwing his ass around on the dancefloor for example. It's his celebration and he is allowed. You, you get more yourself you'd say. All your impulses become sharper. Your loudness becomes louder and quieteness, quieter. Your insecurities shine, but so does your wit. Your laughter becomes irresistible, Yoongi would say, but you never asked him to know about it. His laughter is always irresistible to you, just like his word. So, even though you are sore, hate him a little, feel like aching next to him, insanely jealous, when he calls, you walk with him out of the room, plunging into the lukewarm shade of the corridor.

You sneak away like two schoolchildren trying to act tough. We need to talk. Sounds like giggling to you, and you do. His thick neck turns to you. He's been working out again lately. Of course.

"I need to make something very clear", he begins, harder than you expected him to, and your spine shivers, at the same time with your knees wobbling. You don't know if you're intimidated or upset. You must unintentionally give him a rabbit look, because he stops abruptly, looking you in the face.

"The... that? I was cranky, okay? It was one time".

You struggle to catch what he means exactly, having a moment of complete lack of clarity. All you see is his full lips letting a breath out.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what, why have you been punishing me for that this whole time?"

Your brows go up, brain struggling, because you just keep thinking about that hickey on his shoulder. And it makes you angry that he's irritated, and agitated after drinking. You can bet you have way more beef with him than he with you.

"Big deal, I brushed you off once, you need to get over your pride some time. Like it's cracking me that that's what you've been hung up on. Becasue I told you to back off, you've been refusing to hug me for six months?"

You bang the back of your head on the window glass as you throw it up. The last thing you need right now is lectures and complaints, but it's refreshing that Yoongi would speak in such long sentences.

"You replaced me already", you hum, like it's an unbeatable argument that is made of gold.

You hope he shuts up and decides to douse the tension in one last hookup. You're down for it. Arguments are tiresome and feel unnatural with him, the guy who prefers to tuck everything in and walk away before it spills out. You realize he isn't actually talking anymore, but his eyes are studying the window behind you as if he's considering breaking it.

"And you replaced me?"

It sounds like a half question, like he's not sure. The intonation going up. Suddenly you think of whales and their gentle, lonely calls, but also, about the wind, whistling in between the crooked branches. The 'fuck it' is announced without being uttered, as your hands reach in the half-dark for his pants. He isn't wearing a belt so your fingers crush into the hem of the jeans and go straight to the button. Yoongi's palm covers them, squeezes your fingers almost with rage, stopping you roughly, but he steps closer, and the last thing you see is the frame of his glasses. He kisses you, at the same time as you kiss him, mumbling something about the last time, just to be sure, your mouth opens simultaneously with your legs. Yoongi's hand slides off yours and grabs your side aggressively, hungrily; a month was the longest you'd gone on without jumping each other's bones, so it's not the withdrawal. It's something else. You tug on his jeans, unsure to unbutton them because you've read his gesture clearly. There's people behind the door. He lifts you up with one arm and sits you on the window sill and your arm snakes around him, touching the back, fingers clinging to every inch of his thick, white, moving body. Kisses slurp in bites, his tongue makes you dizzy. He has never kissed you like that before; not when he was needy, not when he was very horny, not when he was vulnerable which didn't happen often. Guess it's one of the bright colours of making out with a human; they surprise you. The love rises from the depths of your guts, making its painful way up, and you bend and lean against him, trying to feel his body pressed to yours. Yoongi's hand clutches on the top you're wearing like he's trying to tear it off you.

"Do they know it was once covered all over in my cum?" he grunts against your cheek, and your spine shakes like he's done a spell on it. Tiny shivers under his fingers. You grab his neck.

"I don't casually go around telling that to people".

His warm, hard hand sneaks under the fabric, fingers count the ribs, then pinch them, and his mouth slides lower, across your cheek and to your throat. You wish you could stay there forever. The blue and green in your inner mind, darkness around, and Yoongi clinging on you like he's turning during the full moon. You hear his glasses click against the plastic as he takes them off, then his hand returns to the small of your back and presses. He smells so familiar already that it feels like it's going to be your doom; you know all his scents, you're afraid. Eros by Versace, white vanilla detergent on his clothes, blueberry chewing gum, the leather of his car, cloudberry conditioner in his hair, and the skin smell, the clean smell that he has, the perfume no one can replicate and you can't explain. Unfortunately you love all of them, really love in the most genuine way, and it makes you sob all of a sudden, but you mask it as a moan. Yoongi hisses, letting go of your neck, and his hand makes its way up to cover your mouth. In the dark you see his eyes as he kisses the back of his palm. Can he even love you the way you have come to love him. Is he capable of that, with his fixation on his work. Constantly caught up in thinking about how to round up the beat, and how a bridge will come out, his head poking out above the chair, is he even capable of loving someone. He pulls you, your legs made of wool, deeper, looking for an empty room with a lock, and, preferably, optionally, without a cctv hidden somewhere in the foot of a desk.

You barely pay attention to the room; the dark eats away at it. You two, connected at the mouths, hands on each other's ribs, in each other's hair, stumble backwards, like a limping monster, trying to find a place to land. The space around spins; there's nothing but Yoongi, and if he pulled you after himself into a chasm, you'd only clutch his hand tightly. He kicks something behind you, and your calves feel the soft of a couch, and it's the signal to turn. Yoongi crashes onto it, making the vision you've had a fraction of a second ago, reality: you fall, fall into the darkness, guided by his well-studied hands, tracing the veins on the backs of his big palms, a little dry. The shape of them holding you tightly is something you want your mind, drunk or sober, to never forget. You might not have him after this, tomorrow, but now you land on his lap, knees spread, his hand on your back under the crop top, scratching lightly with his short-cut nails. His fingertips are the best - slightly rough from guitar, but sensitive; Yoongi has memorized all the spots on your body, dividing it into "yes-no-maybe" zones for scratching. He knows the "yes-yes" zone just around your spine, it makes you arch your back as you grind your hips against him. You like him for not being too chatty during moments like these; his breathing lets you know. The hardening of his cock is obvious through two pairs of jeans. Falling apart, you think about the mess of it all: you don't have any spare clothes, no extra underwear, and this one is already no good, soaked through. Your hands grab the back of his head again and hold on for dear life as Yoongi guides your hips against his, forehead pressed to your collarbone, your gentle mid-sized giant with dry, soft hair and prominent neck muscles. His shoulders, lean, strong, work under your hands, wet mouth grabbing at your breast through the top. He can't see shit without his glasses or lenses, and especially so in the relative dark, where the only light comes through the windows from the nearby buildings; so sensory study is all that's left to him. When Yoongi is ready to undress, he usually produces a sort of a tired sigh-groan, and then his fingers start pinching at your flesh. But now he doesn't. The alcohol is spinning your head, the heat in your core pooling, and you sort of forget where what is. The only thing that matters is to find his puffy lips again, bearing the taste of mint and whiskey. You raise yourself to deepen the kiss, and Yoongi pushes you back hard, lifting his own hips to connect. The breath is caught somewhere in the ribs, shiver crunching the body, but his hand steadies you in comforting strokes. You are trying to breathe, you really do, but it comes out in gushes, sometimes audibly, as your fingers trace his beautiful face. Yoongi is so good at making you come undone; you barely control your own body, he becomes the puppeteer at the thunderous wave of your feeling. The arousal at this point is animalistic, coming up to your throat, making you mumble. Not talk - talking is banned in between you, but the unconnected shreds of words dripping off your lips, that he catches with his teeth, are okay.

"I want you".

"No, I want you more".

You feel his shoulder flex as he lifts your hips, depriving you of the pressure of his groin, and you immediately whine.

"Oh no, I spoiled you", he whispers, Daegu words blurring with each other, his voice a soft purr. He turns you, pushing on the stomach, and you lie down, and his hands start working immediately, mouth at its favourite activitiy: tracing the lines of your shuddering stomach. Yoongi undoes the jeans and pulls them down together with the underwear. His fingers plunge immediately into you, without a warning, and you produce a silent shriek. Hands searching for him, nails digging into the massive of his shoulders. Yoongi likes the way his own words sounded: I spoiled you. Likes the absolute mess that you are, squirming at his touch, he feels appreciated, wanted, needed. He never managed to make anyone like this before; he has made a quiet unspoken promise long time ago to never tell anyone about it. About how you seem to lose your sentience when his lips are below the solar plexus. He is in love with this sensation. He wants to keep it going, but can't; he can't think; he pulls down his jeans because he wants to fuck you senseless, fuck you into amnesia, and himself; so that tomorrow the things are easier and clearer; you're a blurry silhouette for him, moving against the sea of darkness, the buoy he's swimming towards, and the tighter you cling onto him, the better. He feels cradled, he feels loved. It feels hot inside of you, incredibly tight, you always wrap your legs around his waist like a monkey, trying to push him deeper even when it starts hurting the hips. The best thing - you both cannot come easily because you're drunk, so it just goes on and on, the swimming, the touching, your sounds blooming like flowers on fruit trees. He thinks of sampling them, putting them within the underbeat, masking them, but using them; he has been trying to figure out the beat that would describe the way he feels with you: sharp hip bone in his hand, the heel of your foot on his leg, the tasty chemical of your peach fragrance that he licked clean off your throat. It's the frustration of never finding the right melody, because making music requires love, and he is too busy to allow it to himself, so he just fucks like there's no tomorrow, apologizing through his embrace, dripping feelings off the tips of his hair.

─────────────────────────────────────

A whole month away is good. For Yoongi. He gets to travel across all Asia and do some hiking, turn his phone off and just be completely alone. Not to think, he doesn't want to think, he wants to have his brains blank and just see pines, and the slope of the mountain, the birds soaring above, and the flowers fluttering in the wind. But the thoughts come by themselves; he realizes it's a trap that he had set for himself. Because mountains remind him of you, and he finally starts understanding what exactly makes the connection. It's the feeling of freedom, good loneliness and realness that they provide.

Relationships are promises, ruined plans, unplanned arguments, ridiculous commitments and distractions. Yoongi knows himself very well: he is not a multitasking person, and when he is in love, which thankfully doesn't happen often, he is beside himself with the feeling, and it affects work. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. It's been so comfortable, so well-organized - living in his independence bubble - that he is pushing the ghost away, because the ghost is whispering scary things to him. Coffee dates; he imagines sitting with you in a place in Yongsan-gu and watching your face and your beaded necklace not matching your band tee. He imagines you in his hoodies; you have stolen none of them, you always abstained from going through his things, touching him too much, and now he realizes it was because he had pushed you away that one time. He imagines you'll be trouble, headache, high maintenance. If you had been sore, had held on that grudge for almost a year, over a thing he had almost forgotten. He imagines these fights will make him feel so alive. You riding in his car, on your phone; cooking; lying in bed with one knee across his belly - all those things have already happened, but from sensual they are now turning warm. Yoongi understands he is losing, he is already taking this weight upon himself, little by little, because in the mountains he refuses to wear his earbuds and listen to music, and the silence is the ghost that follows him around, hammering the truth he's been avoiding into his brain. He imagines your hand gripping his palm, so hard that he yelps in pain, as you turn your face away, and the line of your jaw exposes the little birthmark you have on your neck. He's been kissing that birthmark in secret for months, pleased that you will never guess why he's choosing that very spot specifically.

You brew a coffee. Every time you're bored, the recipes become more and more complex, you keep adding ingredients until the coffee either sends you to heaven or is undrinkable. By now, there's cinnamon, star anise, almond syrup, and now... you're eyeing mint like it's about to jump you. Yolo, you think, and add a little mint, and it's still a success. You're becoming a coffee extraordinaire, you think; even if no one else appreciates your inventive mixing skills.

Jimin is there, of course; cruising around you like an albatross, appreciating every little thing about you. But his presence is breezy, light: he is a natural flirt and it doesn't set off any of your alarms. It seems he simply likes being around you. You see glasses case that he puts in another hand as he takes the coffee from you.

"Never seen you wearing glasses for real?" you're surprised.

"These are not for me, I picked them up from the store for hyung. He doesn't leave his little evil studio these days, got back to the 7AM schedule".

He shrugs. 7AM schedule with Yoongi means he works all night and goes to sleep at 7AM for about three hours, then gets up and goes back to working.

"He never found his glasses?"

"No".

"Somebody must have stolen them", you muse, recalling how they were left lying on the window sill.

"It's weird, normally he only loses things if they cost more than a thousand bucks", he snickers. You're expecting a feedback. Jimin's tastebuds have proven to be professionally sensitive: he is picky with food and always gives an honest opinion of the coffee. He frowns first, his huge eyes focused on the cup, full lips moving like he's chewing. Jimin is charismatic while doing nothing, and he definitely wouldn't have a problem with you, so you wonder why you can't just unlove Yoongi and fall for him instead. Or better, for nobody at all. Even in his brother's face, you're searching for his familiar features, but there aren't any. Jimin looks like a genie who will grant your wishes in the most perverted way so that you'll feel sorry after.

"It's... good?" he is, himself, shocked. "It makes me want to go to Morocco".

"That's an unorthodox review".

"You should get a patent. Name it Faux Morocco Latte and you'll be rich".

"I already have a rich inner world".

He chuckles ironically at that, keeping the cup close to his lips. His phone rings.

"Oh, there he is. I think he needs his glasses", Jimin ignores the call from Yoongi, putting his phone on the desk. "Let him wait a little, right?"

He pats you lightly on the shoulder, like he is siding with you on something. Like that one friend who is ready to smother your ex with her bare hands without needing to know the details. You are slightly bothered by it.

Yoongi lifts his arm and puts his hand into his hair, his eyes fixated on a spot on the desk. The underside of his shoulder is tense, he freezes in this position, thinking, and you can't avoid looking at him even though your eyes move. Your spot is never next to him, it's always a little away, in the back, not at the table. You do not see it as derogatory: without your work, they can't do it, and the hierarchy is there for a reason. When idols are present during the meetings with usual staff like you, everybody feels sorry for them. There go the scapegoats, the puppets, the clowns. Everybody is nice to them because they all have two features: beauty and lack of autono-

"I don't give a shit", Yoongi says calmly.

You doodle in your pad; these meetings are a must, and most often not a word is spoken about your area of work, so you just kill your time looking at Yoongi; at least something. Now everybody is looking at him.

The manager raises his eyebrows. He looks tired all the time.

"Sorry?"

Yoongi leaves his hair alone and places his hand on the desk, wrist caught in a hair tie.

"I said I don't give a shit about the deadline".

Namjoon purses his lips producing dimples. His silence indicates that he agrees with Yoongi. One by one, Bangtan Boys usually stand behind each other, but it always takes a first brave mouth to say something outrageous. Taehyung is rubbing his lower lip absent-mindedly. Yoongi's eyes are puffy, he gives the manager an unaffected shark-like stare that masters openness and simultaneously, stubbornness of a rock.

"It's there for a reason".

"We had discussed the update, and Taehyung hasn't slept in three days".

Taehyung doesn't even hear him.

"What about you?" manager asks softly, trying to lead Yoongi away from his deadly determination.

"I'm working. I'm fine".

His eyes start searching the room, landing everywhere except you. You cross your legs and go back to your pad.

"A week is fine", Namjoon adds, to defuse the tension. After a little back and forth the manager gives up. He always does; he's not the real boss here. Everybody gets up, the important people first: manager leaves the room pacing, hurrying to implement the schedule corrections, J-Hope leaves darker than a storm cloud, which is unusual for him; you gather your things from the floor: you're in a habit of just putting your bag and phone next to the chair since you're sitting at the glass wall. The line at the door gradually disperses and you walk to exit the meeting room but Yoongi turns his head, still sitting, and looks straight at you with a completely different stare. He doesn't say anything, so you just look at him and move on, but Taehyung closes the door in front of you like he didn't notice, and walks away. You see his back through the grey-transparent glass.

"Y/N", Yoongi sounds tired, more tired than he did a minute ago. His back hunched, he is softer, more undone.

"Huh, CEO?"

In spite of himself, he gives out a smile, and his teeth scrape over his lower lip, which makes you wince.

"What do you want?" you say quickly, colder, trying to wrap yourself up, zip up, close up. His hand reaches out but you're too far away, ready at the door, wondering what kind of games he is playing. The fatigue is obvious on his face but thankfully it's not your burden anymore. It does pull on your strings though, so in an attempt to keep up the strength, you frown.

"You win", he says. His words are round, it's the best shape. "I lose".

He stands up, and you want to roll your eyes, not with annoyance, but with an overwhelming feeling of unwillingness. The labour of trying to get over him is draining you like there's a huge gash somewhere that's dripping blood. Every time he is in close vicinity of you, the stream becomes only bigger, it's mentally tiring. Fighting feelings is exhausting. Yoongi is reaching for you, his face an impression of quiet need, and you try to avert his arm, a crusty cut on his elbow, gently. He goes for a timid hug with one hand and you grow stiff, putting up your shoulder. You end up straining your neck, chin up while Yoongi performs the softest forced hug. He needs to press his forehead into you, because he hasn't eaten in twelve hours, and he is so frustrated and a little terrified, and you are the smell of home.

The man of few words. His actions speak much louder.

What's even louder is the music that's on the USB he shoves into your hand. You listen to it at home, sitting away from the laptop like it can see your embarrassed face going through motions. The beats are clean, the rawest you've heard. Yoongi has his own way of polishing music that always makes it crisp like the air in January. They have no words, because it's Yoongi. But the beats, the melodies, talk to you. They sound like the night you met, when you caught rain on your hand to soothe it. Sound like his voice filling the space of his car, and like the hiss of the coffee machine, like the shuffling of your sheets, and like the streets, muffled by the windows, hooting outside. His melodies sound like the wind and the voices of pine trees, their ancient blood singing inside the hard bark. Sound like the sea. The music he has written and named after you sounds like he is diving for pearls and swimming up, panting, like he has given up to something. It's the crack of your hip getting back into place, and the click of his phone, the purr he produces when falling asleep. It's his flowers. The dark circles under his eyes mean he has gotten over the block, and two days after giving the USB to you he calls, and there's an audible strain in his voice, because he is learning to speak:

"I can't give you all those things that are normal, you know".

"Like what?" you are spiteful, although you understand his regret. He doesn't even go grocery shopping. All food is delivered to his house. Last time he got to walk around the city, he got ecstatic and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. He was like a child, describing the feeling of the asphalt in Gangseo-gu next to the botanic garden under his foot; you felt deeply sorry for him. Right until the point he mentioned having to borrow the jet again, because he wants to go visit a friend in America.

"Like walking home from a bar at night together, like, holding hands".

"Sounds like it's your fantasies".

"That's all I have".

You tell him you don't want to be the glaring vortex hole in his schedule, sucking in meetings, messing up sleep, putting a strain on the well-spinning parts of the mechanism. He replies it's too late for that. And for once, he actually sounds happy.

─────────────────────────────────────

He points his finger:

"The line where the red roofs end? That's the Osaka Bay".

"If I get a really good start", you muse, "and have like a very big umbrella, can I jump and glide all the way there?"

He thinks about it seriously. Squirms his face in the sun like a sleepy cat. His black eyes blink.

"You'll fly for around seven seconds".

His hand touches the side of your head and then slides down to your shoulder, then moving your closer, pressing you into his side. The air is so fresh that it's putting you to sleep, and the tears in your eyes, provoked by the wind, make everything around seem blurry. Like you're in a cartoon. Like it's a dream. The sea far in the distance shines in separate flashes of sunlight.

"There was no need for that", you mutter, cosying up next to him, clutching on his big arm. His neck smells like aftershave and raspberries. The curse hisses in between his teeth, fingers pinch your cheek lightly. Then go back to your shoulder and start drumming a rhythm; writing music off the closeness of you. You leave the slope of the mountain together, at the same time.

[dollarbils]

tell me i’m your only fan | b.eilish

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. your most active fan on onlyfans soon piqued your interest as she became something much more.

warnings. phone sex, ofstar!reader, (i probably made up half of the features on onlyfans)

request masterlist

regardless of the public opinion, you quite liked your job. you’d made the switch to onlyfans just recently, finding it a much more comfortable platform, and most importantly: much more profitable.

most of your ‘fans’ so to say were the regular dynamic of people you’d expect. rich, older men with nothing better to spend all their money on. but curiously, a huge part of your audience was women. in particular one woman. your favourite, you’d call her. she’d been subscribed for about a month now, consistently watching your uploads and streams. often taking the spotlight as well, sending gifts and paying large amounts of money for personalised content. but what seriously did it for you, was when she bought your entire wish list five minutes after you’d published it, requesting a special ‘unboxing’ of everything she’d bought you.

naturally, it didn’t take long for you to start talking. it was difficult to remember she was one of your fans, your conversations straying far away from anything you’d ever talked to a fan about. she seemed to care about you, take interest in your personal life. and once you’d gotten wrapped up, it was almost too easy to get attached.

“god just keep speaking, baby.” her voice was almost a whine, as she relished in your soft laughter and emotive expression.

“how are you always turned on?” you remarked somewhat as a joke, knowing it was true though.

“i’m talking to the woman i jerk off to, i think it’s justified.” she never failed to be bold, often taking you by surprise.

“well you’ll find my recent uploads have been the outcome of what some would call a ‘muse’. you’re quite sexy yourself, babe.” she groaned and it went straight to your core, the familiar pulse settling in.

“jesus. it’s like your tryna make be bust a nut in my pants right now.” the masculinity to her words only made them more filthy, urging you to rile her up some more.

“i won’t deny it.” she chuckled, a momentary pause before she sighed.

“i bet you tell that to all of them, huh? your fans, they all think they got lucky, that your reserved for them.” her words stung quite a bit, knowing the truth was far from it.

“hardly, it was pretty stupid of me to give you my number. i’d take it as a sign that you did get lucky.” she almost scoffed at your words.

“i’m going to need to cut back on the glazing if your gonna act like this.” she was serious now, testing the waters before committing.

“oh yeah? tell me what’s so wrong with my behaviour.” a low sound from the back of her throat revealed the success of your words. clearly it was turning her on.

“you’re really testing me, baby. you can’t even imagine what i’d do if i was there with you right now.” you felt a pool in your underwear forming, liking how this was going.

“please, tell me.” her breath hitched, her confidence faltering slightly. but when she spoke again you’d never have questioned her confidence.

“i’d treat you like what you are. a fucking slut.” her filthy words only turned you on more, your skin tingling at the sound of her heavy breaths through the phone speaker.

“oh yeah? and what are you gonna do about it? you’re not here, you cant stop me from doing anything.” she chuckled, a mocking tone following.

“oh please angel, it’s cute you think so. i bet your hand is doing some filthy things as we speak. am i turning you on, baby?” your hand stopped at your lower stomach in an act of a sort of shame, your breaths quickening.

“i’m guessing the silence means i’m right. don’t deny yourself babe, touch yourself for me.” you couldn’t help but follow her demands, seeking your own pleasure along with your submission.

“fuck.” she laughed softly, again, enjoying the vocal effect she was having on you.

“you’re gonna kill me angel.” a smile formed on your lips, as you continued pumping your own fingers into your heat.

“tell me i’m your only fan.” her words were seductive, a plea to recognise her as more than a fan.

“you’re my favourite fan.” your reply seemed to satisfy her as she sunk deeper into her mattress, the sheets ruffling through the phone as she bit back a moan.

“are you close?” she mumbled, evidently riddled with her own sweat release.

“fuck, y-yeah.” you stuttered, the heat of the moment taking over, fogging up your senses.

“i like that title, favourite fan. sure seems well deserved, doesn’t it.”

“more than well deserved.” you huffed, slightly out of breath as you chuckled into the phone.

part 2

[heyhoeudoin]

TIMES SENKU TALKED ABOUT YOU

"I will always be by your side."

pairing: senku ishigami x fem!reader

words: 9.2k

genre/s: fluff, mystery, storytelling in the third perspective (special ep, s3, s4), slight angst

warning/s: she/her, swearing, ambiguous/not direct ending

synopsis: there is always someone next to senku, all the time.

masterlist ; loyalty built from love (part 1)

a/n: jokes on you guys, i was already writing a part two even before i got many requests for it. also, i wrote part 1 like months ago and it took months to write as well, so when i re-read it for part 2, part 1 was so ambiguously written good that even i have no idea what the hell i was going for.

also, don't be shy to give any comments, because i am reading those and i love them all <3

anyone could tell that senku misses you

like a lot...

to the point that he mentions you

a lot...

it was rather endearing to the people around him

it's cute that senku still remains the habit of talking about you whenever you're not physically with him

yuzuriha always liked that habit of his

she will never not be bothered by it, she's used to it after all

he would always at least mention you once a day

he just loves talking about you

it's really endearing and an adorable side to the usually unaffectionate friend of hers

"the first balloon that humanity took flight in was made of hemp cloth," shared senku as gen let out an awed noise. "the one massive ordeal to overcome is..."

"right..." yuzuriha raised her hand. "you need a crap ton of cloth, don't you?" she asked with a slightly painful look on her face, already knowing the work she's going to put into.

"oh, look!" senku pointed at yuzuriha with a devilish expression. "i totally didn't realize! we've got the crafts club here!" yuzuriha jabbed a fist at his chest.

senku and kaseki then got onto the floor and bowed, performing a dogeza. "the science team will commit itself to designing the passenger basket," senku explained in a robot manner.

"we'll make any tools you need," kaseki tells her, raising his head.

"can i leave the cloth making to you? to the yuzuriha crafts team?" senku confidently asked, raising his head.

yuzuriha nods as senku stood up and the two shared a high-five. "of course you can!" she exclaimed with a peace sign.

"i could've had y/n help you with this. well actually, i think she would've helped immediately without me saying anything, but..." senku trailed off, but yuzuriha understood what he's trying to say.

she placed a hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner. "i know, senku. it's fine! i've got it handled."

later on yuzuriha asked senku and kaseki to make a loom to get things going a bit faster and easier. as she waited, senku called, "hey, it's done." she turned around expecting a simpler loom, but it was not. she let out a surprised noise, falling onto the ground. a pleasant surprise, she was given.

"was this not what you were expecting, yuzuriha-chan?" kaseki asks, a bit worried.

"we didn't have much time," says senku, looking a bit worried too. "did you want an electric one? maybe i should've. y/n would have my head seeing i didn't immediately make an electric one for you."

yuzuriha hurriedly dismissed their worry. "no! no! i appreciate it a lot!"

"they're the senku department store's first high-end products. it might be a while before they start selling," says gen, looking at the racks that held an assortment of clothes and the people that looked around the new place.

"y/n would've love this," senku absentmindedly mentions. "she would've easily volunteered for that fashion show too."

gen turned to senku as if he grew a head.

"oh, also, hand them out to anyone who works," senku then tells gen. "we have a living manifestation of greed who'll buy just about anything."

that was first time gen heard senku talk about you as if he's some clingy boyfriend that misses his girlfriend, he thought he was finally going insane in the stone world

he genuinely would have never thought that senku's the type to be like that when it comes to relationships

which was already shocking in of itself

he truly never expected to have "senku" and "relationship/boyfriend/girlfriend" in the same sentence

are you two really just boyfriend and girlfriend though?

it doesn't seem right to call you and senku, girlfriend and boyfriend

it feels like the two of you have something more

ryusui never met you

of course because when the fuck would he ever

but he has been in the same room as you a few times

people from the "rich, noble, important" families would hold these galas for the "high-class", and you attended some of them for connecting purposes

he, on the other hand, attended most of these which made it possible for him to have seen you in person a few time

though, he never dared interact with you

he only stared at you from afar in awe

it was also an added bonus that because of one of these galas, your family ended up connecting with his family through buying yachts

though, other than that, the nanami conglomerate and the l/n family has no other connection than a business one

and so when senku mentioned your name...

he didn't know what to think when senku mentioned you as if you were an old friend

and judging by chrome's reaction, it seems that the scientist has mentioned you a few times already

"we're in the sky, protected by nothing but our own skin and flesh. you don't get this kind of extravagance anywhere else," he says, looking on the horizon they are given from the air balloon. "not this unique sensation."

"yeah," senku agreed. "y/n would love to be here right now, but sucks to be her for not being here." he cackled out a laughter as chrome turned to him and gave him a light jab.

"seriously?" he deadpanned, but then got distracted by a flock of bird, flying pass the balloon. "we're with the birds!" he exclaimed.

actually, did he even refer to you as if you were an old friend?

it almost felt like he referred to you as if you were dead...

and in a manner that only a really close friend has the rights to do

ryusui didn't believe that though

i mean, how could he?

you dead?

it's ridiculous (utterly ridiculous)

he can see the reasons on why senku has survived and thrived

he also knows the reasons on why you, too, are just as capable of surviving and thriving

so where are you really?

"it's as good as bread from a popular modern shop," senku says after taking a bite out of the stollen that francois just baked. "it'll last to the other side of the planet, and it's good as hell. a perfect food that i've been dying to have and we've got it now!"

"greed equals justice," is all what francois says.

"y/n's really missing out," senku absentmindedly called out. "she would've devoured these so fast, well, as much as her stomach can handle." he smiled fondly at the thought

gen turned to him and asked, "does she like bread that much?"

"loves them even more so than the average person," senku says with a tired expression from just thinking about it. "that girl dragged me around the globe just to have a damn bread tour."

francois wasn't sure if they had heard the scientist correctly

did senku just refer to you like you two are old friends?

you?

a member of the most powerful family in the entirety of japan?

the eldest of the said family?

the next in line?

the hidden treasure of japan?

it was strange

they were confused on why senku would have connections to you

and judging from gen's casual follow-up question, your name has been brought up more than once by senku

but it wasn't their job to be curious and to question the lives of others

their job was to serve ryusui-sama

and for the sake of the nanami conglomerate, ishigami senku is an absolute want

minami, being the journalist she is, are one of the only few people that knows you a bit better than most

after all, she was handpicked by the l/n family to be one of the few media representation for your first ever media debut

it was groundbreaking for her career

and it also broke the entirety of japan

you had revealed then that you will not be accepting any courting, and offers of marriage because you had already found the person you'd spend your life with

no one knew who you were talking about

she remembered the massive wave of investigation happening shortly after the publication of that interview done by... everyone, really

no one ever figured it out who this person was

...or is

maybe she's the first amongst reporters to finally figure it out

"at least let me take the first picture for memory's sake!" exclaimed minami with an embarrassed expression.

"perfectly fair," voiced ukyo and gen.

ryusui laughed, raising his hand in the air. "i'm buying the photo, model rights, and all!" he declared.

minami turned to him, angry, baring teeth. "why should the first photo be yours?!"

"what are you talking about?" he asked. "it's a record of the beginning of technological civilization. it should be senku, obviously. am i right?"

senku owlishly stared at ryusui and minami.

"an exhibit at the nanami museum, representing the history of the new world." ryusui walked over to where senku stood with all the other cameras.

senku stuck a pinky into his ear. "what are you talking about?" he asked. "if anything, the first picture should be y/n." a wave of silence rose amongst the revived people. they know fully well that what senku had said was absolutely correct.

but they also know that it won't be possible right now.

the scientist sighs, breaking the silence. "it's too bad she's frozen shut right now," he mocked casually with a teasing grin.

"i think you're the only one who can joke about her like that," gen commented with a slightly awkward chuckle.

in the end, senku had the honors of being the first person photographed in the stone age, posing the famous einstein pose and minami had the honors of photographing the first picture in the stone age

but that wasn't the only thing that she got from this

she's always listening, you know? and there was one thing that stood out from the banter around her

no one in japan would have the courage, the boldness to joke around your name like senku had just did

not to your face nor behind your back

and yet senku, being the man of knowledge he is, is bold enough to do so

why is that?

was gen right?

that senku really is the only person who can joke about you like that?

since the surrender of tsukasa, there were many rumors she had heard about the two of you and it was all the same thing

that you and senku have something going on

she refuses to believe those rumors

she's a journalist—she shouldn't be believing in those rumors!

her motto is to find the truth

and the truth she will find sooner or later (when she gets the guts to ask you)

when they found the oil, obviously they had to test it out

gen was the one conducting the test drive (because he's the only one with drivers license)

then taiju dropped by, getting a whiff of that oily smell

"hey! it's the love potion," commented taiju. "are you going to give it to someone, senku?"

the people there were confused on what taiju had meant. "what are you talking about, taiju-chan?" asked gen.

"you made some for me that day, remember?" taiju says as his mind took him back to the day it all started. "so that i would have the confidence to confess to yuzuriha. you also said it worked out for you and y/n because of it. it was the last moment we had before we all got petrified."

senku ended up cackling afterwards. "i did! i said that! i told you it was a love potion! you still believe that, you meathead?! that was gasoline!"

"what?! it was?!"

"also, no way in hell would i ever use something on y/n unless she forces me in another of her batshit insane experiments," senku deadpanned. "but if you think it smells the same with no prior knowledge—"

now, gen is totally one to assume

and what senku said kind of sounded like an implication...

in both that way and a completely different way

although, if it was that way then, knowing senku, he would have never mentioned it

so it was probably an actual batshit insane thing

why does gen feel like his image of you will be changed while they're here

a small moment of reference when yo was whispering some shit to gen, pinning senku as some sort of mad lad

well, he kind of is but...

"i'm pretty sure he's wack," whispered yo to gen. both sweating.

"nah, y/n's the one who's wack between she and i. i've still got my mind intact, just barely," senku retorted, looking back at the two.

when valentines came, gen had an interesting answer to his question

"ah, valentine's day," mused gen as kohaku repeated it, confused. "yeah, events are important. for the drago—i mean, for the morale."

senku and yuzuriha went out of the laboratory, handing out the chocolates. gen turned to senku with a question in mind. "do you give chocolates to y/n-chan, senku-chan?"

senku shook his head. "nah, y/n doesn't really like them," he answered which shocked gen. "she'd rather have things that she could wear or practical gifts."

see

look at that

that gave a lot to gen

senku practically confirmed that he gives gifts to you!

and also does so on VALENTINES

if that's not confirmation of being a couple, he doesn't know what is

but then again...

like he had thought before, it doesn't feel like the two you are just boyfriend and girlfriends

but what other kind of relationship would still condone in the valentines romance gift giving?

shouldn't there be some kind of answers by now?

then after they took the group photo with the finished ship

senku looked a bit... down? contemplated?

it was strange to see

why would he be feeling down?

it was quite obvious as well

"are you unsatisfied about the pictures, senku?" asked minami, holding her camera.

"nah, i don't care about that," answered senku.

"then what's got you so down, senku-chan?" asked gen.

senku stared off in the direction of where the tsukasa empire was with a somber look. gen immediately understood from that alone. "take lots of pictures when y/n comes back, journalass," senku told her as he walked off towards the ship.

everyone knew that you barely had any pictures

after all, you were called the hidden treasure of japan

you probably told senku how you felt about it, and he remembers

gen thought it was sweet

minami felt herself gushing about it

when ryusui called upon the people who were needed on the expedition, it was gen's turn to come aboard.

and, to be perfectly clear, tsukasa was left behind by choice because he felt obliged to protect the kingdom of science since most of the battle team were coming along to the perseus

"uh, you don't need me, do you?" asked gen, frantically. "i've got the strength of a bean sprout."

"we don't know what kinds of enemies we're going to meet. what good is a mentalist if they aren't there when that happens, dumbass?" explained senku. "i'd have y/n instead of you if she wasn't being frozen away like a piece of salami."

the modern people felt cultural shock at the casual way of senku playing around your name, but at the same time they feel that they should get used to it.

"ah so i'm just a second choice, huh?" mused gen as he trekked up towards the ship.

"of course you are," senku answered without thinking. "it's always y/n first to me."

the crowd who watched the take off of the ship awed at the display of loyalty senku accidentally announced. gen started grinning, knowing full well that he caused senku to slip like that. senku then grimaced at what he said even thought it's true.

maybe senku should dial back a bit...

ryusui also knows now that you're very much alive somewhere in the kingdom of science

he just doesn't know why you're not physically present

also, did his ears deceive him or did senku just practically confess his feelings for you?

but it wasn't that...

judging from the way the people present cooed at his confession and how gen was smirking like he set it up on purpose

was there something else between the two of you?

this time, it was yuzuriha who shared something about you

"these kinds of people are always dying to show you the machines they tuned the hell out of," says nikki, looking sympathetic.

"they won't let you go until their done," kohaku added.

"i'll be alright!" yuzuriha clarified, making kohaku and nikki shocked. "i always sat through senku-kun's five hour rocket lectures and stuff."

"we have a veteran here!" exclaimed nikki, still looking shock with kohaku.

yuzuriha laughs at that. "if you think i'm a veteran, then y/n must be something else! she always did listen to him..." she mused with a fond smile.

senku smiled as well from that comment.

yuzuriha may not be as close to you as she is to senku, but she completely adores you!

...after getting over the fact that you're the y/n l/n

you were like... any other person, just a bit clueless in other areas

actually, you were a lot like senku in a lot of ways

it's a good portion of the reason why the two of you have the relationship that you two have grown to have

this time, gen was the one to first mention you to amaryllis

albeit in a more... implied upbringing

despite not actually knowing if you two are intertwined or not

but he's very confident that you two are

"that kind of attack isn't going to work on senku-chan," he says. "he's already married, you know?"

and then he went scummy

to which kohaku shouted and hit at him for

and then she later scolded herself after forcing a kiss on senku to save her own ass

she kneeled on the ground and slammed her head on the floor in a dogeza position, facing the direction of ishigami village. "i am sorry, y/n. i will be held responsible for this action, and i will allow you to give me whatever punishment is deemed necessary."

senku sighed, sticking a finger in his pinky, looking exasperated. "y/n's reasonable, calm down, she won't be that mad." his eyes looking far away in the same direction as if thinking of something himself for you.

while senku was making conditioner for kohaku, he mentions you

"y/n's actually been nagging me about making hair stuff for a while now," senku commented while making the hair products. "she always had this specific routine for her hair."

amaryllis didn't know who you are. "is she the one who's married to him?" she asked gen.

"yes," he answered. "y/n-chan is a very powerful person. she's probably even stronger than the strongest soldiers here on the island."

"really?!"

senku glanced at the implied threat gen displayed with an unamused look, but let him does so anyways. it's true, after all.

when amaryllis tried to girlie-fy the boys,

"you know, y/n would actually be impressed that you could fake being a girl like that," senku mentions, crossing his arms on his chest after washing off the makeup on his face.

"really?"

"she'd probably even call you—in her words—a tall baddie." senku made a grimace as he said that.

then when the two girls and one boy dressed like a girl left, gen mentioned your name to start a conversation

"if only we have y/n-chan, huh?" gen comments.

senku shook his head. "nah, she wouldn't do that," he says. "although if she was here, she'd probably go all stealth instead."

"are they really..."

"i'm not answering any questions you have about them."

"so you do know!"

gen was inspecting the earpiece, amazed and shocked by how simple it can be done

and then, of course, senku mentions you

"it was y/n who actually taught me how to make that," senku commented. "i don't know why she bothered learning to make one when she could literally buy the best one, but she said she liked how simple and cosmetic it can be if made like this. though, i'm glad she taught it to me now because it certainly useful for this."

"of course this is y/n-chan's design, not yours," says gen, holding it up in front of him.

as senku looked through the pile of gold dust

as the pile of platinum grew

it was the first time he felt vulnerable since you had been frozen shut

he isn't one to be all emotional, but at moments like these... it really showed just how much care byakuya had for him

senku scoffs. "if y/n was here, she'd be bawling her eyes out," he says, his eyes a bit glassy himself.

"you counting seconds all that time, and your papa collecting sand for decades..." gen looked wistful. "you two are alike."

once the team were able to make the revival fluid, the thought of reviving their stoned comrades were first in the list

senku ordered kohaku to cleanly cut the greedy captain when given the chance

afterwards, ryusui's stone parts were delivered to them

"i've always known you're ridiculously rational, but... but still you're practically psycho at this point!" screamed gen after figuring out what's happening.

senku shook his head with a smirk. "nah, y/n's the psycho one between us," he corrected. "if she was given parts like these, she'd be experimenting, mix-and-matching them. i'd be the only one to get her to stop."

"every time you say things about y/n-chan that she's a psycho and all, it ruins the image i have of her and i can't help but not believe you," gen bluntly replied. "except you're the only one that knows who she really is, so i have to believe you."

senku cackled.

when kohaku was fighting against moz, all she could think about was how he's nothing compared to you

"i like strong girls, too, as long as they have a pretty face," he says as he took out the machete out of his weapon. "what kind of men do you like, kohaku-chan? how about me? i'm strong as hell."

the girl let out a sigh, then tied her hair up to her usual ponytail while crouching down. "strength is strength of mind," she states, making him slightly confused. "to be able to continue hammering a wedge for as long as it takes to carry out one's will. that's the kind of person i'm drawn to."

her pose changed to a battle stance. "well~ this is a problem, moz. you seem to be the exact opposite," she tells him. "and compared to him?" she scoffs. "actually, compared to her? you're nothing. literally. she's stronger than both of us combined, actually, stronger than anyone else on this island."

"i don't know who you're referring to, but you're cute, kohaku-chan. just not cute enough though."

did kohaku just imply something

AND

maybe come out of the closet?

maybe

maybe not

who knows

but she really wasn't lying

moz really is nothing compared to the people she admires and respects the most

as the parts of the gun was laid out on the table, the people from the 21st century had recognized it

of course they did, after all,

"this is what made men and women, young and old, all of humanity, all of homo sapiens, the apex predators. it's the invention of the gods and demons, and even then, humans who owns these rank higher than what we can see on the pyramid," senku states as kaseki finished the building of the gun.

"we, humans, may be on top of the food chain, but once given some source of power? we become our own enemies. and we all know who's at the top here in japan." he lets out a teasing smirk as some let out a sigh, knowing who he's talking about.

"tools are neither gods nor demons," ukyo says. "it's up to the person to determine how it's used."

"then let's be damn glad that our rulers didn't use these to become demons," cackled senku as he just had to make a joke.

both gen and yuzuriha let out a loud sigh.

ukyo decided to ignore the misplaced joke, and continue with what he was going to say anyways.

then later on when ryusui asked who would wield the gun...

senku turned his head towards the stoned yu. "if i had continued my gun lessons with y/n, maybe i can, but compared to the only police officer? yeah, he's better off with it." then he hummed, turning to his two childhood friends. "how about you two? any of you comfortable wielding a gun? i know you both got lessons from y/n also."

yuzuriha shook her head. "well, it's best to just leave it with yu... my lessons with y/n were more of for self-defense," she says.

"i also think it's better for yu to handle it. he's the professional," taiju says. "y/n tried to teach me, but i just always end up using my hands during the mock fights."

gen, ukyo, and ryusui turned to the trio in different waves of shock.

"i wonder how those lessons went knowing your non-existent strength, senku-chan," gen mused.

the scientist rolled his eyes.

it was actually pretty shocking to hear that the trio had gun lessons with YOU

like what an honor??

but it also makes sense for none of the trio to pick up on it since they've already had pretty different skill sets; a gun just didn't fit within it

it was also kind of scary to think about it

everyone knows that the l/n family are all skilled and powerful people

each person had a different skill set honed and trained to the absolute perfection, and that the regime it took to get there was of on a entirely different level

to hear that you had taught those three a small part of your regime,

just how hard was it?

it was an honor, but at the same time, no normal person can probably handle the regime of a l/n

when the team saw that the islanders were getting evacuated

it was a sign that ibara planned to petrify the entire island

"w-we're in huge trouble!" exclaimed suika in a panic.

"nah, just the opposite," senku says with a confident smirk. "when the going gets tough, the tough get going. we might be able to take all of it. the enemy, the kingdom, and the medusa!"

he starts cackling. "oh, y/n, you could've been so damn useful here, why'd you just have to go and get punctured," he sighs with a shake of his head.

ukyo looked at senku in nervousness. "why does it seem like you always have to insult her situation?" he rhetorically asks.

yuzuriha chuckles. "you'll get used to it," she says with a sympathetic smile. "it's his way of showing his love to her."

ukyo thinks that he'll never get used to it

he was one of the people that didn't know the dynamic between you and senku since your accident had happened right when the stone war ended

it's not like he doesn't believe that you two are together, it's just that he's the type to have to hear/see it to believe it

he still have that image of you in his head

that you're someone like tsukasa, except way dangerous and way scarier

it also doesn't help that you and your family are probably the only people that can get past his enhanced hearing

it's easy to say that he's afraid of you

which is why every time senku goes and makes fun of your accident, it gives him whiplash

this time yuzuriha was the one to think of you as she stared at the broken stone fragments of the master of the island

"it isn't over yet," she says. "we have to keep thinking, and keep going; that's what i learned from him... her... from them! we still have some adhesive senku-kun made for us in the kingdom of science." her eyes glistening as she darted from piece to piece.

you and senku are one of the most goal-oriented people she knows

senku will not stop until he completes what he needs to do

and you will not stop until you get what you want

it's almost scary

and when senku freed hyoga as their last resort

"we weren't cornered," senku tell ibara with a smooth confident voice despite the sweat dripping from his face. "we had you corner us into this particular room." with that, he dropped the glass of revival fluid.

of course, gen felt like he needed to mention you to get hyoga to fight for their side. "also, don't forget that if anything happens to senku, y/n-chan will have you head," he whispered out, loud enough for hyoga to hear. "i wonder what'll happen to you after seeing her dearly beloved bleeding out."

senku sighed and shook his head at the shit gen is saying, but he can't oppose to it because it's true.

the only reason hyoga was able to inflict a critical hit on you is because you were protecting tsukasa's sister. and so what if you weren't protecting anyone AND anger engulfed you?

it's safe to say that no one wants to feel the true wrath of a member of the l/n family, much less from you

"i'm alone," senku says out loud as he watched the sun set off in the distance. his back heavy from the phone, his body aching from tiredness, and his shoulder throbbing with dried blood. his eyes glistened in nostalgia as his memories of the early stone world passes through his mind. "again. i'm alone again..."

the phone rings, shocking him out of his pondering.

"can you hear me, senku-san?" called ruri from the other side. "how are things over there, senku-san?"

he stared at the phone in front of him. a smirk slipping through his lips. "no," he changes his mind. "i'm not alone this time." he then quietly added,

"i also have someone i need to go home to."

as the topic of ruri and the mainland was brought up while they ate, taiju had lots to say

"is this ruri girl chrome's girlfriend or ex or something?" amaryllis asked francois, excited to hear some juicy details about her new allies/friends.

"no, i'm told that she is senku-sama's former wife," they answered.

taiju looked absolutely shocked, shaking from the news. "what?!" he exclaimed, really loud. "when did you get married, senku?! weren't you going to marry y/n?!?!" he shook the scientist by the collar.

senku had his fingers in his ears the entire time, not phased, but annoyed. he's used to the loudness of taiju after all. "just for three minutes! we got divorced right away," he explained.

that only fueled taiju more, shaking the scientist once again. "what?! when did you get divorced, senku!? was y/n okay with this?!"

"okay! okay!" senku exclaimed as he took the hands off of his collar. "i just said we got divorced right away! also, y/n was fine with it! it was ages ago."

now, francois isn't one to oblige in gossip especially when it's related to you

but when taiju implied that you and senku are betrothed, they can't help but wonder

are you and senku really engaged to each other?

they had seen how normal engaged couples are, but the two of you don't seem to act like that

but then again, you're, y/n l/n and he's, senku ishigami

not one is normal

the small group now stared at the trashed upper control room located on the perseus

chrome was fuming. "those assholes made a damn mess! they didn't even know what they were dealing with! bastards!" he ranted as he stomped onto the floorboards.

"now's not the time to be getting all salty," senku piped up as he stuck a pinky into his ear.

"actually, i've never seen senku truly angry," taiju says, smiling at his comment.

"no, i get angry. i'm not a saint. i'm just too busy to," interrupted the scientist. "and y/n definitely seen me angry a few times."

later on, when they finally de-petrified kohaku and ginro

instead of giving ginro a hug, kohaku ran to senku, giving the scientist a hug

ginro was mad about it, but who cares about him and his pervy ways

kirisame was blushing at the sight of kohaku hugging senku. albeit, him not reciprocating that, but receiving it with a smile and soft eyes anyways.

"oh right. kirisame-chan, you think they're in a legit relationship, don't you?" gen says. "senku's actually in a relationship with someone else. kohaku's actually breaking a lot of rules doing this."

"i don't think that's what that hug is about," says amaryllis. "not between those two."

"it better not be," screamed gen, purposely gaining kohaku's attention.

kohaku broke the hug off with senku. "i almost died!" she exclaimed to gen. "let me be relieved of surviving!"

then she kneeled to the ground and made a dogeza once again at the direction of the ishigami village. "i also assure you, y/n, that that hug was nothing. i would never do you like that. i would choose you over him any day," she stated as senku rolled his eyes while both gen and nikki laughed.

"you got that right, kohaku!" nikki hollered.

later at night, once the team finished de-petrifying the islanders and the rest of their people, a party of celebration was happening at the deck of the perseus

ginro and suika found senku and his team down at the lower half of the control room where the comms are

as senku bluntly asked what ruri needed, amaryllis was shocked

"eh?? isn't this your first time talking to your former wife after all that's happened on the island?" she lets out.

"that's senku for you," is all kohaku says.

"who cares about the former wife, he's already got a current wife to think about much less than a former one," retorted gen, making kohaku hit his head.

"that's my sister you're talking about."

on a cliff, some of the battle team gathered

kohaku and kirisame stood in front of each other

ginro, kinro, nikki, and kokuyo were stationed at the side, as the audience

"now that we know why-man is our enemy, our job as the battle team is no longer to investigate," kohaku announced as the leader of the said team. "it's to train for the inevitable battle!"

ginro lets out a frightened screech. "we just defeated the petrification kingdom! this is even scarier!"

kohaku and kirisame took a stance, then lounged for each other. the two neck and neck in skill. those watching couldn't help but be in awe at the sight of the dance.

"they're evenly matched!" exclaimed nikki.

"they're both incredible," kokuyo lets out.

"you're strong," kirisame says in between strikes. "you were holding back the last time we fought, weren't you?"

kohaku scoffs. "i wasn't going easy on you. i would never be disrespectful. i apologize. i was simply not accustomed to moving around in a dress."

ginro then bursts out a scream that he held in during the entire duration of the spar, freezing the two girls in shock. he then also ran away.

kohaku shook her head at ginro. "i won't be able to teach you more than you already know since you and i fairly the same in combat skill. the only person who can teach all of us more techniques is y/n, and hopefully when senku heals her, she'll continue lessons."

"y/n? is this the person you were apologizing for?" asked kirisame.

"she's better than all of us combined," is all kohaku said as her gaze stared at the direction of the ishigami village with a sparkling look in her eyes.

a small blush slowly flushed on kirisame's cheeks the more she stared at the way kohaku looked.

it was quite an intimate look that kohaku gave

kirisame noticed it was the same one she had gave to senku

after building the windmill, chrome looked around and wondered for senku

it took a while for him to figure out where the mad scientist could have gone, but he finally found senku

opening the door to the mobile lab, chrome immediately asked, "yo, senku, what the hell are you doing all by yourself?"

senku managed to let out a chuckle. "working on an exhilarating craft," he managed to say pass his crusty lips.

"oh, shit!" chrome screamed at the shocking sight of a dehydrated and crusty senku.

senku downed a few bottles of water which made his complexion slowly come back. he lets out an exhale after drinking. "completely forgotten about hydrating. got too used to having y/n take care of that for me," he absentmindedly mentions.

senku and chrome continued to talk about the plans that senku had for later during the night.

chrome could tell that senku missed you

how could he not have noticed?

everyone practically knows also!

senku always somehow mentions you at least once a day

he never thought senku could be so damn clingy...

it takes him back to the times he witnessed the two of you intimate moments

they really need to come and revive you already

he could never get used to that empty space next to senku

later at night, a small festival was being held at the beach

the lights dimmed, gaining the attention of all

"do you hear me, all?" chrome exclaimed from the speakers. "we're gonna show you something that's going to leave the whole of treasure island speechless and wanting more! rainbow bridge, max level!"

a few seconds later, fireworks shot out into the sky.

senku stared at the night sky that bloomed an array of fireworks, imprinting their colorful displays for all to see. his eyes glistened with nostalgia, a memory popping into mind.

"hey, senku, do you think you could show these back in mainland?" asked kohaku who now stood next to him.

senku turned to her, the memory fainting away. "maybe, we'll see," he replies.

"would you change your mind if i mention that you could see these again with y/n standing by your side next time?" she retorted.

he hummed. "i was just thinking about her," he revealed, quietly. "the first time she saw fireworks, she was with me and byakuya. i could already see her whining about not being there for the first fireworks in this stone world." he scoffs, then lets out a sigh. "fine, we'll do it again at mainland."

kohaku smiled a teasing grin.

a little later, after the firework show, senku stood in front of the treasure tree. he heard footsteps behind him that got closer, and closer. "why are you here?" he asked without looking back.

"just an early morning stroll," answered kohaku. "is it not the same for you?"

"thousands of years ago, byakuya and the other astronauts set foot here for the first time in an utterly deserted new world," senku quietly says as his eyes glistened. "though they've long since turned to dirt, aside from a few fragments of rock."

kohaku scoffs as she quickly and easily climbed up the tree. "that's not true!" she exclaimed as she walked over to where the treasure laid. "you, i, and everyone else will someday die and return to dust, but their will is passed down, refined, and carried on into the future."

senku stared at kohaku who now stood at the small entrance way of the treasure. "isn't that what humanity calls 'science'? that's what you and y/n taught me, senku," she says, looking down at him.

he chuckled, feeling a bit lighter. "yeah, that's right. we're going way farther than those goofy astronauts. we're going to the moon," he stated. "and y/n will be stoked to hear it; she always did love the moon."

kohaku jumped down from the top of the tree, now standing on an elevated root. "it's not true that byakuya and his team left nothing behind. in fact, they connected everything for us," she mentioned.

senku didn't reply, but instead added, "typical, i mean, he's always done the connecting."

kohaku didn't understand what senku had meant when he said that

there are many things about senku... about you that she doesn't know about

some day, she'd like to know more about the two of you

the perseus landed

people started talking about the missing cracks

chrome immediately showed the medusa

"does that mean that mean she'll finally wake up?" tsukasa asked, stepping forward.

senku chuckled as he walked down. "yeah, let's get her out of that damn cold sleep already. our hidden treasure of japan, y/n l/n." the scientist may have not said anything else regarding you after that, but they all knew how much he wanted you to stand next to him again.

"we say cold sleep, but really, we just froze her..." commented gen.

"yeah, like an ice cube," cackled senku. "i bet you she wasn't even asleep most of the time, but suffering from the cold. she hates the cold."

gen sighs at yet another tease towards you.

"that's not the real problem though, is it? you can always trust a sailor's gut," ryusui piped up, then his eyes narrowed on the scientist. "when ibara jabbed you... senku, given how pragmatic you are, you would have healed yourself immediately with the dr. stone set. am i right? yet the crack in your forehead is still there. in other words, you didn't use it. you saved it for... y/n. why?"

"oh right, you don't know, ryusui-chan?" gen asked. "y/n-chan and senku-chan are intertwined. of course, he'd rather heal his y/n-chan over himself."

some people silently laughed knowing that it's true. ryusui, however, looked shocked. there were many implications, but never a confirmation. senku didn't say anything regarding his relationship with you, though, instead he had a different reason.

"actually, the medusa is out of battery."

that gained everyone's attention.

"that thing runs on batteries?!" exclaimed taiju, next to senku.

senku chuckled. "dunno," he says. "and we don't exactly have the luxury of smashing it open to have a look-see inside. but it is using some kind of energy. the one thing that could never happen is for it to make energy out of nothing."

he turned his head to a certain girl. "kirisame," he called out. "is the petrification beam's area specified in radii?"

"yes, why?" she answered.

"when i stoned ibara, i specified five meters. but the petrification beam barely made maybe a meter and a half."

kirisame looked taken aback. "that's impossible!" she argued. "it's never deviated in size..." then her eyes dilated as some form of realization dawned onto her. "...it's out of energy?" she lets out in shock.

here they are in the cave where you were put to sleep

senku, chrome, kohaku, taiju, yuzuriha, gen, ginro, kinro, ryusui, nikki, ukyo, and matsukaze

chrome lifted the lid of the makeshift freezer making the cold fog explode that slowly dispersed to the floor, revealing your pale cold body.

senku walked over to stand next to you. he stared at you as his eyes glistened with memories. he absentmindedly raised his hand to your face, leaving a lingering touch. his thumb caressing your cold cheek.

the small intimate moment of affection really caught ryusui off guard

senku's eyes always held conviction

after all, his eyes are the most transparent part of him

yet ryusui never saw it that soft and so full of love before

he honestly thought that gen was messing with him

but this?

seeing it for himself really changed everything

kohaku approached and stood next to senku, holding the medusa. the two turned to each other, their eyes making contact. no words were exchanged. senku gave a nod as kohaku then bent down and placed the medusa in the space of your clasped hands.

taiju walked over and took senku's hand and placed it on top of yours. "senku! hold y/n's hand with all you've got!"

senku looked taken aback. "what?" he lets out.

"i see!" exclaimed kohaku. "if you hold her really close to the device, it might give her just a little more of the light."

"that's seriously not going to make a difference," senku retorted, but a small smile formed on his face. "fine, whatever, and if i get caught in the beam, it'll heal my wounds and cracks too; perfect."

yuzuriha then walked over, standing next to taiju. she placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him a smile. then she removed it and placed it on top of yours. kohaku and chrome, too, placed their hand on top of yours.

"one meter, one second."

the green light engulfed you as your skin slowly turned to stone. the others pulled back their hands while senku immediately took the vial of revival fluid and pours it on you. the stone skin cracked and fragments fell, both stone and ice.

you sat right up as you screamed, "senku!" then you stood up and out of the freezer, tackling him into a hug.

"did they hurt you?" he asked as he pushed away and cupped your face with one hand.

your eyes widen as a big smile formed on your face. the others were confused by what senku had meant. "no, no, i'm okay," you answered as you placed a hand over his. "did they hurt you?"

"who cares."

"i do!"

you and senku then bursts out laughing.

"sorry, what just happened?" gen managed to ask. "what was that?"

taiju and yuzuriha were chuckling as well. "every time they reunite, they always reference steven universe," yuzuriha explained. "i think it was one of the first things that y/n watched with senku."

"that gem cartoon from the states?" gen asks, but then he immediately hums afterwards. "no, wait, that makes sense."

you turned your head to kohaku with a smile and soft eyes. her eyes glistened as she stared at yours. you extended your arms as she ran into them. nuzzling her nose into your chest while you tightened your hold.

a second later, you pulled back and turned back to senku. "so what's our situation now?" you asked.

"she only just woke up," says matsukaze in awe.

"i've heard around that that's how she is," commented nikki. "always working like him."

"although, i think that she's more serious and formal than him," ukyo mentions. ryusui nods his head, agreeing with ukyo.

"we're attacking the moon!" exclaimed senku with a not-so-serious face.

you owlishly blinked at senku, then a huge excited toothy wide grin formed on your face. "ah! no way really?!" you squealed as you clasped your hands together which caught the others off guard. "senku, darling, it's your dream!" you engulfed the man into a tight hug that lifted him off the ground. if anyone caught onto that affectionate name, no one mentioned it.

he pushed you away. "we've got company, y/n, calm down," he tells you with a lazy smirk on his face.

"who cares about the company!" you retorted. "tell me: are we blowing up the moon?" you asked looking like a child that just got permission to do something they've always wanted to do.

"what?! no!" screamed out senku. "this is a mistake. maybe i should make tsukasa the soldier for the moon."

"wait, honey, no! i'm kidding!"

"i take back what i said," ukyo says in absolute awe and shock with ryusui, nikki, and matsukaze also looking hella shocked.

"yeah, my image of her is completely ruined," mentioned gen.

it was then you caught sight of new faces. "oh, hello," you formally greeted with a short bow. "i don't think i've met you guys yet. although, your face is familiar. i apologize, but could you relay your name to me again?" you gestures your entire palm at ryusui.

the four felt a wave of whiplash at the sudden change in tone and demeanor of the person in front of them; a very important person they may add.

"h-hello, i'm nikki," she greeted, really nervously.

"ah, you're the woman on the phone. i'm glad to see another woman on the battle team." you smiled at her as she nodded, freezing up and pink dusting her cheeks.

"i'm ukyo," he says, raising his hand up.

"yes! the one with good hearing. i'm pleased to see you on this side now," you tell him as he gave a loopy smile, his cheeks a bit faint of red.

"ryusui nanami," he bowed, taking your hand into his and giving a light peck on it.

your eyes widen at the familiar gesture and at the name. "ah, one of the sons of the nanami conglomerate," you acknowledged, then you realized something.

"wait!" you turned around to senku. "you guys built a boat?! just how many things did i miss?"

this time, gen spoke up, "i'll tell you all about it."

"hello, gen," you greeted with a slight smirk. "you're not walking on eggshells around me anymore," you stated as you looked him, up and down. "what changed?"

gen shook his head as he chuckled. "senku ruined your image for me," he says, making you coo.

"aw, senku, you still have that habit?"

"shut up."

this is when ginro decided to speak up. "senku, i just figured it out!" he exclaimed, his face being way too overly arrogant. "you hurried back to y/n because you were worried she was going to spoil in the freezer, right? i know you hate all that mushy stuff, though!" his elbow jabbing into senku's neck.

"he's absolutely tackless!" says kohaku.

"well, if he just wanted someone super strong, he could've taken my top student—i mean, guard, matsukaze-kun." ginro really got carried away.

matsukaze stared at you

he was wondering why you were considered the strongest

he honestly thought it was that tsukasa man

that man was trained to the absolute limit, he could tell with one look

but you?

you didn't look like you were trained like tsukasa was

he stepped towards you and gave a bow, staying in that position. "my name is matsukaze," he greeted. "y/n-dono, if it would be all right, i would like to challenge you once you are well."

you looked at the new face in glee. "oh? then how about now? let's go outside," you tell him. "oohh~ this is fun! i never had anyone challenge me before."

"gee, i wonder why," mused gen, already knowing the outcome of this fight.

matsukaze now understands why you're the strongest here and not tsukasa

you had defeated him with a single finger

a single finger that you used on his forehead to stop his lunge and forcefully push him to the ground

your leaking bloodlust and monotone stare caused him to freeze on the ground, too speechless and afraid to move

you blinked your eyes and your demeanor changed, reverting to what it once was before the fight. "oh my, i apologize, matsukaze," you tell him as you extended a hand to him. "you challenged me," is all you say.

he politely took your hand as you helped him up. he bowed down to you and say, "i am defeated."

"you're a very capable man, and i'm glad to have new members for the battle team," you tell him.

ginro is now humbled

"since the device is out of battery, senku's crack will never go away now," says suika as she walked over to in front of him

"no!" you exclaimed with a huff as if you were child who were having a tantrum.

people slowly turned to you. senku sighs, feeling like he knows what you're going to say.

"i like the stone cracks!" you announced as you walked over to senku. you then traced the lines on his forehead. "it gives him character and he looks... really... good with them."

"y/n..." senku called with a warning tone. "did that freezer like give you a damn concussion or something?"

you laughed as you just give him a hug. you arms around his shoulders, your head burying into his neck. he sighed and hugged you back with one arm that rubbed your back in a comforting way.

this is when gen was like "why should senku-chan get all the fun?" leading to everyone else getting back their petrification cracks

you included of course, after you had stopped clinging onto senku like a koala

although some people didn't forget the small public display of affection you and senku shared, in fact, it really caught them off guard

ukyo, ryusui, nikki, and tsukasa aren't used to it

you were acting like a clingy girlfriend that hadn't seen her boyfriend in months

and senku is acting like a boyfriend who's nonchalant about his girlfriend's clinginess, but everyone knows just how much he missed you!

two people with the most specific personality and a reputation to uphold, and yet here they are soft for each other

it's strange

but at the same time, it felt right

ukyo was down at the control room, double checking everything in case the islanders from treasure island had touched anything else

he thought no one else was on board besides some who would drop of supplies then leave afterwards

but then he heard you

...and senku

he looked around and saw that no one was on the surface, so the two of you were probably below nearby, in one of the rooms

"what was with you awhile ago?" senku asked.

"what do you mean?" you asked back.

"you..." ukyo could hear the hesitation in senku's voice. "did you not think that we... that i—!" a tremble in the scientist's voice. "were you... unsure of ever waking up?" he finally managed to ask. his voice whispering by the end.

a pause. all ukyo could hear was the breathing and the beating of two people. he could hear the anxiousness from each one.

"senku..." you called, softly in a whisper as well. "you need to understand that..." your voice trembling. "that i wasn't expecting you to find the medusa that quick. those months in the cold dark, i was preparing myself not to see you again for who knows how long."

you inhaled a shaky breath. your heart beating rapidly. "i know that those few months were nothing compared to the time we were apart in stone, but at least we both knew that the other was alive—!" your voiced cracked.

"just when you and i were together again, the stone world takes it away once more. how cruel is that?" you let out a shaky fake laugh.

"i could have died in my sleep, senku," you croaked out to him, sniffling and trembling. your breathing became rigid as senku's became heavy. you were probably crying at this point.

both of your hearts were beating so fast as well.

"no," senku says with full on denial. "no, y/n, you would have not died. y/n, you would have not fucking died!" he screamed out.

"what do you know?!" you screamed back at him. "i was the one in that damn freezer. i know what my body felt like throughout those damn fucking months. you know how my—" you took a deep breath. "my body felt like it was on it's way to death!"

"hah~ shit," you exhaled a shaky breath. "maybe i have already died, and i'm just wishing that you were next to me." a thud to the floor then rapid footsteps, ukyo heard.

"y/n, y/n, shit— don't do this— fuck! i'm here, y/n, i'm real. dammit y/n—! i'm right here!" senku screamed out in reassurance.

then ukyo heard a desperate kiss shared between the two.

ukyo left the perseus in a daze at what he heard

he could hear the emotions the two of you felt during the entirety of that

it was strong

to the point that he could feel it as well

"ukyo-chan?" called gen. "did something happen on the perseus? why are you crying?"

ukyo raised his hand and wiped his cheeks. it's true, he's crying. "um..." he hesitated. "senku and... y/n-san are..."

gen widen his eyes then it softened. "let's leave those two be for now," he says. "it must've been hard for them both. i've never seen them apart from each other for that long."

ukyo fully believes it now

that you two are together

even before the kiss had happen

masterlist ; loyalty built from love (part 1) a/n: i'm actually not as proud of this one compared to part 1, but that last bit? yeah, i like it part 3 will happen when the next season comes

[acid-ixx]

Okay, how about we call Alfred dad??? Sense he raised us and practically is our dad. Sorry I keep on asking. I just am a thinker

series masterlist

a/n: don't be sorry for asking ! i like answering asks even if i do answer really slowly, so don't be afraid to send in questions ! this is a continuation to this ask.

it would actually be a given that if the reader wasn't too broken to the point that they genuinely could never consider anyone as a father figure, then alfred would be someone they would call their dad.

because at least in their 15 years they had been inside the manor, alfred would always be the one who would stand by their side. even if it's not always, he would be there for you when he could. and that effort alone is enough to consider him worthy as your father.

pre-yandere bruce wouldn't even know of your tight-knit relationship with alfred; calling him dad when you skip through the halls with him, calling him your "actual father" whenever you two would bake together, and even going as far as gifting him a mug with 'no. 1 dad!' painted sloppily into the ceramic. alfred would even teach you how to crochet, so you two would get matching sweaters for winter. although alfred wouldn't wear the sweater for the sake of formality, you would always be aware that he stores them somewhere safe and warm as some sort of treasure.

so, imagine just how heartbroken bruce would be once you are abducted by your family, calling out to your dad in your drugged state on your bed, bruce thinking that it was him that you're calling for help when all of a sudden, you make grabby-hands towards alfred, eyes hazily looking at the butler with such desperation that it feels like alfred is your actual father.

seeing you two act so close, bruce would be so, so conflicted. because at least, in the years of solitude you had spent, you find comfort in the very same man bruce considers as his father figure. but at the same time it should've been him that you call your father, it should've been bruce you look at for help and guidance, it should've been him that lulls you back to sleep, wiping the tears that run down your face.

it breaks his heart even further once he discovers all the little trinkets that you make for alfred, all the inside jokes you two share, the gifts you cherish in your cabinets from the apartment you used to live in; they were all from alfred— bruce wants to kick himself realizing that he never made an effort to gift you anything in your 15 years of living in the manor as a ghost.

bruce swears on his life that he'll make it up to you, that despite him being unable to stay the night frequently with you that he'll make it up during the day. he'll take you to business meetings, to arcades, to malls; literally anywhere to get you to bond with him as much as you did alfred.

he'll schedule holidays where the entire family is required to join and you'll be the center of attention. your birthdays will be extravagant, he would spend millions to make a show that you're his favorite child; that means he'll spoil you with gifts that pertain to your hobbies. and because your family loves you so much, please do expect a minimum of 10 gifts prepared by all your siblings and a credit card with no limit for bruce.

oh? you don't need material things? don't worry, you'll be surprised with just how meticulously your father would plan for vacations. any place you would choose would be taken into heavy consideration, even planning with him would feel like some sort of father-child bonding.

but really, he'll commit all his time and effort for you.

bruce would do everything to make you consider him as your dad.

[gghostwriter]

Emails He Didn’t Send

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 Summary: Through a series of unsent emails, Spencer laments through the loss of his life. Trope: Angst with an open ending w.c: 2.11k a/n: this marks the last of my ‘three’s a sideshow’ series. I wasn’t planning on making it a mini series I promise but ideas came and i am nothing but a slave to my creativity and readers. Special thanks to @lavenderspence & @thegloryofliterature for reading my unfinished drafts and giving me their opinions. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

[Drafted at 14.02.2019 23:41] 

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Hey Love

Your favorite song played on the diner’s radio today. You remember which one, don’t you? The one we softly played through your phone’s speaker as we tried to bake your mom’s apple pie from memory during that late night when nightmares plagued my mind. I vividly remember the burnt taste of its’ crust as we were too busy dancing in each other’s arms, under the dim light of our kitchen and the night light, to mind the timer going off.

Sitting on the table, feeding each other what we deemed left edible, and laughing at how faulty your memory could be. It didn’t taste like what you imagined it to be, nostalgia and love, but for me, it was the sweetest treat there was. Being there with you, sheltered inside our apartment, accompanied by your smiles and giggles.

In hindsight, how ironic was it that was our running joke, when my memory is anything but fallible.

I once thought I knew all there was about love. The science behind it—how love actually happens less in the heart and more in the brain where key neurotransmitters such as dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin are released. All these chemical trigger physical responses and in turn feel addictive. As time goes on, connection, commitment and comfortability of the known take over. I’ve known everything about it, read everything about it, and experienced some to an extent—familial and friendship but then, you came along, beautiful, light, and happy, unaware that you’ve dismantled all my beliefs and concepts, making me question the validity of science and making me realize I’ve never truly loved before—the encompassing type of love they describe in books and show in movies. Nothing existed before you and nothing exists after, I know that now. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, love. I’ve spent my day working myself to the bone, doing anything to push the thought away of you and the lack of us. Now, as I hunch over in this wobbling desk in my undisclosed assignment, I can think of nothing but you, the space between us, and the love you’ve defined in the very atom of my being. 

— Spencer

**

[Drafted 01.07.2019 21:16]

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Flowers 

Communicating through flowers is a forgotten language in the modern times. I’ve read and seen too much classics, minus the existential musings of Dostoyevsky, to have a small knowledge of what each flower meant. Interestingly enough, they each would have a variety of symbolisms and depending on the color, it also changes. 

During our first picnic date, you mentioned the bushes of Hydrangeas your mother would religiously tend over in your backyard. How a subtle change in environment causes them to wilt and how the color of their flowers change, as if they were magic or a game of chance. You liked the concept, admitting right then that they were your favorites due to fond memories. I passed by the library, once I walked you home, and checked out a book for it—plants and its up-keeping never one I gravitated to. I did kill the tiny cactus Garcia gifted me in my early start in the FBI, sadly.

Its’ change in colors are attributed to pH changes in the soil, blue is for acidic and pink is for alkaline. Your mother must have made sure to always keep it pink, a manifestation of her love for you. They do, after all, mean many things like love, gratitude, hope, apologies, and regrets in some Asian cultures.

I left you a bouquet of blues on your doorstep, love, before I had to leave for an assignment I’m still on today. I’ve always gifted you pinks, in every month, and in every anniversary. Did you ask yourself why the change in color? I hoped you did.

The blues bear my sincerity and gratitude in having the chance in loving you. As a kid who grew up with certain circumstances, a father gone, bullies in school, and a mother in need of my care, I never once thought I would have had the chance in love or with someone like you, for that matter. I’m not as smooth or extroverted as Morgan, I could never figure out how he picked up women everywhere we went. I’m not as reliable or authoritative as Hotch, someone who could silence a room filled with testosterone with just his presence. I’m neither of those things but you approached me anyways. 

I keep a single pressed flower from that bouquet in my handkerchief now. The very same one you clumsily embroidered my name on. It has become a talisman of sorts, a connection to you and our past. I’m sorry for breaking your heart and in the process, shattering mine.

Good night and please visit me in my dreams, even just once.

- Spencer

**

[Drafted 15.11.2019]

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: What’s In A Name

There’s a phenomenon that happens in our brain that leads to a perception of increased frequency called the recency bias. Giving greater importance to the most recent or the most known, like how a jury remembers a lawyer’s closing argument rather than the whole hearing. Or like how my brain tunes in when it hears the sound of your name, nickname or not. 

I found myself craning my neck to face some stranger shouting your name, even though the statistic of it being you, where I am now, is a definite zero.

Garcia mentioned she saw you at the local grocery a few nights ago. She brought it up in passing, meaning no harm but possibly also looking for an answer as to why you seemed intent on escaping her presence. It’s been another mistake of mine, I know that now, not divulging the truth as to what had caused our break up.

In all my emails to you, I’ve never did tackle the reason—fearing that I haven’t explained myself well enough and end up pressing send by mistake. By then, there would be no going back.

I had met JJ when I was young, naive, and still green from the academy. She, along with Elle and Garcia, were the first female interactions I had that weren’t hostile or coated with this leer or distrust from me being too different from the rest. They saw me as Spencer, the protege of Gideon, the resident boy genius—an important part of the team. Something I have never experienced, I was, after all, always the last kid chosen during group projects and gym class.

Looking back at it now, I had latched on to that warm feeling of belonging and naively interpreted it as a crush on her. Why not on Elle or Garcia, then? Elle was never on my league—she was too strong-headed, sharp on the edges, something she developed during her time in the Sex Crime division. Garcia was too similar—smart and liked all the same things I did, something I had hoped a sibling would be if my mother had opted for another. That left JJ, who treated me kindly, further warping my notion on romance and emotion.

Then I met you and through a series of unforgettable dates, I knew then that what I had for her wasn’t love. What I had with you was. 

I regret not making it clear for you that you were my first love. You had become an absolute point in my cycle of life. Days and months have gone by and I don’t know what to do with the love left in my heart, still. Briefly I wondered if it would evaporate over time, like water left boiling until there is nothing left, or will it all fade with time, burying itself in my all important beating organ?

The scent of your laundry detergent had long faded from my clothes, no matter how I try to lessen its’ wash, trying to cling to it still. Now all that’s left are my memories and the stale smell of cleanliness.

I miss you, my love. 

I miss knowing you were mine, just like I am still yours.

-Spencer

**

[Drafted 01.01.2020]

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Happy New Year

The empty space on the crook on my neck misses the feel of your skin burrowing in into mine. It’s a new year and I’m all alone, surrounded by strangers who do not know who I really am—as a person or as an FBI agent. 

As fireworks go off in the night sky and couples and families greet each other a happy new year, my minds wanders to you and how we could be looking at the same sky.

Nostalgia seems to be a bitter trick of the mind, one i could feel myself wanting to sink into its depth—trying to live in the past. Emily sagely advises me to let it go, to move on as you no doubt had, after all, it had been a year now, but I find myself rooted in place as if the earth’s gravity didn’t allow me to.

Time had passed and the atomic beings in me had aged, I question if this is the definite end. Were you the closest I had ever come to a cliche happy ending? If I had noticed the signs in time, maybe we would have still be one.

I never did tell you where we were that night—the real reason why I had been late. In my defense, I didn’t want it to seem to be an excuse, a way to curry your anger. She went with me to pick up your ring that night. Sadly, work got in the way and I had to beg the jewelry store owner, with the help of Garcia tracking him down, to open shop just for me to pick it up. I had it adjusted you see—to fit down your finger.

There are many cultures that have the tradition of making a wish on New Year’s, you were my every wish.

-Spencer

**

His finger hesitated on the right click of his mouse. It had been numerous months of being away from Virginia and everything seemed to have changed without him. Stores that he once frequented were now closed and replaced with something new. Broken down stop lights he vividly remembers were replaced. And the team, once happy and unstained with the darkness of their cases, had aged and become jaded.

Spencer wondered if reaching out was the right thing to do. If reopening old wounds that never healed right would bring some sort of closure. The first night back home, he had caught a glimpse of her, far away and oblivious to his presence. It had brought to mind the urban theory of meeting people twice—how someone who’ve finished their story in his life were bound to never appear again. He’d never put much fate into those beliefs with no scientific backings but as he spied her crossing the street, Spencer found himself believing it, imploring it to be real. 

He sighed under his breath, eyes tracking the simple note he had written down. 

To: reader@gmail.com

Fr: spencer.reid@gmail.com

Subject: Hello

Hi. I hope this finds you well. Will you be open to talk? Just talk.

There’s no need to reply right now or even at all, for that matter.

If yes, I will be waiting at our coffee shop, the one you shared just with me, by the window this coming Saturday afternoon.

But if the burden is too much or you simply never want to see me again, I would understand.

Perhaps, now is my turn to wait for you restlessly. A penance two years too late.

-Spencer

He steeled his nerves before pressing ‘send’. The beating of the organ in his chest threatens to swallow him whole. Who he was could change within a couple of days—there now would be a definite ending to their story. 

Her Polaroid picture was still tacked on his work station, faded but her smile was still the same—warm and inviting. She lingers all around, ring still in his drawer, as if she might return. As if these memories and mementos can summon her back in his arms.

“Reid,” Emily called out. “We’ve got a case.”

He nodded, quickly leaving his desk to head straight to the conference room, unaware of the single unread message left in his inbox.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Request taglist for this series: @mega-kittyglitter-1 @ozwriterchick @flyingwithsilly @timewontgivemetime @vani3 @babyspiderling @alexa554 @ivet4 @starbright1002 @lunaryoongie @casey1-2007 @cherryblossomfairyy @iovediary

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 18: Family Photo Shoot

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: ultimate UConn trio... back at it again

P.s.-yes I know that's ice in the 3rd pic but it fit the vibe here oki....

Welcome to the chapter 18 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

It all started with a simple idea. Well, at least, it seemed simple when Paige and KK proposed it.

"Let’s do a family photo shoot around campus," Paige suggested for the second time since bringing up on the way back, from the Storms game last week, lounging across my bed while scrolling through her phone. "We’ve been matching jerseys, matching vibes—let’s document it."

I shot her a look. "Wait, you mean, you want us to take cute pictures together? On campus?"

KK, always ready for anything, piped up from the corner of the room. "Exactly! It's about time we really commit to this ‘family’ thing."

I sighed but couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "You're crazy, both of you."

Paige nudged me. "Oh, come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll make it look like we’re the coolest, most wholesome little family ever. Plus, we can film some TikToks while we're at it!"

And so, we were off. Paige grabbed my Polaroid camera, KK armed herself with her phone for TikTok purposes, and we ventured to campus, where we began our spontaneous "family photo shoot."

We started by the fountain near the library, posing dramatically in front of the iconic UConn sign, our matching gear almost blinding in the sunlight. Paige, of course, insisted on giving each photo a playful theme. One was a “family dinner” shot, where we pretended to laugh at something that only we found funny. Another was a “vacation photo,” where we all leaned against the sign like we’d just arrived at some far-off exotic destination.

KK couldn’t stop laughing as we messed with different props—my camera, Paige’s jersey, and KK’s beanie that she kept pulling over our heads in each shot.

“You two are ridiculously cute,” KK said between giggles. “I’m living for this. It’s like a Pinterest board in real life.”

After a while, we decided to take a break by the basketball court. We sat down, still in our matching jerseys, snapping pictures as a breeze swept through. The chemistry between us was undeniable—the laughter, the inside jokes, the casual touches that had long become a part of our daily routine.

Paige wrapped her arm around my shoulder, resting her head against mine for one photo, and KK crouched in front of us, trying to catch the perfect candid shot.

"Okay, okay," KK said, holding up her phone. "We need something more fun. Let’s do some TikTok dances. This is the perfect time to get a little goofy."

We moved from one spot to another, setting up the camera to capture our ridiculous dance moves. Paige and I, being completely uncoordinated, tried to follow KK’s lead as she showed us some trending TikTok dance moves.

"Left, right, right, left," KK instructed, laughing as we both tried (and failed) to get the timing right.

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly struggling to keep up. "I am not going to be famous on TikTok for this."

I nodded in agreement, trying not to laugh too hard. "KK, we look ridiculous."

But KK was unstoppable. She expertly spun around, doing the “tripped-out” move she’d been practicing. I had no idea what it was, but the way she made it look easy made me feel like I could do it too.

"Here, let me show you," KK said, before pulling Paige and me into position again. "All you have to do is boom, boom, boom and trip out."

We both stared at her. "Trip out?" I echoed.

"Yeah, like this." KK did the move once more, effortlessly. "Come on, Y/N, Paige can barely do it, but still does it. Just let go of your coordination for once!"

It took a few tries, but soon enough, Paige and I were doing the most absurd “trip out” moves, laughing hysterically as we messed it up in the funniest ways possible. KK filmed the entire thing, even adding music to it for the ultimate TikTok effect.

As if the day wasn’t already chaotic enough, we decided to take it up a notch. Paige texted the team, convincing everyone to meet us at the gym later that night for an impromptu photo shoot in their game uniforms.

"Is everyone on board for the late-night photo shoot?" KK asked in the team group chat.

The responses came in fast:

• Azzi: "I’m in. What are we wearing?"

• Sarah: "Uniforms? Is this a joke?"

• Morgan: "Let’s do it."

• Ice: "Better be worth it."

• Jana: "Bet let's gooo!"

• Aubrey: "who's idea, bro?"

I couldn’t stop smiling as we all gathered at the gym later that night, the basketball court empty except for us. The fluorescent lights above hummed softly as the team gathered, still in their uniforms, but clearly ready for whatever KK had planned.

"Okay," KK said, adjusting her phone’s camera. "This is gonna be iconic."

We lined up in the center of the court, our game faces on—well, not exactly. Paige couldn’t help but crack a grin as she stood next to me, her arm casually slung around my shoulder. KK darted around, snapping pictures, calling for different angles.

Every shot was more chaotic than the last, but the energy between us felt real. This was family. The team felt like home, and in those moments, we were all equally ridiculous and joyful together.

By the time we were done, KK was already in the process of setting up an Instagram account. "We’re officially a family now," she said. "We need a place to showcase our art."

And just like that, the @unoffical_bueckersfam account was born.

"Do we really need a family account?" I asked, still grinning as I watched KK upload the first batch of pictures.

"Absolutely," Paige replied, nudging me. "You’re stuck with us now."

I laughed, taking a picture of Paige and KK as they struck ridiculous poses together. "Fine. But I’m not doing matching family outfits for the holidays, when they roll around."

The family photo shoot pics went live soon after, and the responses started flooding in almost immediately. Fans were loving our antics. Some even started calling us “the UConn First Family.” The comments section was a mix of laughs and admiration:

• Okay, but can we talk about how cute they are?

• I’m obsessed with the ‘family’ vibes. They’re like the ultimate trio.

• Didn't know this was a trio I needed until now.

• Omgg we live, laugh, and love their friendship with each other.

• When’s the next family photo shoot? I’m living for this content.

• Best trio at UConn ngl

• Oops they do be giving parents and child vibes for real

• the kiss on cheek Alexa que that should be me by Justin Bieber

I couldn’t help but smile as I scrolled through the comments.

KK was right. We were creating something special. And as absurd as the idea of a family photo shoot had been, I wouldn’t have wanted to share this with anyone else.

It was us, all of us, together. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 ,.... (more to be added)

[themeaningthemeaningthe]

can’t sleep for other reasons and my brain can’t stop thinking about a post i saw and initially ignored but keep having thoughts about. i didn’t comment on it or anything and now it’s lost to the ether and i don’t wanna go looking for it but these thoughts gotta go somewhere.

this will be long and rambling and probably a little incoherent cuz it’s 3am.

the post was someone saying that they finally picked up gideon the ninth after years of seeing locked tomb posts and griddlehark, then dropped it after like 2 chapters bcuz they think the dynamic between gideon and harrow is abusive (which is fair when u first start it) and they can’t believe people are into it as enemies to lovers. on the one hand, people are totally cool to just not like something for whatever reason, i myself just have thoughts about the Nuance that i didn’t express on the post that i now must here.

lots of important spoilers for GtN!! (and maybe accidentally ones to HtN)

ok here’s the rant.

that’s the point!!!!! that’s the point.

they are terrible to each other and they have always been. the growth and the development of their character dynamics together explores how this thing between them that has always been sharp and seething and spiky must buckle under the weight of outside pressure beyond anything they could have imagined.

in a very important pool scene (one that is ubiquitous in fanart and i have to believe this poster saw at least a few times) we get an explanation from harrow! and not only does this give us a more full look into the context of drearbruh outside of gideons narrow point of view, but it also makes more clear why they were like That.

i’m sorry but literally harrow is 200 dead kids that her parents killed to make her, and gideon is the one kid they couldn’t kill. and gideon realizes once told this, she is the living reminder of the war crime committed to save the house, and no one who knows can forget it.

and harrow has known the truth of her origin since she was old enough to comprehend anything!! so yeah, a traumatized child who knows she’s the entirety of a generation of her house is gonna lash out at literally the only other child on the planet who she happens to also have power over.

and i feel like the book makes this pretty clear!! this was bad!! but also, these are two traumatized kids growing up in a dying, creepy, planet that is lowkey hell.

the other key thing about the pool scene, is that it is a Confession. these books are sooo steeped in catholicism. harrow isn’t just explaining the true history of her life, she is Confessing all of the sins that make her up and all of the sins she has committed. bearing the entirety of the wretchedness of her soul for gideon judge. expecting her only friend whom she has made miserable for years to kill her.

and i know we joke about gideon being lesbian jesus, but there’s a reason for that (besides the obvious). bcuz after hearing her Confession, gideon baptized harrow in that pool.

one flesh one end, bitch.

and also like yeah griddlehark is an enemies to lovers in some ways, but i feel like also not in the typical way you would think about that trope?? bcuz correct me if im wrong but they never really become lovers (and i personally am not sure they ever will). yes they love each other and make the grandest gestures of love imaginable. but that love is inevitably fucked up in some ways and it’s impossible for it to not be.

god that was way too long. anyway. some Nuance is necessary.

[ashwhowrites]

Hi beautiful! I just wanted you to know I absolutely love your work! You are a phenomenal writer! I’m so excited that your request are back open! I was a curious cat wondering if I could request a best friend eddie Munson x shy reader, where she loves Star Trek next generation and has tickets to a con but none of the group will dress up with her and Eddie surprises her and does, maybe a kiss or sneaky smut! Hehe! I’m sorry if this is awkward turtle! 🐢

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

⚠️ disclaimer - I've never seen Star Trek NG so I goggled characters and I'm sorry if this is not accurate at all

Tickets to Con

Y/N had nerdy friends, she just tended to me a little more nerdy. Her friends enjoyed things but didn't like to dress up or do cosplay, but Y/N loved it. She found so much joy in putting together a costume and attending cons to show off and meet people just like her. The only thing she disliked was always going alone.

She hoped this year would be different. She got tickets to a Star Trek con and tickets only came in pairs. She did not want to waste her money and have no one join her. So she asked all her friends, even her best friend Eddie. And they all said no.

She was devastated but refused to let that ruin her experience. She enjoyed doing her thing, even if it was alone. She worked on her cosplay for days, creating the perfect Troi outfit. She had everything pinned down to perfection, her hair, makeup, and outfit.

~

Y/N felt excitement fill her once she walked into the building. She took in everyone's costumes, everyone seemed to be with someone and she felt a little sad none of her friends came with her. She walked around, running to her favorite tables for signed autographs and pictures.

She was having so much fun that she barely noticed an hour passed. From all the running around, she felt like she was sweating through her costume, so she stepped outside for fresh air.

"Sir, I've already told you, you cannot go in without a ticket!" The sound of security was the first thing she heard when she stepped out. She didn't want to be caught up in the mess so she turned her back.

"Well, SIR, I already told you my friend has it and she's inside!"

That voice sounded really familiar. She scrunched her eyebrows as she turned around. She swore she felt her jaw smack the concrete.

Her best friend was standing there fighting with security in a perfect Riker cosplay matching her.

"Eddie?" she called out in shock

He looked to see where her voice came from and smiled when she came into view.

"SEE THAT'S HER!" he yelled

The guy turned around, "Is he with you?" the poor guard looked over it

"Yes," Y/N laughed, handing the guy the ticket. Eddie stuck out his tongue at him as he made it into the building.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N asked, excitedly throwing the boy into a bone-crushing hug.

"I couldn't let my favorite girl be here all alone," he said, accepting her hug.

She pulled away and Eddie swore he had never seen her smile so big. She shrugged off the way his words made her face burn. She always had a crush on Eddie but figured she was way too geeky for his taste.

"Well you are the best Riker I've seen here," Y/N said

"Yeah well, I am the best looking," Eddie shrugged with a teasing smirk

Y/N tried not to melt into the floor

"I did some research and apparently our two characters are sorta into each other, do we play as our characters or just dress as them? Because I am ready to fully commit to the romance," Eddie joked. Y/N hoped he couldn't hear how hard her heart was beating.

"PLAY!" she shouted, embarrassed as he laughed, "We definitely have to be into each other," she lied.

She felt like squeaking when his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"Let's do this, baby"

~

The event went amazing with Eddie by her side. They even won Best Couple cosplay and got a small trophy then their picture was taken. Y/N happily carried the trophy to her car, placing it gently in the backseat.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but damn that was fun!" Eddie said, chuckling as he leaned against her car. She laughed as she shut the backdoor and moved to her driver's door.

"Can I count on you for next time?" she asked, Eddie couldn't help but smile as she smiled.

"Yes," he said with no hesitation

"Thank you for coming. I know it's not your thing but it means a lot," she said, giving him another hug. But this one was more soft and close.

Eddie didn't say anything but hugged her back. He slowly pulled away but kept his arms wrapped around. She felt nervous under his stare and shivered at how close they were.

She watched as he leaned in, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips. She held her breath as his lips drew closer to hers, and then his lips landed on hers.

She gladly kissed him back, trying not to show how eager she was that this was finally happening. She imagined this almost every night and it was never as good as this. His lips were soft and warm, and the way he had control over her made her stomach flutter.

She stared as he pulled away, he gave one last small kiss to her lips before he removed his arms from her.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said with a smile

"Goodnight," she breathed out in awe, watching as he walked away

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt@ineedmentalhelp123

[girlgenius1111]

i'll be whatever you need

part 2 of birthdays are supposed to have surprises

alexia x reader angst / fluff no warnings :)

Alexia didn't do anything halfway. Not football, not outfits, and apparently, not training puppies. The woman made schedules for when they were supposed to eat, play, go out, and when you both were supposed to train them. You were less strict about them then your girlfriend would have wanted, sometimes slacking off on the schedule she had imposed.

It felt ridiculous, making them sit, and stay, and roll over, and bark. They did all those things already, when they wanted to! Alexia was adamant, though, that they be well behaved dogs. And, in fairness, you were the reason the two of you had ended up with 2 puppies at one time, so you went along with it.

You weren't bothered by it at first; really, you thought it was cute, how committed Alexia was. And then, it seemed like all she did was go to training and play with the puppies. They were a lot of work, and, as Alexia was on an easier schedule due to her knee injury, she was home with them more. They became attached to her, more attached to her than they were to you. You weren't jealous of your dogs, that would be absurd. You just wished Alexia would pay a bit more attention to you.

-----

It was around week 4 that you became rather fed up. Alexia, for all her insistence on rules with the puppies, was weak when it came to not letting them on the bed.

Finley's cries woke you up, as was customary, his tiny little voice carrying from his crate in the living room, all the way back to the bedroom. He was fine, just a bit lonely. It was still early, and you and Alexia had a rare morning to sleep in, with training scheduled for later afternoon. You reached out for Alexia's shirt, grabbing on and pulling when she tried to get up to go get him.

"No, stay," you said sleepily.

"I will be right back amor, I am just going to get Fin," she whispered, kissing your forehead before pulling away from your grasp. Of course, she didn't just go get Finley, she got Fernando too, entering the room with two hyper puppies in her arms, dumping them unceremoniously on the bed by your face. They both began frantically licking at your face, and you pulled the covers over your head, grumbling loud enough for your girlfriend to hear.

"Hey, they are saying good morning," Alexia said, removing the covers from your head. "Say good morning." She demanded.

"Good morning." You sighed, letting your eyes fall shut again. A soft nip at your nose had you sitting straight up in bed, eyebrows furrowed as you glared down at Fin's little face looking up at you innocently. Alexia was biting back a laugh, holding Fernando in her lap on the other side of the bed.

"Ow, Finley," you scolded, moving to put him on the floor. Alexia's hand stopped you, pulling Fin into her lap as well.

"He is just a baby, amor, be nice."

You gave her an exasperated look, one that didn't seem like you were joking, before rolling over and burying yourself under the covers once again. Alexia stared at your back for a minute, confused. She wasn't sure why you seemed to be so annoyed with her.

"Do you want to come with me on our walk?" She asked, putting the dogs on the floor, and pressing up against your back, leaving a gentle kiss on your ear.

"What time is it?" You asked.

"Already 9:30. I thought we could go to the dog park, and take the puppies to see my mom after."

You went rigid against Alexia. You were supposed to get breakfast at your favorite cafe that morning, at 9. Alexia had said she would wake you up, and you'd leave the puppies to enjoy a morning to yourselves. Evidently, she'd forgotten. It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did.

"Amor?" Alexia asked, only growing more confused when you shifted away from her.

"No. I'm tired, I'll stay here."

"You do not want to come at all?" Alexia asked, sounding slightly hurt. You couldn't bring yourself to care, not when her priority was clearly the puppies.

"No." You responded harshly, squeezing your eyes shut. Alexia was still for a moment, before she got up from the bed without another word, and began to get dressed.

-----

The dog park was not very fun without you. It was hard to watch both puppies, and Alexia decided to cut the trip short, especially when her mom called and asked to reschedule her visit because she had come down with a cold. She was getting increasingly worried about your behavior the longer she was away from you She wasn't quite sure what your problem was, but she was hoping that your grumpiness would have resolved by the time she got home.

You were out of bed, dressed and messing around in the kitchen when she got home. You were still acting kind of... off. You greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek, instead of on her lips. You looked paler than normal , and eventually ended up lounging on the couch while she trained with the dogs. She was working on getting them to follow simple commands, like sitting and staying. They were not very good listeners. She was completely wrapped up in the puppies, while you watched on sullenly.

"Fin, venga. Siéntate." Fin stared at her for a moment before clumsily sitting down. "Buen chico," Alexia cooed, giving him a treat.

You cracked a small smile, before letting out a quiet sigh. You didn't feel right today; you weren't sure why, maybe because you were still kind of upset with Alexia, who remained oblivious. Either way, you just wanted to lay in your girlfriend's arms.

"Ale?" You called.

"Hmm?" She responded distractedly, not looking over at you.

"Will you come lay with me?" You asked.

"Not right now, amor, once I am done with the puppies' training I will." Alexia told you. You felt ridiculously rejected, tears beginning to well in your eyes.

"Okay." You said, getting off the couch and hurrying back into the bedroom. Your voice was shaky, and Alexia turned around just in time to see the door shut behind you. She was confused, not quite sure why you were seemingly upset. She stood, abandoning the dogs completely to follow you down the hall.

"Amor? What's happened?" Alexia said, peeking in through the door to see you curled up on the bed, head tucked into your pillow, hiding your face. You didn't respond, simply burrowing further into the bed. Alexia walked around to her side, climbing over to where your back was turned to her.

"Amor, please," she said. Still, there was no response from you. Alexia pulled on your shoulder, ignoring your resistance, out from under the throw blanket and onto your side, facing her. She noticed dried tear tracks on your cheeks.

"¿Por qué estás llorando?" She said urgently, wiping at your face with her thumb as if the tears disappearing would make your sadness go away too.

You pushed her hands away, blinking away a wave of fresh tears at the distraught look on your girlfriend's face. If it wasn't bad enough that you were crying, for an absurd reason, but now you were going to have to explain it to Alexia.

"I'm fine." You replied, but Alexia shook her head, pressing the lightest of kisses on your nose.

"What is it?" She asked again, holding your face in between her hands.

"It's stupid." You mumbled.

"If it is making you upset, it is not stupid. Tell me, please."

"You forgot about breakfast." You told her quietly, avoiding her gaze, even as you saw understanding flash across her face. You still felt so stupid, being upset over something so small. It just didn't feel small. It felt like Alexia was using any excuse she could to avoid you.

"No, amor, I am so sorry." Alexia whispered, pulling you into an almost suffocating embrace. "I am so, so sorry."

"It's fine." You mumbled into her.

"No, it is not fine. You were so excited about it. I was busy with the puppies, and I completely forgot." The blonde explained.

"You're busy with them a lot, recently." You said softly, embarrassment flushing across your face as Alexia pulled away to look intently at you.

Alexia is silent for a moment, thinking about the past few weeks. She hadn't realized how she'd put you to the side, spending most of her time training, or focused on the dogs.

You mistook her silence for annoyance. "It's okay, Alexia, please don't worry about it."

"I have not been spending much time with you recently, have I? Between getting back on the pitch, and the dogs..." Alexia trailed off, looking rather horrified at herself.

"It wasn't- it wasn't on purpose then?"

Alexia's eyes flew to yours, her jaw dropping at what you'd said. You knew you were wrong, then, that you'd been silly. There was no way to take back what you'd said.

"No, amor. Of course it was not on purpose." Alexia told you. She yanked you forward into her arms again, squeezing tight. "You thought it was on purpose?"

"I don't know, I was just... worried. You know how I get."

She did, she was well aware of how insecure you could get for seemingly no reason. Normally, she could recognize when you were heading that direction, and stop it before you began to completely doubt yourself. This time, though, she hadn't done that.

"Pack a bag." Alexia said suddenly, pulling away and sliding out of bed, heading into the closet.

"What?" You questioned, sitting up, confused at the sudden change in her demeanor.

"We a have a day off tomorrow, and we will take the day after that off too. We will go away for the weekend, leave the dogs with Alba."

"Ale, what?"

Alexia didn't take days off. Neither did you, really.

"Get up, pack, venga mi niña, time is wasting!" Alexia responded, peeking out of the closet with a large smile on her face.

"Are you being serious?" You laughed. She sighed, dropping the stack of shirts she was holding, moving closer to take your face in her hands.

"Dead serious. I need time with my girl, no interruptions. You need the same, yes?"

You nodded, smiling shyly up at her.

"Good. I will pack your favorite strap!" Alexia smirked, backing away from you when you blushed, and swatted at her. You stared after her in disbelief, as she headed back into the closet, leaving a mess of clothes in her wake.

"Come on, come on, come on!" She yelled excitedly.

You got out of bed, smiling to yourself. Alexia was not a spontaneous person, that was all you. As evidenced by the 2 puppies sitting in your living room currently. She would always be what you needed of her, though. Even if it didn't come naturally to her; she'd be whatever you needed. Always.

-----

shorter than i was planning, but perhaps it's because i didn't want to rush the smut i was planning at the end. so. be on the lookout for part 3 :) it'll be dirty 😈

[xuchiya]

Hello! Firstly, thank you so much for sharing your beautiful writings with us online 💕

I saw your post about your inbox being empty and I was wondering if you could write Jongho angst/fluff about his new relationship with reader who likes skinship, so like he gets shy and conflicted at first, maybe even insecure about not being good bf or angry about having to do skinship but then they both work things out and it has good ending? 🥺

I'm in desperate need of Jongho scenarios, maybe you'll bless me and other ribos with one 🙏

If not, it's okay too! Have a good day/night :D

Hello my loves, thank you so much, I'm quite rusty since i have stop writing for many years and this year was the only time I returned writing!! I am happy to always share my works with you ... and feed your delulus heheh 👹kidding my loves. Anyways, your wish is my command my loves.

"I'll hold your hand, eventually" || choi jongho || one-shot

|genre: non!idol jongho. fluff. angst. girlfriend! reader |mentions: fear. self-doubt.

When you first meet Jongho, you notice the way he is conservative. At first you thought he was shy—which you were correct as it took him a lot of time to adjust. You were patient enough to let him bask in the presence and the reality of being in a committed relationship. Meanwhile, inside his head numerous anxious thoughts hit him at once; being in the relationship, skinship does happen in some kind of way. Either it be a choice of savoring in the closeness or sweetness of your partner or by accident closure, either way it happens and he is not prepared for it. 

The air between you and Jongho had grown thick with an awkward tension that neither of you seemed to know how to cut. You put your lips in a thin line as you glance his way before directing it somewhere.

 It wasn’t always this way. 

When your relationship had first begun, everything had felt easy, light, like walking on a cloud. He is gentle with his words assuring you, making his presence a sense of comfort whenever you walk outside to take a breather— to which you both have loved to do ever since.

But now, four months in, a certain weight hung in the space you shared.

It had started with the little small things. One morning, you and Jongho decided to eat breakfast outside since the weather is nice; weather is warm to your skin, the sky greets you with its fluffy clouds and it feels like a good day. Unknowingly under the influence of the beauty of nature, you reach for his hand, a moment you wanted to share with him but it all shattered when Jongho smoothly pulls away from your hold. He thought that you wouldn’t notice when he started pointing things in general to distract you.

You felt it and it left you awkward and embarrassed as you thought you were going way too fast and nodded at his facts and such.

But what you didn’t know is the way he stiffened when you leaned into him on the couch during movie nights. Your favorite routine with him was to watch various shows and anime movies. Howl’s moving castle was your favorite of all time and it always leaves you with a fluttering heart.

“Howl is so sweet, he reminds me a lot of you.” You spoke with a huge smile on your lips as you gaze at the man beside you. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“He looks more like Wooyoung-hyung.” Your lips jutted to the side and nodded, agreeing with him “Yeah well he acts more like you.” 

You watch how he subtly rolled his eyes at you, jokingly to which you threw the small pillow you were hugging at him. He kept teasing you until you narrowed your eyes and moved towards him. The sudden short distance made Jongho’s eyes widen as he subtly moved backwards.

“You still are my Howl.” Even the joke had died and the awkwardness born in the middle of your playful bickering; It made you move away as you mumbled a small apology and kept your eyes on the screen.

That moment hurt you as you notice in the corner of your eyes the way he moved in his seat to make himself comfortable and placed a pillow just between you two. It was embarrassing and painful as your eyes blurred for a minute until you pushed it down and distract yourself, unsuccessfully, on the movie.

The last one was the final straw. He never reciprocated your hugs.

You tried not to let it bother you, knowing that Jongho wasn’t as naturally inclined toward skinship as you were. But the more it happened, the more the doubt crept in. Did he not like touching you? Did it mean something deeper about your relationship? 

You knew how shallow your reason is for distancing yourself from Jongho but it felt like the world was playing with you for finally having the thought of happily ever after. Of course! You promised Jongho and whoever hears it that you will always extend the patience you have within you all throughout your relationship.

But a simple gesture is enough to doubt whatever you have. Whoever you were.

On the other hand, Jongho was battling his own storm of thoughts. He loved you deeply, and that scared him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hold your hand or embrace you—it was that he wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t sure if he’d be good enough for you, if he could meet your needs the way you deserved. The last thing he wanted was for his awkwardness to disappoint you.

The weight of his doubts grew heavier with each passing day, an invisible barrier he couldn’t bring himself to cross. His heart raced every time you smiled at him, every time your fingers brushed him. He wanted so badly to close the gap between you, but something inside held him back—fear, uncertainty, a quiet voice whispering he might not be enough.

It all came to a head one chilly evening as the two of you were walking home from dinner. The streets were quiet, save for the soft crunch of your shoes against the pavement. The glow of streetlights painted golden halos on the wet ground, and your breath mingled with the cold in small, visible puffs. Without thinking, your arm instinctively looped through his, seeking warmth and comfort.

But Jongho hesitated. After a brief moment, he gently pulled away, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. The absence of his touch sent a pang through your chest.

You didn’t want to cause a scene in which he was already awkward with what was happening between the two of you, so you sighed and stopped in your tracks, the soft clink of your shoes on the pavement cutting off abruptly. The suddenness of your pause made Jongho stop as well, his back stiffening as he turned to face you.

“Jongho, why do you keep doing that?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying a weight of emotion that was impossible to ignore.

It was the moment Jongho had been dreading, the day he wasn’t ready to face. And now, he stood before you, caught in the headlights of your question, his throat dry and his heart pounding like a drum.

“Doing what?” he asked, feigning innocence, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew exactly what you meant, but he wasn’t prepared to confront it—not now, maybe not ever.

“Pulling away from me,” you said, your voice quieter now, laced with vulnerability. The look in your eyes told him this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about every moment he’d retreated, every time he’d let his hesitation overshadow the love he felt.

Jongho felt your words like a sharp knife, slicing through the layers of fear and doubt he’d built around himself. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words came. He swallowed hard, frustration bubbling within him as he grappled with the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Do you even like me, Jongho?” The question came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper, but the impact on Jongho was like a thunderclap.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “What? Of course, I do!” he blurted out, the suddenness of his response surprising even him.

“Then why does it feel like you’re always holding back?” Your voice cracked, the dam of your own frustrations breaking at last. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined not to cry.

Jongho looked down at his feet, his hands still buried deep in his pockets as though they could shield him from the weight of the moment. He drew in a shaky breath, the cool night air filling his lungs as he tried to summon the courage to speak.

“I’m scared,” he admitted at last, his voice trembling with raw honesty. “I’m scared of messing this up, of not being enough for you. You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing, someone who isn’t… me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and your anger softened into something gentler, something understanding. You took a small step closer, closing the space he’d put between you.

“Jongho,” you said softly, “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be here—with me.” Your words hung in the air, fragile yet powerful. It has come to you that this is what he has been going through and you instantly felt guilty for not noticing the turmoil he is in; you could have taken it in a way to understand more than just letting your emotions get the best of you. 

Jongho finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was like a weight on his shoulders had lifted and he could finally see the pain of his absence in touch. He would have already you in his arms if it wasn’t for his fear and doubt. But because your simple but impactful words had melted those thoughts away; gradually, hesitantly, he pulled his hands from his pockets, reaching for yours. His fingers trembled slightly as they intertwined with yours, but this time, he didn’t pull away.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but steady. “And I’ll try. I promise I’ll keep trying.”

The weight of the moment settled between you, not as a burden but as an unspoken agreement to face the challenges ahead together. And as you walked the rest of the way home, hand in hand, the silence between you felt different—warm, reassuring, and filled with a quiet hope.

[iovetecchou]

Keep Me Warm ⧸ Tecchou Suehiro

༞ Contains..! smut, established relationship, consent, groping, teasing, begging, dry humping, grinding slight!mind break, praise, fingering, one use of "good boy", cockwarming, lovemaking, slight!oral fixation, gentle kisses, creampie, aftercare, cuddles

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 2,608 words.

Your husband is a baby when it comes to cold weather. When winter rolls around, Tecchou is clingier than ever. He's practically hanging off of you everywhere you go. Making a warm meal to share under a nice cozy blanket while you watch A Bug’s Life for the millionth time? Yeah, he's your little shadow during those moments. Your husband's large palms smooth over your tummy as his head ducks low; leaving a trail of kisses down the side of your neck. Tecchou isn't afraid to let his hands roam underneath the fabric of your sweater, letting out a soft sigh against your neck at the feeling of the warmth from your skin radiating on his palms. 

You don't mind Tecchou's clingy antics, though. You find them endearing, especially when you finally get to the couch. Meals happily devoured, eyes fixated on the television as your husband cuddles into you sweetly. His cold digits roam the expanse of your torso from underneath your sweater. A chill runs up your spine from the icy touch. "Sorry, angel..." Tecchou mumbles against the nape of your neck, pulling you close to his chest. You were glued to lap. Even if you tried to pull a single centimeter away- Tecchou would firmly pull you back into him. 

"Hiro, honey- are you still paying attention to the movie? You aren't even looking at the TV." You stifle a chuckle. Tecchou had been nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck since the start of the movie. Desperately trying to warm his cold nose. He let out a soft sigh, large palms gliding down your midsection to your thighs. "I'm trying, but I can't seem to get warm. I thought your body heat would have rubbed off on me by now."

You giggled at his words as you strained your neck to get a glimpse of your husband. "Hiro, don't you know that skin-to-skin contact works best when people are freezing their asses off? I feel like your Hunting Dogs training should have included something like that- you know, in case of emergency?" You watched as Tecchou processed your words for a brief moment, tilting his head in that charming way that you adored so much any time he was deep in thought. Suddenly, It was like a lightbulb went off in his head. 

"Then, why don't we try that?" You laughed for a moment, "Very funny, Hiro- wait... you aren't joking, are you?" He gave you a tight-lipped smile as you watched his cheeks tint pink. "Only if you are comfortable with that, of course." You turned slightly in his lap, facing him a little better before placing a chaste kiss atop his lips. 

"Of course, I am okay with that, Hiro. Anything to keep you warm, my love." You flashed him a bright smile before slowly rising from the sofa. "Guess there's only one thing left to do!" You chuckled, tugging your warm sweater over your head. Your cozy winter pajama pants and panties were quick to follow. If this was going to work, you would have to fully commit- right?

Your husband's blush spread to the tips of his ears as he averted his gaze. If he were to stare at you for too long, he would surely become hard. "R-Right," Tecchou spoke softly, before ridding himself of his sweats and boxers. You watched in amusement as he lifted his hips off the couch, stealing a glance at his half-hard cock when he was too preoccupied with pulling his sweatshirt off his head. 

"Okay, let's give this a shot!" You snickered, making yourself comfortable atop his lap once more. Tecchou gasped when your bare body made contact with his sturdy thighs. His strong arms hesitantly encased around your waist once more tonight as you focused on pulling the blanket back over your lap. You couldn't stop a smirk from tugging at your lips when you felt your husband's cock begin to twitch slightly against the small of your back.

You paid it no mind though. Happily continuing to watch the movie. But Tecchou was having a rather difficult time acting as though he wasn't immensely turned on by this whole predicament. His mind was fuzzy at the feeling of your pussy pressing up against his thigh. Tecchou could feel your essence coating his skin as the minutes ticked by. Not to mention how soft and warm your breasts felt beneath his large palms. Your perked nipples rubbing against his calloused flesh sent a chill down his spine. Fuck, you had him wrapped around your finger.

"Are you feeling warmer now, honey?" You cooed. Pushing back into your husband playfully, eliciting a groan from him. His cock was fully erect at this point, and he was throbbing with need. You weren't oblivious to this fact, but you wanted to see how long it took before your husband caved. "Mhm... very... but-" Tecchou's voice trailed off as he placed a soft kiss against the side of your throat. His tongue darted out to lick down your nape slowly, causing you to squeak. 

"But..?" You urged him on, gliding your slick pussy against his muscular thigh. Loving the way your husband's grip on your tits tightened at your devious act. He let out a sigh before mumbling, "But, I think If I were in-inside you... I'd feel a whole lot warmer." 

Your smirk grew tenfold at how easy it was to get your husband so desperate for you. It was quite cute, really. "Oh is that right? So what you're saying is- you want me to help keep your cock warm too?" You're sure the expression on his face was priceless if the small gasp he let out was an indicator of anything. Tecchou remained silent for a moment, before he breathlessly whispered, "Please..." 

"Aww, you asked so nicely. How could I ever say no?" You brought your hand beneath the blanket, tugging one of your husband's hands away from your breast. You guided his deft digits down your midsection slowly, only removing your hand from his when you successfully tucked his large palm between your thighs. "But first, we gotta make some room for you, yeah?" 

Tecchou's hair tickled your neck as he nodded in agreement, wasting no time dipping his middle finger into your inviting heat. You bit your lip as your husband slowly began pumping his long finger into your cunt. His pace was slow, but the pleasure bubbling in your core was mind-numbing, and when he added his ring finger, your toes curled. "Fuck- you're so wet, angel. Can't believe this is all mine." 

Pride flooded your chest at his words as Tecchou's fingers pushed deeper. Your hips lifted off his lap slightly when he began scissoring his fingers inside your pussy. This went on for a few moments more, before you gently tugged his hand, urging him to stop. If he were to continue like this, you would surely cum. "Good boy, Hiro... you're always so good to me, huh? I think I'm ready to keep you warm now, my love." 

Your husband let out a deep groan as your hand snuck between your bodies, grasping the base of his cock firmly. You rubbed the tip of his ruddy cock through your folds, gathering up as much slick as you could. Tecchou's hands quickly shot to your hips, grip tight and unwavering as he tried to keep his composure. The slightest bit of friction drove him wild, and the moment the blunt tip of his cock pushed past the tight ring of your pussy- a loud moan escaped his throat. 

"Fuck, so ti-tight..." Tecchou babbled. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth as you concentrated on taking every inch of your husband's length. Tecchou's fingernails dug into your hips. It took everything in him not to slowly push you down on his cock in that moment. He opted for just holding you still, allowing you to take the reins. The moment he was fully sheathed inside you, you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. 

"There... a perfect fit, hah- feeling warmer now, my love?" You whispered in between pants, involuntarily clenching and unclenching around your husband's cock as you adjusted to his size. Tecchou was throbbing wildly inside you as the tip of his length nudged your sweet spot with each twitch. "Yes... so warm, so fu-fucking warm." His hands still tightly clutched your hips as his mind went fuzzy. He wanted nothing more than to fuck up into you until you both came. 

"I'm glad to hear, Honey. Guess that means we can watch the movie without any distractions now." You teased, accentuating your words with a slow roll of your hips. Tecchou hissed, tightening his grip on your hips. Keeping you flush against his lap to prevent you from wiggling any further. If you kept going like this, he was sure he would cum. 

The movie was nearly over now, but that didn't stop you from pretending to pay attention as you clenched around your husband's cock viciously. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't feel a single shred of remorse. Hearing Tecchou huff, whine, and groan into the shell of your ear as he desperately tried not to fuck up into you was far too good for you to stop. You just wondered how long it would take for your darling husband to snap. 

"Are you liking the movie, Hiro? This is one of your favorite parts, right?" You quipped, slowly gyrating your hips. Tecchou was silent besides the sharp inhale of breath from time to time. You brought your hands down to dance along the sides of his thick thighs. He stiffened at this, cock throbbing deep inside your warm wet heat. "Oh, what is with the sudden silent treatment? Cat got your tongue?" You teased, raking your fingernails down his built thighs. You heard him grunt through gritted teeth. You were sure he was clenching his jaw at this point. 

"If there's something on your mind, you need to speak up, my love." You cooed. Straining your neck slightly to get a glimpse of his countenance. Tecchou's eyes were half-lidded, chestnut orbs swirling with need. His cheeks were dusted a deep shade of crimson, and his eyebrows were knitted in concentration. You smiled widely at his expression before you whispered, "Well? I'm all ears, baby." You placed a small kiss on his lips, turning ever so slightly to watch as he begged you to let him fuck you. 

"Please... I need more..." He grunted, giving you a pleading look as you tilted your head in feigned ignorance. "More? More what, honey? You gotta be more specific than that." You cooed. Gyrating your hips tantalizingly slow. You watched as his eyes closed briefly, taking in a deep breath before he spoke lowly. "Please, let me... let me make love to you, angel. You keeping me warm is just making me needy, and I c-can't take it anymore..." He bit his quivering bottom lip once all his words were out. 

The need for you was overwhelming, and Tecchou was beginning to lose his damn mind. You placed one last kiss atop his lips before you whispered, "All you had to do was ask, my love." With that, his hips experimentally lifted off the sofa, delivering a sloppy but shallow thrust. You both moaned out in unison from the pleasurable friction. You had not realized how wound up you were just from having your husband nestled deep inside you until Tecchou began fucking up into you.

His thrusts started off sloppy, but soon he found his rhythm. Tecchou's hands trailed from your hips to the back of your thighs, pulling you down into each of his thrusts. A string of "Thank you, thank you- thank you!" escaped your husband's throat. Your pussy fluttered around his length each time the tip of his cock nudged your g-spot. Your one hand still held his thigh for support, digging your nails into his flesh each time your husband delivered a particularly rough thrust. Your other hand came up above your head. You felt around for a moment before your fingertips found his messy tufts of hair. You pulled at the stands that resided on the nape of his neck as he fucked you vigorously. 

Your mind was spinning at the small whines and whimpers your husband let out against your neck in between kisses and soft lovebites. "Ah... you're so deep, Hiro! Don't stop- don't fucking stop!" You cried out, tummy swirling with immense heat. You nearly lost your mind when one of Tecchou's hands trailed between your parted thighs. The pad of his thumb quickly found your clit, wasting no time rubbing tight circles into your puffy bud. The feeling of his cock prodding your g-spot paired with your husband's skillful thumb working over your sensitive clit was enough to hurl you over the edge.

"Fuck! Hiro- 'm cumming..!" You let out a loud whine as you gushed all over your husband's cock. Your hips twitched wildly as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your vision went blurry for a moment as your hand tightened in his hair, pulling a deep groan from Tecchou. He nearly came from the feeling of you soaking his cock, but he didn't want to cum. Not just yet, not until he was sure it was okay. "Hah, angel, can I come inside? I-Is that okay? I can't hold on for too much lo-longer, hah..." 

Your mind was still fuzzy from cumming only moments ago. All you could do was nod vigorously. You pushed your hips closer to your husband before you babbled, "Please cum inside me! Fill me up, baby. Give me all you got..." That was all it took for Tecchou to succumb. He let out an obscene moan of your name as his hips faltered, pushing himself as deep as he could get as hot ropes of cum began to spill inside you. You let out a small gasp at the feeling of your husband's cum coating your walls. There was so much, and he was twitching wildly. 

"So good, so perfect... and mine. All mine..." Tecchou babbled as he emptied the last of his load inside your spent pussy. You basked in the fullness as you felt your husband begin to soften inside you. Tecchou slowly lifted you up by your hips, letting out a hiss as his cock slipped out of you. His cum dripped down your thighs and onto his as he turned you around in his lap so he could admire your face. You smiled softly at Tecchou as he cradled you in his arms, tugging the blanket that had been discarded in the heat of the moment over your naked frame.

"That's right, I'm all yours, baby." You smiled brightly at him, hand caressing his cheek. You traced your thumb over the three distinct markings that decorated his countenance, before pulling him in for a deep kiss. Your heart skipped a beat from the gentleness your husband held for you. He cradled you so tenderly in his arms like he didn't just fuck you senseless. It made you chuckle to yourself slightly. "Hm, what's so funny? Did I do something weird?" Tecchou tilted his head like a confused puppy as he examined your face. You couldn't help but chuckle a little more at his cluelessness. 

"No baby, you are perfect. You didn't do anything weird, it was nothing- really! Why don't we take a bath, hm? I think that'll warm us up nicely." 

[stone-stars]

Transcript:

Murph: And then of course we've got Caldwell Tanner. Caldwell: Beverly Toegold V, a purposeful lad who's the dad of a turdis. [The others laugh] Emily: A turdis?? Jake: What the hell's a turdis, man? Caldwell: It's a turdis! Emily, laughing: What the fuck is a turdis?? Murph: I thought you were changing it to make it rhyme, but I'm… Jake: You-- it didn't rhyme and you made up a word. Caldwell: What do you mean? It's a turdis. What's wrong? Haven't you ever seen a turdis on the side of the road? Emily: Turdis is truly the most uncomfortable word! [Everyone laughs.] Emily: Why is it T-U-R-D-I-S. Caldwell: They got a big shill. There's a shill on your turdis. Jake: Oh go-- oh you have an accent. Oh, we forgot that Caldwell's from Maryland. Emily: You do sound like-- I had a teacher once who said "robit". And it sounds like whoever says "robit" would also say turdis. Murph: Yeah. Jake, laughing: Robit! Caldwell: It was either-- listen, it was either tortoise and porpoise or turdis and purpose, so, you know, you take your pick. Jake: Oh, I see. Murph: Did you say-- Emily: So you went for the one with turd in it. Murph: Yeah, okay. I'm still-- Jake: I didn't hear purpose. I don't remember, like-- Murph: I didn't hear purpose, I'm still absolutely baffled. [Emily laughs] Jake: I'm still-- yeah, I'm processing it. Murph: I-- Caldwell: Should I do it again? Murph: Uh, could you? Caldwell: Yeah. Murph: I'm-- I'm confused. Emily: I'd like you to do it again, but I think I'd like you to keep it the same, because I am into you committing to this Jake: Don't change anything! Caldwell: Here we go, here we go. Murph: Alright, let's try it, one more time, ready? Jake: I love this for you. Murph: And of course, Caldwell Tanner. Caldwell: Beverly Toegold V, a purposeful lad who's the dad of a turdis. [Emily laughs.] Jake: So you-- I mean you didn't-- Murph: Dude. What? Jake: Turdis dad. That's what you should've said to make it-- Murph: No. No wait. So-- Y-- Just because purpose-- what? Emily: Is turdis the new crabster? I think turdis is the new crabster? Jake: Absolutely! Absolutely yes. It totally is. Caldwell: No way. Emily: Wait, actually the second I heard Jake's voice I remembered crabster, and that shit was funny. Jake: Hey, at least I did that shit on a short rest I think, like-- Murph: Crabster is an inside joke from the short rest. Jake: This is a main campaign flub. [Murph: Yes.] And I think that's-- Caldwell: I meant to say "a lad of purpose", can I say-- can I actually take it again? [Emily laughs.] Murph: THERE you go. Now I underst-- Jake: There it is. Murph: Now I understand what you were doing. Caldwell: Please let me take it again. Murph: Good lord, Caldwell. That makes sense. Okay. One more time. Guys, this is really-- the absolute last time. And Caldwell Tanner. Caldwell: Beverly Toegold V, a lad of purpose who's the dad of a turdis. [Jake and Emily laugh.] Murph: THERE you go. Okay. Now-- Jake: It was really-- It was worth the wait, too. Murph: I… Emily: I'm so. What a privilege to witness that process. To just be part of that process. To watch you workshop that. Caldwell: You'll just cut everything before that Murph, right? Murph: Yeah. This is gonna be a real clean intro. Caldwell: Great. Great, cool. Murph: Really straight to the point. Caldwell: Cool, I-- I wanna keep things serious. I know that this is-- we've got big stuff ahead of us. Murph: Right on. Jake: End of the campaign.

[kathaelipwse]

The Art of Love and War | H.Josua

Pairing: student!Joshua Hong x student!reader [dating]

Warning: Fluff, pranks, more pranks, gn!reader, bickering

Word Count: 1.2k

Ft. : Rest of the members as their friends and as students

Requested by: @joshuatingz

SYNOPSIS:

In their final year of university, Joshua and the reader navigate love through pranks, teasing, and endless bickering—much to the exhaustion of SEVENTEEN, who constantly witness their chaos. As the ultimate Tom and Jerry couple, their love language is playful sabotage, but beneath it all lies a deep bond. Between prank wars and looming graduation stress, they realize that no matter how much they annoy each other, they’re in this together—forever.

Author's Note:

Welp! I didn't really like this one but I tried my best!

Hope y'll are doing well! Enjoyyyy!!

“Joshua Hong, if I find out you were the one who swapped my coffee with soy sauce, I swear on everything holy—”

Joshua, lounging on the campus library couch with an innocent smile, raised his hands in surrender. “I would never do such a thing to my beloved.”

You, gripping your now-ruined coffee, squinted at him. “First of all, don’t ‘beloved’ me when you’re the reason I just inhaled the saltiest espresso of my life. Second—” you paused, turning to Minghao, who sat beside you looking amused. “—tell me the truth. Was it him?”

Minghao didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, 100% him.”

Joshua gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “The betrayal! Hao, I thought we were friends.”

“Friends don’t lie,” Minghao shrugged. “Also, you were laughing before they even took a sip.”

“I was laughing at a funny memory, totally unrelated.”

You sighed, setting your coffee down with a dramatic thud. “Fine. Enjoy your victory, Hong.”

Joshua’s grin widened. “Oh, I always do.”

The rest of them—who had been sitting around the large study table—sighed in unison. It was a normal day in their world, one where their two so-called "parents" were at it again.

“You guys bicker like a married couple,” Seungkwan muttered, flipping through his notes. “Except, instead of getting a divorce, you just prank each other until one of you dies.”

“Bold of you to assume Joshua would ever win,” you shot back, smirking.

Joshua scoffed. “Bold of you to underestimate me, sweetheart.”

Seokmin leaned over to whisper to Jeonghan. “Are we sure they actually love each other?”

Jeonghan, barely looking up from his phone, hummed. “Oh, they do. It’s just a very… them way of showing it.”

And then prank war had officially gone too far.

It all started when you decided to put a fake spider in Joshua’s backpack. His scream—high-pitched and dramatic—echoed through the lecture hall, making even the professor pause. Revenge was inevitable.

Joshua retaliated by setting your alarm to blast his cringiest karaoke attempt at full volume. At 5 AM. The entire dorm heard it. And you nearly committed murder.

But things got worse when Mingyu, Seungkwan, and DK got involved.

Mingyu, being the menace he was, suggested replacing your shampoo with neon-colored hair dye. Seungkwan, in charge of distractions, made sure you didn’t notice until it was too late. DK? He was just there for the chaos.

You walked into class the next day with a bright streak of pink in their hair. Joshua burst out laughing… until you pulled out your phone.

“I hope you enjoy your new official email signature, Joshua.”

He frowned and checked his email. Horror dawned upon him.

Best regards, 

Joshua “Biggest Loser of the Year” Hong.

His face paled. “YOU SENT THIS TO MY PROFESSORS?!”

You smirked. “And your internship supervisor.”

“Okay, that’s it—this means WAR.”

The others groaned. “It wasn’t already?!”

-- Last Few Week's Before The Finals

It was bound to happen. The stress, the pressure, the overwhelming weight of university life—it all finally boiled over.

For once, the teasing wasn’t playful.

“You don’t take anything seriously,” Joshua snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Not everything is a joke, you know?”

You stiffened. “And you think stressing over every little thing makes it better?”

The argument escalated quickly. Words were exchanged that neither of them meant. The other members tried to intervene, but it only made things worse. Joshua left first, frustration evident in his every step. You followed soon after, unable to stay in the same space.

That night, y'll lay in your respective beds, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation over and over. The fight left a hollow ache in their chest.

The next morning, Joshua found a small note tucked into his book.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

He exhaled shakily, running his fingers over the paper. He had been stubborn, but so had you, he too apologized. Thing’s sorted out and soon it was the night before the finals.

Joshua was a mess. 

Finals were the next day, and the stress had reached an all-time high. He hadn’t eaten properly, hadn’t slept, and was drowning in notes and highlighters. The reader found him at the library, forehead pressed against his textbook.

“Hey, take a break,” you murmured, setting a cup of coffee beside him.

Joshua sighed. “Can’t. Too much to study.”

You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, gently prying the pen from his fingers. “Joshua. Look at me.”

He did. And in an instant, your lips were on his—soft, lingering, grounding him in a way that no amount of studying could.

You pulled away slightly, whispering against his lips, “You’re overworking yourself Shua. You need rest.”

He exhaled shakily. “But—”

“No buts.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve studied enough. Now, come on, just trust yourself and keep yourself calm through out the paper tomorrow.”

Dragging him back to your dorm, you pulled him onto the bed, wrapping him in your arms. Joshua immediately melted into the warmth, burying his face in your neck.

“You always know how to calm me down,” he mumbled sleepily.

You ran fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Because I love you, idiot.”

Joshua hummed, lips brushing against their skin. “Love you too.”

Sleep came easy after that and the finals went great for both of em.

The finals were finally over. The exhaustion from endless studying, sleepless nights, and stressful exams melted away as the realization set in—university life was coming to an end. And with that, a new beginning awaited. 

Joshua had planned this moment carefully. After days of stressing over every little detail, he decided to take you on a date—one that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t overshadowed by deadlines, and was just y'll.

He led y'll to a quiet rooftop garden, the city skyline glowing softly in the distance. Fairy lights twinkled around them, casting a golden hue over the cozy picnic he had set up. A bottle of wine, their favorite comfort foods, and a soft blanket were all laid out under the stars.

Then, he whispered, “Move in with me.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

Joshua turned you slightly so he could look into your eyes. “Move in with me,” he repeated, his voice softer this time. “I don’t want this—us—to be limited to stolen moments. I want to wake up next to you every day. I want to build a life together.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Of course, you idiot. Of course, I’ll move in with you.”

Joshua let out a relieved laugh before capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, pouring all his love into it.

And as y'll sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the stars, y'll knew—this was just the beginning of you guys next great adventure. Together.

--

a/n: I feel like it is such a rushed smau, sorry about that- TT

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 21

word count: 8.8k

sorry for the wait, hope you guys enjoy!

The next day, though Harry had to be cooped up at the shop once more, he made sure to bring Aspen along. The girl sat perched by the front desk, swaying in her chair as Niall and Zayn kept her company while her boyfriend worked on another large last minute walk-in piece.

Aspen hadn't minded tagging along to the shop today. In fact, she liked being around Harry's world, seeing the environment he was so comfortable in. It was different from her own, rougher around the edges, but it fascinated her. The steady hum of the tattoo machines, the scent of antiseptic and ink in the air—it was all so uniquely him.

She sat at the front desk, her legs crossed at the ankle as she absentmindedly flipped through one of the shop's design books. Every now and then, her eyes drifted toward Harry's station where he was focused on a client, sleeves pushed up, forearms tense with concentration. He looked good when he worked, brows drawn together, tongue occasionally swiping across his bottom lip in focus. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks just watching him.

Zayn and Niall were keeping her company in the meantime, the two of them going back and forth in their usual banter, making Aspen giggle behind her hand.

"You know, I think I'd look real good with a full sleeve," Niall mused, stretching his arm out in front of him and squinting as if he were already picturing it.

Zayn snorted, shaking his head. "You're too indecisive. You'd get halfway through and regret it."

Aspen giggled as Niall shot Zayn an exaggerated glare. "Oi! I could pull it off." He turned to Aspen for backup. "Don't you think I'd look good with a sleeve?"

Aspen tilted her head, feigning deep thought before giving a shy little shrug. "I think it would suit you... maybe."

Zayn barked out a laugh, pointing at Niall. "Even Aspen doesn't sound convinced."

Niall groaned, slumping back dramatically in his seat, which only made Aspen giggle more. The conversation carried on lightheartedly, small jokes exchanged between them as she grew more comfortable with their dynamic.

"Okay, fine," Niall huffed. "No sleeve. But what about, like, a single bold piece? Something cool and mysterious. Maybe a dagger? A wolf? A dragon?"

Zayn raised a brow. "You sound like every dude who walks in here asking for their 'first ink' and then chickens out when the needle actually touches their skin."

Aspen covered her mouth as she laughed, her shoulders shaking. "Do people really do that?"

"More often than you'd think," Zayn smirked, leaning against the counter. "You should see some of the excuses we get. 'Oh, I forgot I had a meeting.' 'Oh, my girlfriend doesn't like tattoos.' 'Oh, I think I left my oven on at home.'"

Aspen giggled harder, imagining the scene unfolding.

Niall pointed at Zayn accusingly. "Listen, I may be many things, but a coward is not one of them. If I commit, I commit."

Zayn gave him a skeptical look. "That so?"

"Absolutely."

Aspen, still smiling, tapped a finger against the open design book in front of her. "Well... if you had to pick one right now, what would it be?"

Niall leaned over, scanning the page, before pointing to a classic anchor design. "That. Timeless. Rugged. Manly."

Zayn snorted. "Basic."

"Oh, come on!" Niall groaned. "I thought we were past judging people for classic ink choices!"

Aspen bit her lip to keep from laughing too hard, enjoying the easy back-and-forth between them. She liked this—being included, feeling like she belonged in their little world.

Her eyes flickered over to Harry again, watching the way he moved, the way he gently tilted his client's arm to get a better angle, the way he was so deeply focused. It still amazed her, how skilled he was, how much he cared about his craft. He made everything seem effortless.

She didn't even realize she was staring until Niall leaned closer and whispered, "You're drooling."

Aspen's face burned as she snapped her gaze back to him. "I—I am not!"

Niall grinned, nudging her arm. "S'fine, love, we get it. Your boyfriend's hot."

Zayn smirked, adding, "At least you're subtle about it."

Aspen groaned, burying her face in her hands as they both chuckled at her expense.

"Fine, fine," she muttered, shaking her head with a shy smile. "Let's change the subject."

"Aw, but this was getting good," Niall teased, but he relented when she shot him a playful glare.

Aspen took a sip from her water bottle, settling herself again before her curiosity got the better of her.

Aspen absentmindedly traced patterns along the condensation of her water bottle, the soft hum of tattoo machines filling the shop as she let the words roll off her tongue without much thought. "So... where were you guys the other day?"

She wasn't asking with suspicion—just curiosity. It was normal for them all to be busy, especially Harry and Zayn, but with both of them disappearing on the same day, she had assumed they had been working at the shop together.

Zayn, who had been scrolling on his phone, stilled almost imperceptibly. It was brief, barely noticeable, before he smoothly resumed, tapping his thumb against the screen in thought.

Niall, however, was as easygoing as ever, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Dunno. They weren't at the shop, I—"

Before he could finish, Zayn subtly nudged him under the counter, just enough to make Niall pause. The interruption was swift, casual, and Aspen didn't catch on to its meaning.

Niall, never one to be easily flustered, let out an easy chuckle. "Oh, wait, nah. I got my days mixed up," he corrected smoothly, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Yeah, they were definitely here. You know how it is—busy day, tons of walk-ins. I wasn't here much, though. Just popped in for a bit."

Aspen nodded, easily accepting the answer. It made sense. Niall was always in and out, never one to stay planted in one place unless he had a reason to.

Zayn leaned back against the counter, arms crossed as he picked up the explanation. "Yeah, long ass day. Harry and I had some big pieces to do, so we were stuck here forever. Back-to-back appointments. Barely had time to eat, let alone breathe." His voice was smooth, perfectly composed, and it wasn't unusual for him and Harry to take on big projects.

Aspen didn't even think to question it further. In fact, she felt a little guilty for asking—if they'd had such a long day, she didn't want to seem like she was prying.

She stole a glance at Harry across the room. He was still deep in his work, head tilted in concentration, jaw set as he dragged the tattoo machine carefully over his client's skin. He looked so at home in his element.

She smiled softly to herself, brushing away any lingering thoughts. Harry had never given her a reason to doubt him, and besides, if something was wrong, he would tell her.

"Well, as long as you weren't getting into trouble," she teased lightly, taking a sip of her water.

Niall grinned, dramatically clutching his chest. "Me? Trouble? Never."

Zayn smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink, the picture of amusement but offering no further comment.

Aspen giggled at their antics, letting the conversation drift into something else, not noticing the fleeting glance Zayn and Niall exchanged. If she had, maybe she would've realized there was more to the story than they were letting on.

Aspen leaned forward slightly in her chair, resting her elbow on the desk as she idly twirled the cap of her water bottle between her fingers. The conversation had shifted naturally, moving from their usual banter to something a little more personal.

"So, what's the plan for you two, then?" Niall grinned, wiggling his brows between her and Zayn. "Aspen, you finally got yourself a big, brooding tattoo artist. What's next?"

Aspen blushed, the warmth creeping up her neck. She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I don't know... we're just taking things as they come."

"Boring answer," Niall teased, leaning back in his chair. "Come on, give me something. Future plans? Marriage? White picket fence? Maybe some tattooed babies running around?"

Aspen nearly choked on her water, her face burning even hotter. "Niall!" she squeaked, eyes wide.

Zayn barked out a laugh, slapping a hand against the counter. "Too soon, man," he smirked. "Let 'em breathe."

"I'm just saying! You two are disgustingly cute." Niall stretched his arms behind his head. "If Harry wasn't already obsessed with you, I'd be worried."

Aspen tried to play off her embarrassment, but she couldn't stop the way her lips curled into a soft smile. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her bottle again, and when she stole another glance across the room, she caught Harry's gaze.

He was already looking at her.

It was brief, just a flicker of his eyes before he turned his attention back to his work, but it was enough to send a pleasant warmth blooming in Aspen's chest.

Niall was still talking, something about how he was destined to be the world's best godfather whenever Harry and Aspen decided to have kids (which, in Aspen's opinion, was way too early to even think about), but she was only half-listening.

Because every time she glanced toward Harry, she caught him doing the same.

And every time their eyes met, it sent little flutters through her stomach.

"So what about you guys?" she asked, eager to shift the conversation away from herself. "What's your plan for the future?"

Zayn shrugged, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Haven't thought about it much. Business is good. I don't see myself doing anything else anytime soon."

"Fair," Aspen nodded. "And you, Niall?"

"Oh, I'm gonna be rich," Niall declared, pointing at himself with full confidence. "But like, stupid rich. Don't ask me how yet. Maybe I'll invent something. Or marry into money. Either way, I'll be set."

Aspen laughed, shaking her head. "Solid plan."

"Exactly," Niall grinned. "And speaking of plans... Aspen, be real with me—are you gonna stay with this guy forever, or what?"

Aspen opened her mouth to respond, but she didn't have an answer.

Forever?

Her gaze flickered back toward Harry. She wasn't even sure if he was listening to their conversation, but she knew that if she was being honest with herself... the idea of forever with him didn't seem so scary.

She just smiled, a little shy, a little uncertain.

"We'll see," she murmured.

And from across the room, Harry glanced up once more—just in time to catch her looking at him again.

Aspen shifted in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the cap of her water bottle as she debated whether or not to ask the question sitting at the tip of her tongue. She wasn't usually the type to pry, but curiosity had a way of gnawing at her when it came to Harry—especially when it came to the parts of his life he didn't bring up often.

"Can I ask you guys something?" she finally murmured, glancing between Niall and Zayn.

Zayn quirked a brow, while Niall leaned in like she was about to spill the most interesting gossip he'd ever heard. "Course you can, sweetheart," Niall grinned. "What's on your mind?"

She hesitated for a moment before voicing what she'd been wondering. "Has Harry ever talked about... past relationships? Like, has he ever been in love before?"

Niall and Zayn exchanged a look, one Aspen couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't amusement, nor was it discomfort—it was something in between, like they were deciding how much they should say.

"Depends on what you mean by 'in love,'" Zayn finally said, tapping his fingers against the counter. "If you're asking if he's had girlfriends before, then yeah, he's had a few. If you're asking if he's ever been in love? That's a different question entirely."

Aspen frowned slightly. "So... has he?"

Zayn sighed, tilting his head as he considered his answer. "I don't think so," he admitted. "Not the way you mean. Harry's had flings, some more serious than others, but he's never been the type to settle down. Not because he couldn't, just... he never found anyone he wanted to."

Aspen processed that quietly, her fingers still tracing idle patterns on her bottle. It wasn't a bad answer. If anything, it only made her feel more special—like she was different.

Still, she wasn't quite done with her questions.

"What about the way he talks about me?" she asked softly, suddenly feeling a little shy about the inquiry. "Does he... ever bring me up?"

Niall let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back. "God, Aspen, you have no idea," he whined. "The man does not shut up about you."

Aspen's eyes widened. "He does?"

"Constantly," Zayn smirked. "It's almost embarrassing, really. We could be talking about literally anything, and he'll find a way to bring you into the conversation. 'Aspen would love this.' 'Aspen was reading this book the other day.' 'Aspen said the funniest thing.' It's ridiculous."

Aspen's face heated instantly, her heart swelling at the revelation. She'd known Harry cared about her—he wasn't shy in the way he showed his affection—but hearing that he talked about her so often when she wasn't around made her feel warm in a way she couldn't quite describe.

"Yeah," Niall added, grinning. "And don't even get me started on the way he talks about you when he's drunk."

Aspen's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, he gets all sappy," Niall said, waving a hand. "Like, real soft. Talks about how much he likes you, how you make him feel different than anyone else ever has. It's kinda sweet, actually, if you ignore the fact that he sounds like a lovesick idiot."

Aspen's heart did a little flip in her chest. "He really says that?"

"Every damn time," Zayn confirmed, shaking his head. "And if you ask me, that's saying a lot. Harry doesn't open up easily. But with you? I think he's completely gone."

Aspen chewed on her bottom lip, trying to suppress the giddy smile threatening to take over her face. She'd known Harry felt something strong for her, but hearing it from his friends, from the people who knew him best, made it feel even more real.

After a moment, she gathered her thoughts enough to ask her next question. "Has he ever told you guys why he never got serious with anyone before?"

Niall and Zayn exchanged another glance before Zayn answered. "He's never given us a straightforward reason," he admitted. "But I think it has to do with trust. Harry's not the kind of guy who lets people in easily. He's seen too many people turn their backs when things got hard, so he stopped letting them get close in the first place."

Aspen frowned slightly, her heart aching at the thought. She knew Harry had his walls, knew he carried burdens he didn't always talk about. But the idea that he'd spent so much of his life keeping people at arm's length made her want to hold onto him even tighter.

"Well," she said softly, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter, "I hope he knows he doesn't have to worry about that with me."

Zayn studied her for a moment before nodding, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think he does," he murmured. "And I think that's why you're different."

Aspen exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth spread through her chest. Maybe she was different. Maybe, despite everything, Harry had finally found someone he was willing to let in.

And maybe—just maybe—she was willing to let him in, too.

As Harry worked, the rhythmic hum of the tattoo machine filled the space around him, the buzz familiar and grounding. His hand was steady, movements precise as he filled in the last bit of shading on his client’s forearm. It was muscle memory by now, the way he worked—careful, methodical, ensuring every line was perfect. But despite how deep he was in his craft, his attention kept drifting elsewhere.

Aspen.

Every now and then, between dipping his needle into ink and wiping away excess, his gaze would flicker toward the front of the shop where she sat. She was perched on the chair, her legs tucked under her, absently twirling the cap of her water bottle between her fingers as she listened to whatever nonsense Niall and Zayn were spewing. She was smiling, her cheeks soft with warmth, and fuck—Harry swore he could feel that smile in his damn chest.

It was different, having her here. Not in a bad way—quite the opposite, really. It was grounding, a quiet reassurance that she was becoming a part of this life of his. A life he never thought he’d want to share so openly with someone.

His fingers tightened around the tattoo machine slightly. That thought—it was dangerous. Because there were parts of his life she couldn’t know. Not yet.

He swallowed, forcing his focus back on the piece he was working on. The secrecy—it wasn’t about not trusting her. He did. More than he cared to admit. But there were things in his world that were better left in the dark. Things that weren’t meant for someone like her—soft, kind, untouched by the shit he and Zayn were tangled up in.

Maybe one day, he’d tell her. But not now. Not when he could still shield her from it.

He exhaled, shaking off the heaviness pressing against his ribs, and refocused on finishing up.

Fifteen minutes later, he wiped down the tattoo one last time, nodding in satisfaction before wrapping it up. “Alright, man,” he said to his client, standing and stretching out his arms. “You’re all set. Just follow the aftercare instructions, and you’ll be golden.”

After handling payment and bidding the guy goodbye, Harry finally took a breath. His break had been long overdue.

As he walked over to the front of the shop, the scent of food hit him first. His brows lifted slightly in surprise as he spotted Aspen setting out plates in front of Niall and Zayn, her movements careful and deliberate as she made sure everyone had what they needed. His own plate was set aside for him, waiting.

His heart clenched at the sight.

She had cooked for them?

Something about that simple act of care made something deep in him ache.

Before he made his way over to grab his plate, he veered slightly, walking past Niall and—without hesitation—snagging a bite right off his plate.

“Oi!” Niall protested, pulling his plate away. “What the hell, mate? You've got your own!”

Harry chewed, smirking as he handed Niall back his fork. “I know,” he said easily with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “but if m'lady made it, I want it all.”

Aspen, who had just taken a seat, turned a deep shade of red at his words, her fingers curling in her lap as she ducked her head slightly.

Niall groaned, rolling his eyes as he snatched his plate back. “Christ, you two are disgusting.”

Harry grinned, but didn’t respond, instead making his way over to his own plate. Before sitting down, he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against Aspen’s cheek from behind.

She stilled for a second, then exhaled, shoulders loosening as a shy little smile played on her lips.

Harry took his seat next to her, grabbing his fork as he dug in. The second he took his first bite, he let out a hum of approval. “Fuck, baby. This is good.”

“She’s got skills,” Zayn agreed, shoveling another bite into his mouth. “Could open up a restaurant or some shit.”

Aspen’s cheeks were still pink as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s really not that big of a deal…”

“It is when all we usually eat is takeout,” Niall chimed in. “This is the best thing I’ve had all week.”

Harry chewed thoughtfully, tapping his fork against his plate before swallowing. “Dunno,” he mused, his lips curling into a slow, cheeky smirk. “I’ve had somethin’ better this week.”

Niall snorted. “Mate, there’s no way you’ve eaten anything better than this. We’ve all been living off gas station snacks and whatever the hell Zayn throws together when he remembers food exists.”

Harry simply leaned back in his chair, draping his arm over the back of Aspen’s. His smirk deepened as he tilted his head slightly toward her, voice dropping just enough to make her stomach twist. “Wasn’t talkin’ about the food.”

Aspen nearly choked on her bite of rice.

Her wide eyes snapped up to him, cheeks instantly burning as she realized exactly what he was implying. Her fingers curled against the napkin in her lap as she shot him a scandalized look, her lips parting slightly in disbelief.

Zayn, always one to catch on quickly, just chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Niall, on the other hand, took an extra second before groaning in exaggerated disgust. “Christ, Harry. I did not need that mental image while I’m eating.”

Harry only grinned, winking at Aspen before casually picking his fork back up like he hadn’t just made her want to shrink into the floor.

Aspen, flustered beyond belief, pressed her lips together, glancing down at her plate as if it might save her from the warmth spreading all the way to her ears. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, nudging his knee with hers beneath the table.

Harry let out a low chuckle, nudging her back. “But you like me anyway.”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer—mostly because it was true. And he damn well knew it.

Harry smirked, nudging Aspen lightly with his knee under the table. “Guess that means you’ll have to start cooking for us more often, yeah?”

Aspen rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t argue. Instead, she focused on eating her own food, her lips twitching slightly as the conversation between them carried on.

The energy was easy, lighthearted. They talked about everything and nothing—Niall complaining about a client who wouldn’t stop moving while getting tattooed, Zayn discussing the new pieces he and Harry had lined up, Aspen giggling at their banter.

As the laughter settled, the four of them fell into easy conversation, the clinking of utensils against plates filling the quiet lulls between their words. Harry sat comfortably next to Aspen, his arm draped lazily along the back of her chair, occasionally letting his fingers brush the ends of her hair. It was subtle—so subtle that if someone wasn’t looking, they wouldn’t notice—but Aspen felt every touch, every slight movement of his fingers, and it made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

Zayn was the first to steer the conversation into something deeper, leaning back in his chair as he chewed. “So, what’s the plan for the future?” He raised a brow, glancing between them. “Y’know, since we’re all clearly on different paths here. You lot got it all figured out?”

Niall snorted. “Figure out what? That I’ll probably be covered head to toe in ink before I turn thirty and still be eating this girl’s cooking?” He gestured to Aspen with his fork, grinning. “Because if that’s the future, I’m pretty happy with it.”

Aspen smiled, warmth spreading in her chest at the compliment. “You act like I’ll be cooking for you forever,” she teased.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, don’t do me like that. You’d miss me if I stopped showing up to steal your food.”

Harry rolled his eyes, smirking as he took a sip of his drink. “You’re like a stray cat. Feed you once, and you never leave.”

Zayn chuckled. “That explains why he practically lives at the shop.”

Niall threw up his hands in mock offense. “You lot love having me around, don’t even try to deny it.”

Aspen giggled, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the question Zayn had asked. “But, um, I don’t really know yet,” she admitted softly. “I mean, I have ideas. I love books, so maybe something with that… but it’s hard to say.”

Harry glanced at her, taking in the slight uncertainty in her voice. He could tell she thought about it—probably more than she let on—but she wasn’t one to be loud about her ambitions. She kept them tucked away, only revealing them in small doses, and for some reason, that made him want to hear them even more.

“What about you?” Aspen nudged Harry’s arm lightly.

He took a slow bite, chewing as he considered his answer. “Dunno,” he said finally. “Tattooin’ is what I love. Keeps me steady, keeps me busy. But…” He paused, swirling his fork against his plate. “I guess I wouldn’t mind somethin’ more down the road.”

“More?” Aspen tilted her head, intrigued.

Harry glanced at her, a small smirk playing at his lips. “What? You think I wanna be slingin’ ink forever?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You’re really good at it.”

His chest swelled slightly at the compliment, but he only shrugged. “Yeah, but sometimes… I think about what it’d be like to settle down a bit.”

That made Aspen pause, her fork hovering mid-air. “Settle down?”

Harry’s smirk didn’t fade, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Someday.”

Aspen lowered her gaze, heat crawling up her neck. The thought of Harry—this inked-up, reckless, sometimes smug but always caring man—talking about settling down was almost impossible to picture. But at the same time… it wasn’t.

“What about you?” Harry’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

She blinked up at him, then quickly shook her head. “I—I don’t know,” she murmured. “I never really thought about it.”

Harry hummed, studying her carefully before offering her a teasing grin. “Guess I’ll have to change that, then.”

Aspen’s heart stuttered in her chest, and before she could even process his words, Niall groaned dramatically.

“Christ, you two are disgustingly cute. Can we eat in peace without watchin’ you make heart eyes at each other?”

Zayn chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous.”

Niall scoffed. “Jealous my ass. I like my peace. Not my fault these two make it impossible.”

Zayn smirked as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Speaking of impossible,” he started, glancing over at Niall with a knowing glint in his eye. “Didn’t you go on that date the other week? The one with that girl you wouldn’t shut up about?”

Aspen perked up immediately, turning her attention to Niall, who suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. She had never heard anything about Niall dating, and now she was curious.

“Oh?” Aspen tilted her head, eyes bright with interest. “Who’s this mystery girl?”

Niall groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why do you always have to bring shit up, man?” he grumbled at Zayn before exhaling dramatically. “It was just a date. Nothin’ serious.”

“That’s not what you were saying last week,” Zayn shot back smugly.

Aspen turned fully in her chair, leaning in closer with excitement. “Come on, tell me! I need details.”

Harry snorted beside her, clearly enjoying Niall’s misery as he took another bite of his food.

Niall gave them all an exasperated look before slumping back in his seat. “Her name’s Elena. Met her at a café—well, more like she bumped into me and spilled coffee all over my jeans.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “She was all flustered and apologetic, tryin’ to clean me up, and I was just standin’ there like an idiot. But we got talkin’, and I don’t know… she was easy to talk to.”

Aspen smiled at the way his voice softened slightly, like he hadn’t meant to sound so fond but couldn’t help it. “That sounds cute,” she mused. “So? How was the date?”

Niall shrugged. “It was good. Took her to dinner, talked a lot. She’s studying psychology, so she’s always analyzin’ people. Pretty sure she was psychoanalyzin’ me the whole time.”

Zayn chuckled. “That’s probably not hard.”

Niall shot him a look before continuing. “Anyway, she’s nice. Sweet. Smart as hell. But I dunno, she’s busy with school, and I’m always at the shop. We haven’t really talked much since.”

Aspen frowned slightly, sensing that there was more to it than just being busy. “Do you like her?”

Niall hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah, I guess.”

Zayn scoffed. “You more than ‘guess.’ You texted her three days straight after the date.”

Aspen gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, Niall!”

Niall groaned again, dropping his head against the table. “I hate you all.”

Harry, who had been relatively quiet, finally smirked and chimed in. “So, what’s stoppin’ you? If you like her, ask her out again.”

Niall lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “You make it sound so easy.”

Aspen tapped her fingers against the table thoughtfully before an idea struck her. “Wait! What if I helped?”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “Help how?”

“Well,” Aspen began, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “you said she’s in psychology, right? I actually have a class with her. We’re not super close or anything, but I could… I don’t know, maybe put in a good word for you?”

Zayn barked out a laugh. “Oh, this is gold.”

Niall groaned for what seemed like the hundredth time, dragging his hands down his face. “Jesus. This is humiliatin’.”

“It’s not humiliating!” Aspen argued. “Think of it as… giving you a little push in the right direction.”

Harry chuckled beside her, shaking his head. “That’s dangerous, mate. Aspen’s got a way of getting what she wants.”

Aspen elbowed him playfully but turned back to Niall with an encouraging smile. “I’ll be subtle, I promise. Just casual, ‘Oh, Niall’s such a great guy’ kind of stuff.”

Niall sighed dramatically. “If this backfires, I’m blamin’ you.”

Aspen grinned. “Deal.”

Zayn smirked. “This is the most entertaining lunch I’ve had in weeks.”

As they continued eating, the conversation naturally flowed into playful teasing and joking, but Aspen made a mental note to follow through on her promise. If there was a chance she could help Niall get the push he needed, she’d gladly take it.

Aspen, still burning from Harry’s words, buried her face in her hands. Harry only grinned wider, reaching over to steal another bite from Niall’s plate, completely unbothered.

As the conversation carried on, Aspen couldn’t help but steal glances at Harry—at the way he fit so easily into the dynamic, at the way he teased and laughed and looked at her like she was something he wanted to keep close.

And for a little while, Harry let himself sink into it.

No stress, no secrets.

Just this. Her.

He’d hold onto it for as long as he could.

Harry sat back in his chair, absently twirling his fork between his fingers as conversation carried on around him. The food was good—great, actually, because Aspen had made it—but if he was being honest, he wasn’t fully present. His mind kept slipping, getting caught up in memories that were much more intoxicating than anything else in the room.

He’d been doing his best to keep himself engaged, nodding along when Niall teased Zayn about something, adding in a comment here and there, but all it took was one glance at Aspen, one moment of catching the soft curve of her lips as she smiled, or the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and he was gone again.

His grip tightened slightly on his fork as his mind drifted back to that night in his office. He could still feel her, taste her, the phantom sensation of her lips and tongue making his stomach coil with heat. The way she had looked at him—wide-eyed, eager, completely wrapped up in him—had nearly ruined him. He’d had plenty of hookups before, but none of them stuck in his head like this, none of them made him crave more than just the physical. But Aspen? She was burned into his mind, into his fucking soul.

And the bathroom. Christ.

He swallowed hard, taking a sip of his drink to keep himself grounded, but it didn’t help much. He could still see the way she’d knelt for him, how shy she had been but how determined, how she’d hesitated but only for a moment before she found her rhythm. The contrast between her softness and the way she had wrecked him had his head spinning even now. He’d never been so completely fucking whipped for someone, never felt this all-consuming urge to take and give all at once. The way she’d looked up at him through her lashes, her fingers barely able to wrap around him, her lips stretched as far as they could go—it had been enough to make him lose all control.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself subtly as he forced himself to refocus. He had to get a grip. It wouldn’t do him any favors to sit there getting lost in his own head while they were all supposed to be enjoying a meal. He glanced over at Aspen, catching the way she was laughing at something Niall said, completely unaware of the way she had him tied in knots.

She had no idea what she did to him.

Harry exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before speaking up, his voice deliberately casual. “Hey, babe,” he said, shifting his attention to Aspen. “Think you could help me move a few things around in my office?”

Aspen blinked, surprised by the sudden request. “Oh,” she said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, of course.”

Harry smirked, pleased with her easy agreement. Truthfully, there wasn’t much that needed moving, but with Niall and Zayn getting caught up with clients, he had a perfect excuse to steal her away for a few moments. He needed a break, and more than that, he wanted to be alone with her—just her.

“Tryin’ to get her alone, are we?” Niall teased, wiggling his brows as he stood from the table to grab his supplies.

Zayn chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Smooth, mate.”

Harry rolled his eyes, standing as well before placing a firm hand at Aspen’s lower back, guiding her toward the hall leading to his office. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered, though the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

Aspen followed quietly, her heart picking up its pace just from the warmth of his palm against her. There was something about the way he touched her—casual yet possessive, like he was always reminding her that she was his. She tried not to overthink it, but the way her stomach fluttered made it impossible.

The moment they stepped into his office, Harry shut the door behind them, leaning against it for a second as he took her in. She looked soft under the dim lighting, her features gentle but curious, and for a split second, he forgot why he even made up the excuse in the first place.

“So… what are we moving?” Aspen asked, glancing around the office.

Harry tilted his head slightly, dragging his lip ring between his teeth as he considered her. Then, with a slow grin, he shrugged. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Might’ve just wanted to get you alone.”

Aspen’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Harry,” she scolded, but there was no real bite to it.

“What?” He smirked, stepping closer, his hands finding her hips with ease. “Can’t a man want some time with his girl?”

Aspen’s breath hitched, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest to create the smallest bit of distance, but Harry only squeezed her hips gently, pulling her in just enough to make her heart race.

“You—” She swallowed, trying to compose herself. “You could’ve just said that instead of pretending you needed help moving things.”

Harry hummed, dipping his head to brush his nose against hers. “Mm. Could’ve,” he mused. “But this way was more fun.”

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her resolve slipping just from the heat of his proximity. He had this effect on her—one look, one touch, and she was undone.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” she murmured.

Harry grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek before pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. “Good,” he said simply. “Because you do the same to me.”

Aspen barely had a second to process his words before Harry closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. His hands moved from her hips to her waist, fingers pressing firmly against the fabric of her top as he pulled her even closer. She melted into him instantly, her own hands slipping up to cup his face, thumbs grazing along his jawline as she sighed softly against his lips.

It started slow, sweet, like they had all the time in the world to explore each other. Harry kissed her with an intensity that sent warmth spilling through her veins, his lips moving over hers with a tenderness that contradicted the way his fingers flexed against her waist. It had been a long day, a long week, and this was what they needed—just the two of them, no distractions, no rushed moments stolen between the chaos of their lives.

But as much as Harry wanted to savor this, his self-control started slipping the second Aspen let out the softest whimper against his mouth. His grip tightened, his lips parting to deepen the kiss, tongue swiping against hers in a way that had her knees weakening beneath her. Aspen clung to him, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as she let herself drown in him.

Harry groaned softly, one hand leaving her waist to tangle in her hair, angling her head just how he wanted as he took his time tasting her. The soft scent of her perfume, the warmth of her body pressed against his—it was overwhelming in the best way. He could stay like this forever, but then Aspen pressed just a bit closer, her body molding against his like she was meant to be there, and Harry nearly lost it.

His lips moved from hers, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the soft skin of her neck. Aspen gasped, tilting her head to give him more access as his teeth scraped lightly against her pulse point. He smiled against her skin when he felt her shiver, his other hand gripping her waist even tighter.

“Harry,” she whispered, voice breathy, and it sent a shudder down his spine.

It took everything in him to pull back, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. His chest rose and fell heavily, his grip on her tightening before he forced himself to let go completely.

Aspen blinked up at him, lips swollen and eyes dazed. “Why’d you stop?” she asked softly, her voice laced with curiosity and the faintest hint of disappointment.

Harry chuckled, his hands finding her hips once more as he gave her a gentle squeeze. “Because, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to the corner of her mouth, “if I keep going, I’m gonna start something I can’t finish.”

Aspen’s face turned a deep shade of red at his words, and she quickly dropped her gaze. “Oh,” she squeaked out in a breath, suddenly very interested in the buttons on his shirt.

Harry grinned, loving the way she got all shy on him. “Cute,” he mused, nudging her chin up with his fingers so she’d look at him again. “C’mon, little mouse. Have a seat.”

Aspen obeyed, settling onto the small sofa against the wall, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she tried to recover from the heat still lingering in her veins.

Harry grabbed his sketchbook from the desk before sitting beside her, his arm draped along the back of the couch as he flipped to a fresh page. “I needed a break anyway,” he murmured, tapping his pencil against the paper.

Aspen peeked at him, still feeling a little breathless. “What are you gonna draw?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Harry smirked, eyes flicking to hers before looking back at the blank page. “Dunno yet,” he admitted. “Maybe you.”

Aspen’s heart skipped at that, but she only tilted her head slightly, a confused smile pulling at her lips. “What do you mean?” she asked softly.

Harry stilled for a moment, debating whether he should keep it to himself or let her in on the little secret he had been holding onto for months. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips as he exhaled, deciding that maybe it was time.

Instead of answering right away, he flipped through his sketchbook, fingers dragging over the edges of the pages as he searched for something specific. Aspen watched curiously, her brows knitting together when she noticed how careful he was being, almost hesitant.

And then he turned the book toward her.

Aspen blinked. Her lips parted slightly as her gaze landed on the first drawing—a sketch of her, sitting beneath a tree, completely lost in her book. The details were so precise, so tenderly drawn, she could almost feel the sunlight filtering through the leaves above her, just like it had been that day during their camping trip.

Her throat tightened. “Is this…?”

“The first time I sketched you,” Harry finished for her, voice softer than usual. “Back at the campsite.”

Aspen reached out, her fingers barely grazing the page as she stared at it, taking in every detail. “You… you drew this back then?” Her voice was breathy, almost disbelieving.

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. You just… I dunno, you looked so peaceful sitting there. I couldn’t help it.”

Aspen’s chest ached in the best way possible. She turned the page, revealing another sketch of her—this one of her standing by Zayn’s car, arms crossed, deep in thought. And then another of her sitting at the tattoo shop, nose buried in a book, oblivious to everything around her. There were so many.

Page after page, she found herself staring at different versions of herself through Harry’s eyes. Some were quick, rough sketches, as if he had drawn them in a hurry before the image slipped from his mind. Others were detailed, shaded with such care that they looked almost lifelike.

She swallowed thickly, emotions swelling in her chest as she reached another drawing—one that looked fresher, the graphite still bold and untouched by time. It was her, curled up on the couch, wearing the oversized hoodie she had stolen from Harry the other night.

“I drew that one a couple nights ago,” Harry admitted, watching her reaction closely. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Aspen’s fingers trembled slightly as she turned to face him. “You never told me,” she whispered.

Harry held her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor slipping into something more vulnerable. “Didn’t think I needed to,” he murmured. “You’re just… always on my mind, I guess.”

Aspen’s heart stuttered in her chest. The weight of his words settled deep in her bones, making it hard to breathe for a moment. She didn’t know what to say, so instead, she reached out and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand in silent understanding.

Harry let out a breath and flipped to the back of the sketchbook. “That’s not the only thing I’ve been working on,” he admitted, flipping past a few blank pages before stopping at something else entirely.

Aspen frowned slightly, eyes narrowing as she realized it wasn’t another sketch—it was handwriting. Lyrics.

She tilted her head, reading the words on the page.

"Sweet creature, had another talk about where it’s going wrong… but we’re still young, we don’t know where we’re going, but we know where we belong…”

Aspen’s breath hitched. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Harry… this is—”

Harry cut her off with a nervous chuckle, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, I’ve been dabbling with the guitar,” he admitted. “Words just kinda… flow sometimes.”

Aspen traced the title with her fingertips, her heart swelling at the sight of it. Sweet Creature.

“It’s about me, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Harry smirked, but there was a softness behind it. “Who else would it be about?”

Aspen bit her lip, a deep warmth spreading through her chest. She wanted to ask him to play it for her, but something about the way he was looking at her—like he wasn’t quite ready to share it completely—made her hold back.

Instead, she turned the page, revealing another song title scribbled onto the next sheet.

"Meet Me in the Hallway."

Aspen’s brows knitted together as she read through the lyrics, the weight of the words pressing down on her chest. There was something haunting about them, something aching, as if each line bled with regret. The melody was absent, but she could feel it in the rhythm of the syllables, in the spaces between the words where silence spoke just as loudly.

Her fingers traced over the ink, eyes scanning over the phrase again and again.

"Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door Hoping you'll come around Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor Maybe we'll work it out..."

She swallowed thickly, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. “This one feels…” she trailed off, trying to pinpoint the exact emotion clawing at her chest.

Harry, who had been watching her reaction closely, answered before she could. His voice was quiet, low. “Guilty?”

Aspen’s head snapped up, and when their eyes met, she understood immediately. This wasn’t just a song. It was them.

It was all the nights she had spent wondering what she had done wrong, why he had looked at her like she was both too much and not enough all at once. It was every moment he had pushed her away despite the way his body betrayed him, lingering too close, brushing against her like he couldn't help himself.

It was the space he had put between them, and the silence that had suffocated her when she hadn't understood why.

Aspen’s chest tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the sketchbook. She had never asked him about those days, about why he had acted the way he had. Some part of her had been too afraid of the answer.

And yet, here it was—laid bare in ink and paper, more honest than he had ever been aloud.

“Harry…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose as he ran a hand through his curls. “I know,” he murmured, his eyes flickering away for a second before coming back to her. “I fucked up back then.”

Aspen sucked in a shaky breath. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Harry cut in, firmer this time. His jaw tensed, his fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans. “I need to. Because I know how I treated you before, and I don’t ever want you t'think for a second that it was because of you.”

Aspen’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She searched his face, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She had spent so long convincing herself that she had imagined the tension, that she had misread the way his eyes had lingered on her, the way he had always seemed to fight against something when he was near her.

And now, hearing him say it outright, the confirmation was almost too much.

“I don’t think that anymore,” she admitted, her voice soft, reassuring. “Not now.”

Harry let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping as if he had been holding onto something heavy for too long. His fingers inched toward hers, hesitant at first, until Aspen reached for him on her own, closing the distance.

His skin was warm, rough at the fingertips, and yet he held her hand with a gentleness that made her chest ache.

Aspen studied him for a long moment, taking in the little signs of his discomfort—the way his knee bounced slightly, the way his thumb rubbed absentmindedly over her knuckles, as if grounding himself. She could see the vulnerability in his face, the unspoken weight behind his words.

Slowly, a small smile pulled at her lips. “I think it’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Both of them.”

Harry’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, searching for any trace of dishonesty. “Yeah?”

Aspen nodded. “Yeah.”

For a second, he just stared at her, and then something in him seemed to settle. His grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly, and a small, genuine smile spread across his lips.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Didn’t plan on showing you these t'day,” he admitted, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his tone.

Aspen squeezed his hand, her heart swelling with something deep and warm. “I’m glad you did.”

They sat there, fingers intertwined, the sketchbook still resting between them like a silent bridge to all the things they had never said. And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt the need to fill the silence.

Because for once, it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t suffocating.

It was simply them.

A quiet stillness settled between them, warm and familiar, as Aspen gently traced the edges of the sketchbook with her fingertips. The weight of everything they had just shared lingered in the air, unspoken yet understood. Harry, still holding her hand, let his thumb lazily graze over her knuckles, grounding himself in the moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy of her learning about his songs, or if it was simply the way she looked at him—like he was something good, something worth knowing—but a sense of peace washed over him.

Without thinking, he shifted closer, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. Aspen let out a quiet breath of surprise but didn’t resist, instinctively tucking herself against him. Her cheek pressed softly against his shoulder, and Harry relished the feeling of her fitting so perfectly against him.

For a moment, they sat like that, just breathing in each other’s presence.

Then, Harry tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her temple. It was slow, lingering, like he wanted to imprint himself into her skin. “Didn’t know how much I needed this,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something tender.

Aspen smiled, her fingers finding the hem of his sleeve and lightly toying with the fabric. “Needed what?” she asked softly.

Harry pressed another kiss against her hair, his lips barely leaving her skin as he whispered, “You. Just you, sugar.”

Aspen felt her chest tighten in the best way, a warmth spreading through her limbs at his words. She turned slightly in his hold, looking up at him with those soft, doe-like eyes of hers. The affection in them made something deep in his chest clench, a feeling so strong it nearly stole his breath.

Without hesitation, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed or filled with desperation—it was something deeper, something sweeter. His lips moved against hers with a careful kind of reverence, as if every kiss was meant to tell her all the things he struggled to put into words.

Aspen sighed against his mouth, her hand sliding up to rest against his chest, fingers curling slightly into his shirt. She felt his heartbeat beneath her palm—steady, strong, real.

Harry couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. “God, you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered between kisses, voice hushed like he was speaking a secret only for her.

Aspen’s cheeks warmed, and she buried her face against his neck, a quiet giggle escaping her lips. “You always say that.”

Harry chuckled, nuzzling against her. “’Cause it’s true.”

She hummed in response, her fingers drawing small patterns against his chest. The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward or uncertain. It was filled with the quiet kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

But then Harry, feeling the way she melted into him, feeling the way her presence made everything better, suddenly had the overwhelming urge to say it out loud.

The words formed on his tongue before he could second-guess himself.

“I love you.”

Aspen stiffened slightly against him, her breath catching.

Harry felt his heart stutter, a rare flicker of nervousness crawling up his spine. He hadn’t planned on saying it—not yet, not now—but the moment had felt too right to hold it back. And now, waiting for her response, he felt completely, utterly exposed.

Aspen slowly pulled back just enough to look up at him, her wide eyes searching his face as if trying to determine if she had heard him correctly.

Harry held her gaze, unwavering. He didn’t regret saying it. Harry was more so nervous if he had said it too soon, or if it was too much right now.

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her throat working as she swallowed. She looked so soft—so pure in the way she was taking in his words, like she wanted to tuck them away somewhere safe.

Then, almost shyly, she ducked her head, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that made Harry’s chest tighten. Her fingers played with the hem of his sleeve again, fidgeting. And then, in the quietest, sweetest voice, she whispered, “I love you too.”

Harry swore his heart stopped for a second.

A slow, breathy chuckle left his lips, pure relief flooding through him. “Yeah?” he murmured, tipping her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him again.

Aspen nodded, still impossibly shy, but her eyes held no hesitation. “Yeah.”

Harry felt something shift inside him, something settle. He leaned down, pressing another lingering kiss to her lips, his grip around her tightening like he never wanted to let go.

“Sweetest thing,” he whispered against her mouth.

Aspen smiled against his lips, and when they pulled away, she nestled back into his side, her fingers tracing absentminded shapes against his arm.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, hearts steady and full.

And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.