#like look inside yourself to see what will become of you

[spxllcxstxr]

Love Sick • J.A

(Gif not mine)

Request: Could you do a fic with abbot x reader who’s a nurse and she comes to work sick? 🤒 -- anon

Summary: You just want to get through this shift. Jack just wants you to go home.

Warnings: fem!reader (is called “my girl”), nightshiftnurse!reader, established relationship, reader is sick but it’s more like a cold than anything serious

Word Count: 1.2k

A.N: First time writing for Jack! Lmk what you guys think!

•

You were fine. You weren’t sick. You could make it through this shift. As long as you kept repeating that little mantra throughout your day, maybe it would start sounding more convincing.

Realistically, you knew you shouldn’t have gone into work—no one likes to be seen by a sick nurse, afterall—but you only had one more shift before your weekend off and all you wanted to do was power through it. You hated admitting when you couldn’t do something, so something as trivial as a cold wasn’t going to stop you.

When you woke up in the afternoon it became abundantly clear that you weren’t feeling well at all. Your throat stayed a little sore no matter how much water or tea you swallowed and the splitting headache made you think something was trying to escape from the center of your brain.

But you drove to work anyway.

Dana eyes you the second you place your bag down at the nurse’s station. She all packed and ready to head home for the night but she pauses when she sees you.

“You alright?”

“Hm?”

“You just look like you should be resting, not working a night shift.” Dana shrugs. “Jack know you’re here?” She raises her eyebrows like a mother at her child when she knows they’re about to bullshit their way out of something.

“I’m fine, Dana.” You respond, opting out of the lie. “Thank you for the concern.” Sitting, you glance through the paperwork Princess and Perla left for you.

“Whatever you say.” Dana chuckles, patting you on the shoulder. “Just text me when Abbot inevitably sends you home.”

You glare at retreating figure, watching as she walks out the doors with Robby. Oh to be done with your shift.

"You look like shit." Jack comments, stopping in front of the nurse's station a little bit later. He swings his stethoscope back around his neck.

"Thanks, Jack, you have such a way with words." You reply sarcastically, glancing up from the monitor in front of you.

"You know what I meant, don't get all snarky on me." Jack rolls his eyes jokingly. "Let me check your temperature, you seem sick."

Jack goes to place the back of his hand on your forehead but jerks back as he hears a patient's vitals tanking.

"Jack, he's coding!" Walsh calls from one of the rooms.

He sighs. "I'm not done with you, sweetheart." He turns and jogs over to Walsh, already shouting for certain things to be done.

An hour goes by and you feel yourself getting more exhausted than usual. It takes forever for you to rise from your seat to check up on a patient and Shen’s jokes become more of a nuisance no matter how funny they are. You debate calling it quits and just heading home multiple times but there were only a couple more hours in your shift, why not just fight through it?

Your smiles turn out more like grimaces and your lighthearted banter comes out croaky but your job was still getting done.

Jack narrows his eyes at you from afar, watching as you type something on the desktop in front of you. You seemed distracted to him—languid, if he wanted to be completely honest.

He hadn’t had a moment to assess you further earlier in the night when he first attempted to press the back on his hand onto your forehead. Jack shifts between each foot, taking this rare moment of stillness to take a breather.

You stop typing, the headache radiating pain across your skull. Frowning, you get up from the desk and make your way to the break room. With your head bowed down to avoid the white florescent lighting of the trauma center, you don’t notice Jack tracking your movements.

Inside the break room you wet a paper towel with cold water, placing it directly on your heated face, hoping that it helps regulate the temperature and the pain. You sigh in slight relief.

“Just a few more hours…” You repeat to yourself, pressing your fingertips into your temples.

The door opens and you quickly toss the paper towel from your face and into the trash can. The harsh lights above you make you flinch.

“I was just—“

“Trying to convince yourself that you’re not that sick?” Jack interrupts, worry and amusement mixed across his features.

“I’m not sick.” You scowl.

His eyes run over your frame. “Are you sure you graduated from your nursing program?” Jack chuckles. “Langdon’s kids could easily clock you.”

He ambles up to you, eyes running up and down your figure. You can't imagine you look nice; scrubs wrinkled in a few places and skin lacking its usual luster.

Silently he sticks out his hand to feel your temperature. Why he defaults to rudimentary practices to check you, you're not entirely sure, but having Jack's hand on you is a lot better than a thermometer under your tongue.

He hums as he takes his hand off of you.

"Go home." Jack murmurs, his lips just grazing the tip of your ear. He pulls back only enough for his eyes to connect to yours.

His closeness makes you want to just fall into your lover’s arms and feel the warmth radiating off his body. Jack’s magnetic pull almost gets you, but you hold yourself back, determined to not succumb to your awfully inconvenient illness.

"I have the next two days off, there's no need for me to miss this shift--"

"Don't make me pull rank on you, sweetheart." He raises his eyebrows, daring you to disagree. "And not in a kinky way." Jack crosses his arms over his chest.

Teasingly, you pout. “Such a shame.”

“C’mon,” He continues, voice still light. “Go on home, rest, and I’ll come over after I finish here. I’ll take care of you over the weekend.”

The thought of Jack bustling around your apartment making you soup and disinfecting your furniture is certainly enticing.

“I do love having my own personal Doctor Abbot fussing over me…”

Jack runs his hands over your arms, palms warm against your skin. You suppress a shiver, due to an oncoming fever or the fact he’s so warm in the cold interior of the trauma center, you don’t know for sure.

“Go on, I’ll be there when you wake up, sweetheart.” Jack presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Hm, maybe I should let Robby and Gloria know your bedside manner is improving.” Smiling, you tease and pull away a tad to start moving toward the exit.

“You better not,” he laughs. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold around here. I like being known as the cranky old smartass, can’t have everyone here knowing I melt for my girl.”

Cheeks heating up, you look away. “Of course, Doc.”

“Get home safe, I love you.” He says, watching you exit the otherwise empty break room.

“I love you, too, Jack. I’ll see you at mine.”

You shoot Dana a quick text as you leave the building, not expecting her to text back until later in the day when she finally wakes up for work.

It’s a drag getting home; your mind feels sluggish and your nose starts to drip, but you get into your bed knowing that Jack was going to be in the open spot next to you in the morning.

•

[nelumbonuciferagaertn]

Beasts x Reader

Summary: How the Beasts react when the reader kisses them. Relationship: Romantic with Shadow Milk Cookie, Mystic Flour Cookie, Eternal Sugar, Silent Salt, and Burning Spice.

***

Shadow Milk Cookie

First, you ask him if you can kiss him. Honestly, it disturbs him—not in a bad way, but because he has no experience with romantic relationships. The only vision he has comes from plays, where love is romanticized: the protagonist—a man of course—kisses his beloved fiercely. That brings us to the current situation, where you’re asking to kiss your favorite Cookie, who's now staring at you in shock.

« HA! You know you're funny? …Wait, you're not joking?! » he stammers. When he regains composure, he finally accepts your offer. Though "accept" may be too strong a word compared to what he actually says. « Aww! My Pookie wants to kiss me. But, honestly, I can't blame you—I am so handsome. I’d probably do the same if I were you. So, I’ll be generous and allow you to place your lips on my incredible self! »

You start by kissing the cheek he turns toward you. What he didn't expect is how happy it would make him. The more you kiss him, the faster his heart beats, and the hotter his face becomes. He grabs the sleeve of your t-shirt with the intention of getting himself inked somewhere before collapsing into a puddle of emotion. Until you reach his forehead. Just the way you guide your left hand to his cheek, holding his head while your other hand brushes his bangs back, sweeping a path for a gentle kiss—It melted him! That simple act made him feel protected by your love.

When you stop and walk away to see the result, Shadow Milk Cookie looks dazed. His eyelash-like hair lowers quickly as his trembling hands reach for your clothes. Even though he proclaims himself a master of deceit, his emotions are incredibly easy for you to read.

You finish by kissing him on his lips, making his face turn tomato-red, and the eyes in his hair transform into hearts. You thank him, and his dilated pupils avoid yours, suddenly finding great interest in the nearby wall.

A few hours later, he'll deny liking it. But make no mistake—he'll ask for it again. Not directly, but he will.

Mystic Flour Cookie

She was surprised the first time you asked to kiss her, but kept her poker face. Nevertheless, she accepted.

You start by kissing the end of her hand as if it were a sacred act. She feels a warm glow of satisfaction, as if she had regained her former glory and you were showing her your adoration in the purest and most naive way. And the higher you go, the more this heat intensifies. Each kiss moves higher — starting with her fingers, following her knuckles, then kissing her wrist — until your fingers intertwine, sealing the gesture with intimate grace.

You finish by kissing her lips, very slowly, as if you were silently asking for her consent again. She didn’t pull away; in fact, if you looked closely, you might have noticed her leaning in. The kiss between you was slow, sensual, but full of candor and intensity. A mixture of calm and bold confession.

You had to stop the emotional moment to breathe. Somehow, it seems the lack of air didn’t bother your gorgeous Cookie. You move your head back, feeling a little numb and with red cheeks. And, unlike you, Mystic Flour seems perfectly normal. You would say that if you didn't know her, because you detect a softness in the way she is positioned, and maybe in the light smile on her face. Yeah, that helps too.

Despite this, she looks imperturbable, due to her philosophy of apathy, but inside, she really enjoyed the kiss.

She places her left arm under your chin with a delicate gesture and guides you towards her lips again. And you let yourself be led with joy.

Later, after that soft moment, Mystic Flour will maintain this radiant demeanor for the rest of the day—to the point that Haetae begins to wonder if something had changed in her, though they don’t dare to ask.

Eternal Sugar Cookie

You see her asleep, her head stuffed into her arms. You think she is kinda cute, peaceful like that. And then, you remember a conversation with her where she said she liked it when you kissed her to sleep. So you think it will be cute to kiss her. Not on her lips, because consent is important, and she’s asleep so you don’t have it. However, you can kiss her on the hair. You run your hand over it, smoothing down stray strands before bringing your lips together and tenderly kissing the top of her head. It was a long and soft kiss. When you finish, you whisper goodnight in her ear. You finally move back your head— « That's all you do for showing your love? »

Then, she lifts her head, looking at you slyly, her smile carrying a sweeter undertone. You immediately understand the request. She catches you with her arms surrounding your waist. You then pepper her face with kisses, leaving in your wake sincere proofs of love. Eternal Sugar is definitely happy. Her face lights up with joy. Your lips touch her cheekbones, her lower jaw, the corner of her lips, and you feel that wherever you kiss, her dough becomes warmer. You bet she blushes.

Finally, you warn your favorite Cookie that you have things to do and must go. However, she blocks your path with her angel and demon wings. « Don't you dare leave me. It's our moment now! Just for ourselves ~ »

She hugs you tighter and you can't resist, her sweet scent numbs you. The cocoon of her wings is enchanting, as if this happiness will never end. Both of you fall asleep in each other's arms. Resting peacefully, in this safe place, together, forever~

Silent Salt Cookie

Silent Salt would like to be kissed on the hand or the cheeks, in the style of old medieval demonstrations of love. Discreet, but emotional. Very romantic!

In addition, kiss them on the lips while they are wearing their helmet and they will melt in their armor.

Burning Spice Cookie

When you ask to kiss him, he is surprised. But not in a good way. « Why the hell would you ask that?! » His furrowed gaze pierces you.

This makes you angry. You fix him with the most empty look you can give. He glances at you, clearly not impressed. « Well I'm so sorry for actually caring about your feelings, love! » you growl, taking his head with your two hands and forcing him to lean forward to meet yours. You slam your lips hard, not on his, but just on the corner. Perfect for getting your revenge and teasing him.

When you release the pressure to leave his dough, his response is instantaneous. He slams you against the wall beside you (which you hadn’t even noticed), his ever-present axe glinting in one hand, your wrist pinned with the other. The silence that follows is significant. You can even see an ember igniting in his eyes while he observes you up and down.

« You're playing with fire right now, doll. » He moves his head forward, obviously aiming to kiss you on the lips this time, unlike you. However, you use your free hand to shove it into his long black hair and pull it down roughly, regaining control.

« Nuh-uh. This was my idea. You’re going to stay still. Got it? » He doesn’t resist. You feel the tension buzzing under his skin — the need to take control, but also the thrill of being played.

So you kiss him slowly: cheek, forehead, the edge of his mouth. When your lips reach his jawline, a low growl escapes him.

You smirk. He’s losing. And he doesn’t even mind.

***

Bonus for all: Over time, you become more intimate. Thus, they accept—with varying levels of embarrassment—that you kiss them where they wear their Soul Jam:

on his neck for Shadow Milk

on her upper forehead for Mystic Flour

between her eyebrows for Eternal Sugar

on their collarbone for Silent Salt

and on his chest for Burning Spice.

And if they really trust you, they'll let you kiss their Soul Jam directly. 😏

***

Note: Yo, I hope you enjoyed it! ✨ This took me a long time because I had to catch the behavior of each Cookie. Silent Salt's text is very short and different for a reason: they have not appeared in the game, so I don't have source material for their identity. Thus, it's mainly a headcanon. I don't even know what gender they have!

To understand the Cookies, I read their WikiFandom, some other fanfictions, and I asked ChatGPT to tell me the percentage of closeness I had with the original Cookie, with some advice added. The text with the highest grade in the first draft was Shadow Milk with 85%. Is it because he's my favorite Cookie and I read a ton of fanfics? Perhaps. By the way, this explains why some texts are longer than others. My motivation to write is apparently proportional to how much I love the character. Lol.

Then, using an AI allowed me to get as close as possible to the character at the cost of various rewrites. I use AI to correct my language too. I know how horrible it is to read a badly written fic. However, my first language isn't English and I'm far from bilingual. So I need correction. The idea and the original text are, and will always be, mine. But I need you to know I use AI in my fic only as a writing tool, just like I use Google Translate.

One more thing I have to say is about the nicknames ("Pookie", "Doll") I used. I don't know if they are used for a specific gender (I'm not a native English speaker), and with my small research I came to the conclusion that they could be used for everyone. But if you are not comfortable with it, you can always change the nickname in your head—for example, replacing it with your name.

I liked writing a new type of fanfiction. However, if I do that again, I won't write for more than 5 characters. That was painful enough 🤣 I'm wondering how many people will read this until the end. Try to fit the word "phantasmagoric" in your comment if you got this far.

Have a nice day :)

[siri-ike]

"Danny?" Bruce knocked on Danyals bedroom door. "Can I come in?"

Bruce knew he'd be let in. Danny never refused or argued anything. Maybe one day he could hear a "no" from his son, but Bruce knew that was far down the road.

Predictably, the door opened, and there stood Danny, looking up at his father. Bruce stepped inside and closed the door. "This stays between you and me." Bruce kneeled down to look his son in the eye. "You can tell me anything."

"I have been honest with you." Every inflection in his tone was on purpose, and Bruce knew that. Even watching for micro-expressions was difficult, but not impossible.

"I don't think you're lying." That's true. It wouldn't be lying since he has never really known anything else. As awful as it is, this is who Danny is... for now. "This isn't about facts. I want to know what you think. It's important that we get to know each other."

"I know who you are. You're my Father. And Batman. As well as Bruce Wayne, occasionally." Here it comes, the shift. Danny's voice became cold, and his stare was empty. "You were born April 19th, 1970. In 1982, you watched your parents murder at the hands of Joe Chill, a low-level hired assassin. You had a series of behavioral issues in school, including an incident where you set your homeroom teachers' front yard on fire in 1984. In 1987 you went to Arkham. Immediately following your release in 1988, you traveled the world in order to turn yourself into the greatest detective ever to have lived. In 1991, you returned to Gotham for a brief time but deemed your training insufficient. You left again, this time focusing on more obscure skills such as controlling your heart rate and observing micro-expressions. In 1995, you established yourself as "Brucy" Wayne, an irresponsible and flirtatious Batchelor. In this guise, you made sure to seem incompetent and unserious. At night, you strived to "clean up Gotham" of its crime. You have since saved countless lives, as well as the entire world alongside the Justice League." He recited, impersonal, like he read it in a file and remembered.

"And you?"

"I am Danyal Wayne Al Ghul, the second son of Talia Al Ghul and Bruce Wayne. I, as well as Damian, were grown in a vat together. On december 20th, 2015, we were removed. For 6 years, we underwent rigorous training, the goal of which was to make an heir suitable to lead the League of Assassins. During this time, Damian showed more promise for battle. Therefore, I was sent to learn how to blend into any environment, infiltrate any group or organization, and otherwise control others' perceptions of me in order to obtain information and trust. I spent a total of two weeks living with the Burns family, 14 hours with the Mortens, and six months with the Fentons." There was a sparckle in his eye as he mentioned the Fentons. It was small, just the slightest hint of affection.

That's it. That's his in. "Tell me about the family's you lived with."

"Jennifer Burns was a grocery store manager, and Natalie Burns was a high school philosophy teacher. In addition to myself, they fostered 4 kids. Margo, age 6, Charlie, age 9, Antwan, age 14, and Lucia, age 16. They were... kind." Danny clutched the ends of his sleeves. It was subtle. Most people wouldn't see it. "Brian Mortens was a mechanic, married to Gloria Mortens, a florist. They had a son named Milo, age 8. It took them 2 years to fully meet the qualifications to become foster parents. They were so excited. And they got me." Danny looked away. "The Dr's Jack and Madie Fenton were inventors, with a focus on the capture, containment, and elimination of ghosts."

Bruce was taken aback.

"Their daughter Jazz is 12 years old. Most everything in their house is branded with the FentonWorks logo. Jack is large, muscular, and socially inept. Maddie is agile, resourceful, and highly trained in combat. Jazz, though also skilled in combat and clever in her own right, does not believe in her parents' work. They became Foster parents on accident when they were trying to adopt a cat. Over the course of six months, they invented 78 separate machines and gadgets and sold 4 of them." The corners of his lips tugged slightly upward. "They live in the city of Amity Park, Pennsylvania. On average, they cause 3 major public incidents per month." Danny stopped. His facial expression returned to their neutral state.

Bruce took Danny's little hands in his. "Do you miss them?"

"Irrelevant."

"It's not irrelevant. Your opinion matters." Bruce insisted.

"I do not." Danny lied.

Silence fell. Bruce knew that was a lie. There were no observable signs, but the way Danny described them. It was the most emotional Bruce had ever seen him. Finally, Bruce changed the subject. "Do you know what you want to do tomorrow? 6 hours, just you and me, whatever you want to do." Bruce smiled reassuringly. "We could go to the amusement park, library, museum, a restaurant, the park, choose whatever you want. There are plenty of things to do."

"There is no need." If anything, it seemed like he was trying to convince himself.

"We didn't need to go to the zoo. But Damian enjoyed it. It's your turn, what do you enjoy?" Bruce moved a hand to Danny's cheek. "You can tell me tomorrow. Maybe make a list?"

Danny likes lists. He likes them organized, time stamped, color coded. So naturally, he spent 4 solid hours researching, planning, organizing, and assembling a detailed spreadsheet with a variety of activities for his demographic.

Appropriate activities for ages 9-12 include team sports, music, dance, arts and crafts, and competition. This is also the age to start caring about one's appearance. Some acceptable interests are dinosaurs, space, trains, animals, the ocean, historical events, sports, music, art, and math.

Danny took this and much more into account when creating the perfect parent child bonding experience.

At 8:20 the next morning, Bruce woke up to see Danny fully dressed, sitting on his bed in front of him with a folder. His hair damp, his posture perfect, wearing a suit.

"Morning." Bruce groaned.

"It's time to wake up. We leave at 9."

Bruce sat up and eyed the folder. "Does your schedule include breakfast?"

"I prepared eggs." Danny moved over, revealing a plate of eggs and tost, along with a reusable waterbottle full of a thick opaque liquid. "The Gotham Museum of Natural History opens at 9:30. That gives us 20 minutes to watch the turtles in the park." Danny pulled out a sheet of paper from his folder and showed it to Bruce. On it were pictures of birds. "We should be able to spot these three, but I also packed an information pamphlet if we see any others."

"I didn't know i could expect so much enthusiasm." Bruce joked.

"I can tone it down."

Bruce put his hand on Danny's head. "Don't, I want nothing less than the full Danyal Wayne Al Ghul experience."

Bruce really did appreciate the energy and Danyals unexpected openness. But how, out of all his kids, did both of his biological sons turn out to be morning people?

They got to the park early, which seemed to bother Danny, even if he didn't say anything. When they exited the car, Danny grabbed Bruce's hand. In response to his confused look, Danny simply explained. "In a public setting, it is appropriate for you to hold my hand. Not doing so is a sign of distrust between parent and child."

"Sure it is." Bruce thought as he offered to carry Danny's backpack. It was surprisingly heavy.

"That one's a musk turtle." Danny pointed. "Also known as a stinkpot. They are aquatic." Danny got down and climbed back up another part of the railing. "That one is a spiny softshell turtle. It's flexible and lives in fresh water. The long nose is so they don't have to go all the way to the surface to breathe." Danny hopped down and looked at Bruce. Then, with a fully serious expression and tone, told him. "In the 2018 series Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles, Donnatello was based on a spiny softshell turtle."

Bruce felt like he had just been kicked in the face. Was that an interest? Does the boy enjoy a tv show? A purely entertaining piece of fiction? "Do you like that show?"

"It was canceled after only 2 seasons. Then, in 2022, a movie was released for it. There is no plan to continue the series or add a sequel to the movie."

"But did you like it?" Bruce reiterated.

Danny was silent for a moment. "I watched it with Jack. Sometimes, Jazz would join us." Danny grabbed Bruce's hand again and started toward the museum. Unwilling or unable to speak on the issue.

"Dick would love to hear about that. He used to read the comics when he was around your age. I think he watched one of the show-"

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone about today!" Danny snapped.

"I won't." Bruce quickly backed. "You could bring it up with him. If you want to."

Danny calmed down and latched tighter onto Bruce's hand.

The two of them reached the museum steps at the precise moment the clock turned 9:30. He really reminded Bruce of himself at that age. He knew exactly how good it felt to show up at the exact right moment.

Danny still held Bruce's hand inside the museum, insisting that not doing so would garner suspicion. Not that Bruce wanted him to stop, but the kid was deffinetly overestimating other people's attention to detail.

Just like in the park, Danny went straight for a specific area. The space exhibits. He didn't read any of the plaques. But he spouted endless information, just like Damian had yesterday. A single meteor prompted a full 20-minute oral presentation, at the end of which Danny promptly walked off. Apparently, he had set aside 10 minutes for the gift shop.

"I researched it yesterday. According to numerous sources I found, it is common for people my age to collect things, such as coins, stamps, or models." He proudly announced.

"Did your research take place in the 1950s?"

Danny ignored the joke and presented three items. "Enamel pins are a popular option in the modern day."

Bruce gave the trinkets a scrutinizing look. A satellite, the moon, and the Nasa logo. He looked over to the hangers they came from. There were plenty of other pins there. It didn't take the worlds greatest detective to see the kid just liked space.

At 10:40, they got back outside. Danny opened his folder as though he didn't have it memorized. "Next is mani-pedis. It's one block down. Our appointment is at 10:50. Assuming we keep to the standard pace of 4.82 kilometers, or 3 miles per hour, we should get there 3 minutes early." He put his folder back in the bag and took Bruce's hand.

The mani-pedis were nice. The detailed history of animals that have been sent to space and exactly how they died was a surprise.

At 11:40, they left the salon and headed for their lunch reservation. It was at a moderately upscale restaurant. It wasn't particularly interesting. Bruce was pretty sure it was only chosen for its location.

At 12:15, they crossed the street to an amusement center. They started with the ice rink/skating obstacle corse. Bruce didn't even know this was a thing. Has it been here for a long time? Is this a hobby that people have? At 13:10, they moved over to the Rock climbing walls. When did Bruce stop doing fun things? At 14:05, they switched to the gymnasium with a thick memory foam floor. They climbed things and jumped of them onto the soft ground. That place was amazing.

At exactly 15:00, they stepped out the door.

"What's next?" Bruce asked.

"That's it. Six hours are up. We can go home now." He said so matter of factly.

Crap. Bruce lost track of time. He had expected to get some more prying in.

Danny was laughing and literally bouncing off the walls just a moment ago. He had to have enjoyed it. But Bruce barely managed to chip away at his walls.

"We don't really need to stay within 6 hours." Bruce got down on one knee. "Come on, I know you have something more. Didn't you say you were going to collect pins? We only got three."

Danny thought for a moment. "There's an aviary between here and a Wayne Enterprise building. We could stop there. But not for long, Jason is picking me up at 16:00."

At four? That little schemer planned for an extra hour. "Tssh." Bruce snickered.

No one else was there. At first, Bruce assumed it wasn't a very popular place to visit. But then Danny walked up to the greeting desk. "Reservation for "Wayne."" Bruce couldn't help but smile at the notion. Kid knows what he's doing.

"Right this way." The clerk led them to the local birds section. "You have the room to yourselves until four." He left and closed the door behind him.

"Is there a reason you wanted the place alone?"

Danny opened his folder, took out a few papers stapled together, and handed it to Bruce like it was a job application.

Bruce flipped through the pages. It read like a job application.

Costume designs, skills and achievements, pictures of birds. Bruce looked up from the folder. "You want to be Robin?"

"I don't want to be Robin. Damian is Robin. But I can do things, too. I'm trained. I can fight. Maybe not as well as he can, but," Danny raised his shoulders and looked to the side. "Better than most."

Bruce had considered it. He hadn't wanted to ask because he knew Danny would accept whether he wanted it or not. "Who do you want to be?"

Danny looked around the room and ran to one of the cages to point out a bird. Bruce followed.

"Starling."

Demon Twins AU where Danny came to Wayne Manor with Damian

Dick threw himself on the couch next to Danyal. Damian was out of the house with Bruce for the next 2-4 hours after Danyal implied Damian would love to go with the zoo with his "dad".

The family of Bats couldn't help but notice their newest pair of members acted different when apart from each other.

He nudged Danyal, ignoring the feeling of a concealed weapon in his baggy pants.

Danyal looked over, raising his eyebrows, "Huh?"

"I've been curious, Danny why are you so..."

"Normal--- While Damian is a brat?" Danyal flipped through a couple channels as he spoke, still unable to make a choice on a show.

"I wouldn't put it like that, but yeah."

"er... so as the second heir, Mother decided to focus my education on, like, blending in to any environment for infiltration purposes. She even sent me to live with a few foster families so I would get an idea of how American families think an act." He stopped channel surfing so he could list them off on his fingers, "It was two weeks with the Burns, like, a day with the Mortons, and six months with the Fentons."

"Six months?" Dick questioned, alarmed. That was a long time for an infiltration mission for someone his age. How was he not attached?

Tim, who had taken up residency out of stabbing range for this conversation, set up with his lap top and a case file spoke up, "So, you're just masking all the time?"

"Affirmative." Danyal answered in the exact same way Damian did.

"Then why is Damian so..." Tim followed up, referencing his and Damian's contemptuous relationship.

"He's throwing fits to prove to me Father won't throw us out." Danyal shrugged. He ended up settling on an Animal documentary Damian would like.

[fushitoru]

tw periods, slight angst surrounding periods and period typical misogyny, misunderstanding, fluff at the end, a lot of suggestiveness LOL. this is post-canon, after bridgerton!gojo and miss itadori get married

a/n you are warned this is not a drabble this is almost a fic (still a bit short tho) but i was too lazy to make a layout for it

you woke beside your husband, bridgerton!gojo, with a peculiar slickness between your thighs and a slight ache in your joints, particularly that of your lower back.

at once, you knew what it was---your courses. you couldn't help but feel a little disappointment; while you and satoru had only wed recently, your...child bearing efforts had been rigorous. however, it had only been about a fortnight since you had become missus gojo, so it would be reasonable to assume a child was to come in due time.

that is to say, becoming with child was not what was troubling you at all---it was the tangent, irony smell of blood between your thighs, and, if you did not take quick action, it would soon stain your marital bed.

but the biggest worry of all: your husband.

unfortunately, you did not know his...stance about the monthly affliction women face. it was true you felt you could discuss anything with him---after a whole season of fighting like fools, you both had shown each other your most vulnerable parts. however, you were not sure how he would react to the blood that was slowly trickling out of you. would he be disgusted? would he want you to sleep on a seperate bed? the both of you shared your marital bed every night, despite the fact that the gojo manor had many other rooms and one that was formally yours, too.

yet it was not his disgust that you feared most. it was his silence---that he would silently hold back his true feelings of disgust to care for you.

you shook your head. you definitely could not stomach making him bear such responsibility. to be safe, you would distance yourself from him for a couple of days.

looking once more at him, you were relieved to see him sleeping peacefully like a babe next to you. in his slumber, he had wrapped his arms across your waist and buried his head in your chest. as carefully as you could, you unwrapped yourself from his arms and waddled miserably towards the door, and outside, until you found nobara.

after you had debriefed her in your formal room (the one where you were supposed to sleep in, but it had gathered dust nonetheless because satoru would not tolerate distance between you two), she sent a pointed look at you. "you are being ridiculous. that man is a lovesick fool when it comes to you."

"i know he adores me, which is precisely why i do not wish to be close to him during my courses," you mutter back, clutching your stomach and sitting uncomfortably on the bed. "what if he stayed silent about his true sentiments---"

before you could finish, a hesitant knock came on the door and came the voice of your husband. "my love, are you inside?" he sounded concerned, and your heart broke; he must have been confused why you were not by his side when he woke.

then, panic welled inside of you, and you quickly stood up, then immediately shrinked in pain. in a shrill voice came your response: "give me some time, dear, to get dressed!"

then came a confused but brief, "all right," and he obediently stayed outside the door, waiting for you. you hurriedly put on proper attire---not before putting a linen cloth over your crotch to temper the bleeding---and opened the door.

there he was: dressed in a white shirt that was clearly shrugged on in a daze, and pants. it was truly a shame you were resolved to avoid him and any intimate engagement; if it weren't so, you would have dragged him back to your bed for a reenactment of last night.

it seemed that this time of the month had amplified your lust; you were gazing intently at his bare chest and stomach and didn't notice how he had been trying to say something. it was only until he grabbed your hand and started walking that you got out of your reverie. "where are we going?"

"to break our fast," he sighed, looking at you with trace of amusement in his eyes. "it seems that you cannot seem to concieve any words of mine without food in your stomach."

heat creeps up your neck, but you stay silent as he leads you into the drawing room. he sits you down next to him on the couch, and you're so overwhelmed with the heat of his presence that you dizzily sit next to him, while he murmurs things to the maid. it's only until you are alone with him that he pulls you close, onto his lap---you panic once more.

you both have been spending your time as newlyweds at each other's sides; in the morning, he ushers everyone else out of the drawing room and pulls you onto his lap to feed you pastries by hand; during the day, the both of you find some way of keeping each other company, whether it be you reading in the library while he conducts his work or him lazing by your side as you play the pianoforte; at night....every unfortunate being in the manor knows what the both of you do at night.

however, if you were to bleed onto him, forget his reaction; you'd probably offer yourself up to the chef to be cooked for dinner.

your hands remain stiff where they hover in the air, unsure whether to wrap around his shoulders or press against his chest and shove him away. but your legs are already tucked awkwardly to one side, your skirts pooling in your lap and the linen cloth beneath them barely hanging on to dignity.

"now, then," he murmurs, voice low and drowsy, still husky with the vestiges of sleep, "would you care to explain why you vanished on me this morning?"

you stiffen slightly, gaze refusing to meet his. his thumb strokes your back through the fabric of your robe.

“i woke early,” you reply, feebly. “i did not wish to disturb your sleep.”

satoru hums, unconvinced yet concerned. “you were limping.”

your breath hitches.

he lifts his head, ocean eyes narrowing with concern as they search yours. “did I hurt you?” he asks, tone suddenly urgent. “was it last night? I—darling, I swear I never intended—”

“no! no, heavens, no,” you interrupt, pressing your hand over his mouth before he can spiral further. “it's not that. I just—” you trail off, heart pounding.

you feel a trickle escape you and remember that you are still situated on his lap. you jump up, to satoru's dismay, and pat down your skirts in a show of fluster. while you do so, you make sure to peek a glance at satoru's---mind you, very expensive---pants, and let out a sigh in relief when you find they are unmarred with any shade of red.

satoru blinks up at you, visibly startled at your sudden escape from his lap. he sits upright, arms slack at his sides, disheveled and blinking like a dog who had just been denied a treat. “darling?” he calls, voice still rough from sleep. “why did you—?”

“i just remembered—i'm meant to be with nobara,” you blurt hastily, smoothing your skirts once more. “she needed… guidance. On a matter of embroidery.”

he tilts his head, clearly skeptical. “embroidery.”

“yes,” you say, far too quickly. “she's quite hopeless with her stitches, you know.”

satoru gives a soft hum. “i see.” he looks at you pointedly, but says no more.

you nod, all nerves, and inch toward the door with forced casualness. “i'll be back before supper,” you promise, though you plan nothing of the sort. “rest, please. you looked dreadfully tired.”

and with that, you flee.

...

the day drags.

you spend an hour in nobara's company, pacing and muttering until she throws a cushion at your head and tells you, in no uncertain terms, that you’re being idiotic. you ignore her.

you then wander the halls of the gojo manor like a ghost, ducking behind tapestries and pillars the moment you hear your husband’s voice approaching.

at one point, you’re certain he sees the edge of your skirts disappearing up the staircase, because you hear a faint, amused, “hm,” followed by very deliberate footsteps that turn away.

it doesn’t help. the ache in your belly has dulled to a throb, your joints heavy and mood sullen. you've gone through more linen cloths than you care to count, and your back feels like it’s being punished by God himself.

but worse still is the shame coiled in your chest.

you miss him. you miss the warmth of his lap, the rasp of his voice when it’s still tinged with sleep. you miss the way he’d drawn heated circles into your back without even realizing it. and you hate—truly, hate—that you’re keeping something from him.

...

by the time night falls and the clock strikes ten, you’re already curled up in your formal room, not even pretending to be useful. you know, instinctively, that he’ll come.

and he does.

the door creaks open gently, as though he’s trying not to startle you. “are you hiding from me again?” satoru asks softly.

you sit up from your curled position on the chaise, wrapped in a thick shawl. you've no more excuses left in you.

he's dressed in his day's clothes, but his shirt is rumpled and a bit unbuttoned. you wish he'd cover up more, for your unscrupulous eyes were devouring the sigh. he looks tired---but not angry. never angry.

still, you look away. “i didn’t mean to avoid you,” you say, voice faint. “truly, i was a bit occupied today.”

"no, you were avoiding me," he says, without heat. "you are hiding something from me."

you nod, the confession a lump in your throat. “i was.”

satoru sighs and crosses the room, kneeling in front of you. “tell me, darling. please.”

you hesitate, and then meet his eyes. "it's my courses."

he blinks. “Your—oh.” realization dawns in an instant. his brows lift. “that's all?”

you flush. "'that's all'? satoru, i bled onto the sheets today. while you were in it---the smell was pungent! then, at breakfast, i thought i would bleed on your trousers, and i've been waddling all day!"

he makes a move to interrupt, but your shrill voice continues, giving him no opening. "and i've heard how it goes!" you cry, but then your voice quiets, now low in mood. "i just did not you know your feelings on the matter. some husbands don't say anything about it but internally do not take kindly to the display. i thought it perhaps to spare you the discomfort. if you wish, you may sleep alone in the marital bed tonight." you laugh but your hands are quivering, your voice equally shaky. "it is due time that i start sleeping in my designated room, regardless."

there's silence, and you refuse to look at him.

you nod to yourself, eyes burning. "so, please do what you are comfortable with, my dear. i will wholly understand and will draw no resentment from your choice, for it is what you wish."

and still, he says nothing.

you do not look up—not when he pushes off the door, not when you hear his footsteps retreating down the hall. the sound of the door clicking shut behind him cleaves clean through you.

you sit for a moment, frozen.

so that was it, then. he had chosen comfort and distance from you.

and that was fine. that was what you had offered him—wasn’t it?

that was what you wanted, you tell yourself. for him to be comfortable. for him to have the space to choose without pressure or obligation. you didn’t want to burden him with your body’s inconvenient truths, didn’t want to tether him to your pain out of guilt or duty.

you had meant it. you had.

still, like a traitor, your throat tightens. you press a palm against your sternum, as if you could quiet the ache blooming there, deep and hollow and foolish.

you should get ready for bed. blow out the candle. crawl beneath the covers and sleep it off—

the door bursts open.

you startle, eyes flying up—and there he is again, storming in not with coldness or distance, but with purpose.

you blink as he steps towards you—not empty-handed, but with a bundle of linens, something wrapped in muslin, and a small ceramic jar tucked beneath one arm. his expression is unreadable as he walks to your chaise.

he crouches before you, silent.

then: he unravels the cloth and reveals a warmed compress, gently pressing it to your lower abdomen with a care that nearly undoes you. his hands are sure, practiced. the pressure soothes more than you can say.

next comes the jar—some ancient concoction for cramping and pain, herbal and bittersweet in scent. he rubs a dab into your wrists, then into your temples, then—when you remain frozen in stunned silence—cups your jaw, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

“is this allowed?” he murmurs.

you nod, too stunned to speak.

he lets out a slow breath and says, “you absolute goose.”

your lips tremble. “I thought—when you left—”

“i went to the warming stone cupboard, you little fool.” his tone is fond now, teasing, like he can’t bear to let you spiral any further. “you think I’d leave you bleeding and aching and miserable just to have a soft bed to myself?”

you shake your head, and he leans in to press a kiss to your brow.

"i married you, mrs. gojo," he teases, the same way he used to say miss itadori when the both of you were at odds. "do you think i could bear to know nothing about your body with you as my wife? or, heavens forbid, sleep alone in our bed? i knew eventually you would be curled up in my bed, looking cross and adorable while i play nursemaid." he

your eyes brim. "i'm sorry."

“you're forgiven, my love,” he says easily. “on one condition.”

you blink. “What?”

“that you stop hiding from me. i'm your husband. i'd much rather hold you while you’re bleeding than miss you while you’re gone.”

you give a watery laugh. “You make it sound so poetic.”

“i am a romantic at heart.” he stands, then scoops you effortlessly into his arms. “now come. we are going to our bed. i've fluffed the pillows, and you’re going to let me dote on you until you beg me to stop.”

you cling to him, heart light for the first time all day.

[ddlydevotion]

Grace and Bo Chow both being infatuated with you 💌 ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing this! This post contains nsfw content/slightly obsessive behavior so proceed with caution. This is also quite long so I apologize for that. Look out for a part two!

currently listening to: Cupid by Sam Cooke

You met Bo first. You applied for a job at the shop and proved yourself to be incredibly dependable. He allowed you to count the money in the register, keep logs of what was going in & out of the store, and take care of client records and accounts. The two of you had a purely professional relationship, but if a professional relationship consisted of longing glances, lingering touches, and endearing nicknames.

You knew he was married, the golden band around his ring finger didn't let you forget the fact that he was. You felt horrible for even entertaining the nicknames and the close contact he kept with you, but you considered yourself to be on the safe side of things. As long as the two of you kept the touchiness to a minimum and didn't take your affection for one another to the bedroom, everything was fine.

His wife, Grace, tended to their shared store on the white side of town. She'd occasionally pop into the store to check in on Bo & their daughter, making sure she completed her tasks for the day. Afterwards, she'd never fail to make her way up to you and ask about your day.

"How are ye doin? Bo been treatin' you well?"

"You're doin' a good job around 'ere, girl. We gotta keep you here, don't want the other stores to try an' take ye from us."

Bo would affirm her praise by nodding his head and adding in his own little two cents. Grace wouldn't shy away from rubbing your arm or placing a delicate finger underneath your chin while saying "you're a real pretty girl, y'know that?". Her physical touch could be disguised as something playful and sweet, something between two women that were fond of one another. But, as the two of them made eye contact over your head they knew that what they had in store for you was anything but playful.

The playful banter between the three of you continued for weeks after that. You didn't expect anything more to blossom from your friendship with the married couple, but the clueless cloud you had over your head was quickly blown away one night. It was usual for them to invite you over to have dinner at their shared home. It was a common occurrence that even Lisa looked forward to as you were never anything but kind to her.

If you try to tell them that you wouldn't be able to make it due to a packed schedule, they'd do everything in their power to convince you to show anyway.

"Oh, we promise we won't keep you long. C'mon ya could just come on over for some dinner and make your way home after that. promise."

"awe are ya sure? Lisa was really lookin' forward to seeing ya again."

Sure, it was common for them to invite you over for dinner. However, it wasn't all too common for them to invite you into their bedroom. They'd usually keep you past midnight to have conversation going in the kitchen, but Bo offered to move the late night ritual into their bedroom. The conversation went on as normal and the wine in your glass disappeared by the minute. You sat with your legs crossed on their wooden-framed bed, the couple sat right in front of you. Bo's hand made a home for itself on the skin of your thigh that peaked from underneath your dress, he rarely ever showed such explicit affection like this. You expected Grace to become angry with the two of you, rightfully so, and have the night come to an end. Instead, she moved towards you and swept your hair out of your face with those delicate fingers of hers you've come to admire.

"I don't think ya know just how pretty ya are. I mean, jus' look at that face, baby. You just might be the prettiest damn thing I've ever seen." Bo's hand moved towards the inside of your thigh and a small smile stretched across his lips. "s'true, sweetheart", both of his hands eventually moved towards the inside of your thighs, spreading you open for him, Grace shuffling behind you before positioning your head to lay on her lap.

The night ended with your legs curved around Bo's slender waist as he pumped his cock into you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock stimulating your pulsing clit once he finally bottomed out. Grace kept herself busy, too. She rubbed your throbbing clit with her middle & ring finger, occasionally cradling your flushed cheeks and encouraging you to "take that cock, baby. s'so big, ain't it? I know, I know", shushing your whines and cooing at your fucked out expression. She couldn’t help but smile when you let out a surprised squeal at the feeling of her fingers tweaking and pinching your sensitive nipples.

Your relationship with the Chow's was never made public to the town, I mean, why would it be? Everyone in your close circle knew that the three of you were quite the close bunch of friends, but they didn't know the rest of it.

I can definitely see the both of them being possessive over you. They could see you talking with a friend of yours outside of the store and immediately interrogate you about it.

"She's just a good friend of mine! What's this all about?"

"Y'know damn well what this is all about. She looked like she was imaginin' what ya looked like without your clothes on."

It'd make them inexplicably upset to see you in a relationship with anyone that isn't them. They'd never allow you to do so without putting up a fight, though. It'd be foolish for you to think they'd let you go so easily. Even if you did get romantically involved with anyone else, you'd never be truly satisfied. Grace and Bo raised your standards to the damn moon and it'd be impossible for anyone to try and fill their shoes. Whenever your partner did anything wrong, you couldn't help but think "they'd never do that to me."

Helping Grace whenever she's working on a sign for a client. She doesn't hold back on sharing just how proud she is of you when you finish up a paint job.

Sharing many passion filled nights with the couple at the Juke Joint. You spend so much time sat at the bar without ordering anything just to talk to Grace. Bo pulls you in to dance with him and no one around bats an eye. What's wrong with two friends sharing a dance together? However, the way his glistening eyes gaze into yours with such intense passion behind them is anything but platonic.

It's incredibly easy for you and Grace to hide the true nature of your relationship. Nobody suspects anything even when her arm is firmly wrapped around your waist, or when her lips graze your cheek in a sweet peck. That's just how good friends celebrate one another.

They always find themselves on your front porch with gifts and they hardly ever show up empty handed. The gifts range from sundresses perfect for the southern heat, pastries they know you'll enjoy, savory treats the both of them worked on.

You're constantly heading over to their home and being convinced to stay the night by the sweet-talking couple. They don't entertain the possibility of you staying in a spare room, they want you to make yourself familiar & comfortable with their bedroom. Their spare room is honestly quite useful in having visitors believe that's where you stay, assisting in avoiding any questions about the true nature of your 'friendship'.

Bo wraps himself around your body like a koala and Grace curls herself into a fetal position in front of you, relishing in the feeling of your warm arms around her.

taglist: @officialthrad @bochowswife @thegr33nc0met @missroro @mjwhis @foreid let me know if you'd like to be added!

[iinterstellaarr]

“ugh spencer reid, i love you”

it isn’t exactly a lie, nor is it exactly the truth. spencer was an anomaly of a man, teetering between scarily smart and adorably dense that the sudden change gives you whiplash at least once a day.

it was a phrase that was somewhat casual to you now. something you’d throw to each member of the bureau like it was a casual hello or goodbye. although at some point, the bit had become less of… well just that, a bit.

it was still funny to see aaron roll his eyes and scold you for saying that for the one hundredth time, and it was still adorable to have garcia giggle and send it back your way everytime she saves your ass.

but it always seemed a bit different with spencer.

you’d said it again to him last night, although you’re not sure why considering he never says it back or even seems to acknowledge you said it at all. it was a particularly rough case for you, and he always seems to understand when you need a bit of support. you said it like it was some kind of punchline, or a thank you. maybe it was just comforting to have someone to say it too.

after a beat of silence, he coughs.

“i… uhm, love you too.”

his voice was meek and unsure if this was the right thing to say. he knew you said it often, and he knew it never really held the weight his mother always said it did, so no harm! right?

although for some reason, his uncertainty and the sort of raw embarrassment he had when he spoke made your stomach do a performance that could put simone biles to shame.

so now, here you sit at your measly desk, peering over your cup of now cold coffee trying to put together the pieces of why his answer had made the joke seem less funny.

maybe it was because he wasn’t the kind of person who said things without meaning them. he didn’t perform affection like other people. he didn’t toss out casual comfort like you did. if he told you your hair looked nice, it meant he loved you. if he brought you coffee, it meant he loved you. he never spoke the words but they were unanimously understood in his actions.

you tried to make sense of it. maybe it was because spencer didn’t love easily. not in the way the world defined it. he loved by showing up. so when he echoed your half-joke, it wasn’t funny anymore because you knew he meant it.

every syllable.

it felt like a moment you weren’t ready for but somehow had always been walking toward.

and now?

now you were stuck between pretending nothing happened and trying to understand why everything inside you felt different. like something had shifted on a molecular level. like maybe you’d been lying to yourself this whole time, calling it a joke so you wouldn’t have to admit it was real.

spencer walked past you just then, on his way to grab something from the break room. he gave you a small smile. familiar. gentle

“ need anything?” he asked.

you opened your mouth, intending to say no, but your heart betrayed you.

“yeah,” you spoke softly. “i need you to say that again sometime. like you meant it.”

he blinked.

you blinked.

silence.

“…say what again?”

and just like that, your stomach dropped.

you gave him a practiced smile, trying not to sound like you were crumbling beneath the weight of your own words.

“nothing. never mind!”

—————

he noticed you like he noticed most social ques.

quickly, but somehow always too late.

he’d had always been aware of you. never demanding attention and yet it was served to you and silver platter with a name tag engraved in gold.

you were easy to talk to. easier to trust.

so it made sense that he gravitated toward you. it was logical. predictable, even.

but then came the “i love you”

they started small. you’d toss them at him like they meant nothing. you’d always say them with a bright smile, mostly when he brought you the right files or remembered your favorite snack after a late night. at first, he thought it was just a quirk of yours. a friendly exaggeration.

but after a while, he started….

cataloging them.

it wasn’t on purpose! more like a habit he accidentally took up. he would remember every little infliction, the timing, tone, every word you spoke was like honey to his ears. it wasn’t like he was looking forward to hearing it, or like he would replay them each time in his head on slow nights when he couldn’t sleep.

so one night, he said it back.

sort of…?

“i…uhm, love you too.” he’d repeated, uncertain, testing the words in his mouth like a foreign language. you’d gone quiet just a beat too long. he could feel the silence stretching between you like a thread pulled tight.

you brushed it off. of course you did.

but something in him didn’t.

after that, he became hyperaware. he noticed how his heart sped up slightly when your name popped up on his phone. how he’d started picking up random facts or trivia just because he thought they’d make you smile and how the space beside him in the jet felt noticeably wrong when you weren’t in it.

there had to be an explanation. oxytocin. dopamine. human bonding behaviors under high stress environments. proximity induced infatuation. temporary emotional displacement.

but nothing excuses it. it shouldn’t make him want to fix his outfit in a reflective window before walking into a room because she’s in there, you should probably not look like you got dressed in the dark, spencer.

and it certainly doesn’t excuse why the thought of someone saying “i love you” to you the way he said it made his stomach twist.

the realization hit him late in the night.

he had never considered the way you said i love you that night. only the awkward stumbling of his words.

there was a gentleness. something raw in your words that made it painfully obvious to only him that it was different.

that’s why it felt different.

it was.

————

the bullpen was buzzing the way it always did on monday mornings. low voices, coffee cups clinking, the shuffle of files and footsteps and vague exhaustion.

spencer moved through it all like he usually did, head down, file in hand, a half-formed theory on the edge of his thoughts. he was halfway to his desk when he heard your laugh. not loud, not exaggerated, just natural.

he looked up before he could stop himself.

you were across the room, leaning slightly over garcias desk, telling a story with your hands like you always do. there was a small smile tugging at your lips, the kind that only came out when you weren’t thinking about it. you were wearing that sweater again. the one with sleeves you always pulled over your palms when you were focused, like you needed somewhere soft to hide your thoughts.

spencer stood still in the middle of the room.

he didn’t speak. didn’t blink. the file in his hand forgotten, the bustle of the office fading to a quiet hum beneath the sound of your voice and the way you glanced up, just for a second, like you felt his gaze.

your eyes met.

you smiled at him. soft and simple, like it cost you nothing, like how he’d imagine you smile at him waking up in the morning, two cups of coffee in hand for the both of you. and then you turned back to garcia. the moment passed.

but he was still standing there.

it felt strange, the way his chest tightened. not in a painful way. more like the air had shifted around him, and suddenly he was seeing everything too clearly.

she’s just talking to garcia.

she’s always like that. always smiling. always warm.

but no matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn’t shake the thought curling at the back of his mind

god, i think i’m in love with her.

it wasn’t a flash of lightning. it wasn’t cinematic. it was barely even a conscious thought. like it was there the entire time, just forgotten.

you weren’t doing anything extraordinary. you were just you.

and somehow, that was the part that floored him.

because now that the thought was there, now that it had a shape and a name, it refused to be unthought. every laugh, every glance, every quiet kindness you’d ever shown him suddenly reappeared in technicolor.

and he was just standing in the middle of it all like a man who had walked straight into his own feelings and hadn’t seen the sign.

[marauroon]

hiii i saw that u were asking for reqs and i loved reading ur best frenemies fic with remus, i was wondering if you would be open to writing about that dynamic more. like maybe they're in the same friend group so they're in close proximity but they can't stand one each other and maybe the reader got stood up or something and remus is there or really whatever you want. Anyways thank you for your work, i really enjoy it

── .⏾ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐫.𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧)

you didn’t even really invite him, but the fact he didn’t show up still put a damper on your mood. remus thinks it’s killing the whole room’s vibe.

remus lupin x frenemy!reader | 1.2k | h/c? | masterlist.

a/n | went back to the og og ship for this one, shout out to blackinnon

There’s something aggravating about someone who’s simultaneously the smartest in the room and also the most infuriating. Sure, maybe he’s handsome in a very I-read-sad-poetry-by-lantern-light way, but that only really makes it worse.

And, unfortunately, thanks to Marlene’s thing with Sirius (on again, off again, like the world’s most emotionally exhausting lumos charm), you are now in proximity to said infuriating boy far more often than you’d like to be.

It’s become a balancing act, really—sitting at the Three Broomsticks with your best friends on one side and the Marauders on the other, trying not to glare directly at Remus every time he says something clever. You think you’ve managed rather well. Mostly. Until now.

Because today, of all days, your maybe-date didn’t show.

You’re not even sure you’d call it a date. You’ve been talking with Michael Rossiter in Herbology for a couple of weeks, mostly about plants but sometimes—when he was feeling cheeky—about music or Quidditch or the way you looked when you were annoyed with your mandrake.

He wasn’t brilliant, but he had nice eyes and a decent laugh and said, when you told him you were going to Hogsmeade with your friends, “Maybe I’ll see you there then.”

You'd smiled. Told yourself not to get too giddy. And yet, here you are. Giddy, then deflated.

The booth you’re all crammed into is loud—Marlene is practically on Sirius’s lap, Mary and Dorcas are exchanging knowing looks, and James is loudly arguing with Peter over the latest Wimbourne Wasps game. And Remus—Remus is directly opposite you, because of course he is, because of course Sirius just had to say, “Oi, Moony, let the ladies have the bench side, be a gentleman,” and Remus just smirked and obliged, sliding in across you like he belonged there.

You’ve been waiting. Watching the door. Laughing too loudly at Mary’s jokes. Pretending to sip butterbeer just to keep your hands busy. And when Michael doesn’t show—when it becomes obvious he’s not going to—you shrink a bit. Quiet. Withdrawn.

And Remus notices.

Of course he does.

"You know, for someone who supposedly convinced a boy to change his Hogsmeade plans just for her,” he drawls, not even looking up from his drink, “you’re doing a marvellous impression of someone who’s just been stood up.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even look at him. You just keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching the steam fog up the panes.

Remus pauses.

Usually, this is the part where you snap something back—about his sad little jumpers or the way he chews the ends of quills like a stressed-out academic or how he’s basically a walking dissertation on how not to relax. But you don’t. You sit still, hands clenched in your lap.

The silence between you grows taut.

Remus frowns. He nudges you with his foot under the table—annoying. Like a brother, if your brother was your intellectual rival and also kind of handsome in a way you wish you didn’t notice.

“Oi,” he says, quieter now. “What’s wrong?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, still not looking at him. “You wouldn’t get it. And I don’t want you to.”

That gives him pause. He turns toward you fully now, leaning on one elbow. “Alright, that’s a bit harsh.”

You shrug.

Then he sighs, long-suffering and dramatic. “Who was it? The boy. No, don’t tell me— Rossiter?”

You glance at him, surprised. “How did you—?”

“Everyone saw you flirting over flobberworms in class last week,” he says, deadpan. “He told Sirius he was thinking about asking you out. Got all red-faced about it, too. It was tragic.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “Merlin.”

“He’s a right sod, you know.”

You lift your head just enough to glare. “That your professional opinion?”

Remus shrugs, grinning slightly. “My personal one. But it’s backed by a great deal of observational research.”

You huff. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know him better than you do,” Remus says, slumping back into the booth. “Do you know his mum still buys his underwear?”

You blink.

“I’m serious. Thomas the Tank Engine ones. We saw them last year when someone hit him with a jelly-legs jinx and his trousers fell down on the Quidditch pitch. Looked ridiculous.”

You can’t help it—you snort. It’s brief, but it’s real.

Remus perks up like a cat that’s just caught movement under a curtain. “And I once caught him picking his nose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re making this up.”

“I wish,” he says, grimacing. “We were in the library and he was just mining. Like he thought no one could see him. It was vile.”

You giggle. You actually giggle.

Remus looks triumphant. “And they say I’m the wild animal.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re awful.”

“Only to those who deserve it.” He pauses, then adds, more gently, “You really thought he was coming?”

You nod, shoulders drooping. “I mean… he said maybe. He was sort of flirty about it. I thought—” You cut yourself off. “Doesn’t matter.”

Remus doesn’t say anything at first. He leans his head back against the booth, watching you. “I hate that you’re sad,” he says eventually. “You’re annoying when you’re sad. It’s harder to make fun of you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s still there. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm again. “Still sucks, though.”

The warmth in your chest surprises you. You look at him again, properly this time, and there’s a softness in his eyes that doesn’t match the usual sardonic glint.

It’s disarming.

You blink, glance away. “Thanks, I guess.”

He grins. “Don’t get all emotional on me. I might have to start being nice to you regularly and that’s not good for my image.”

“Oh, the tragedy,” you say dryly.

“Unimaginable.”

Sirius leans over suddenly, draping an arm across Remus’s shoulders and nearly spilling his drink. “Oi, Moony, you pulling or pining?”

Remus doesn’t even flinch. “Trying to comfort someone after being disappointed by the tragic shallowness of her romantic prospects, actually. Something you’d know nothing about.”

Sirius pouts. “Rude.”

Marlene snorts. “Let her be. She got stood up, she’s rightfully upset,”

Sirius frowns. “Who stands you up?”

You wave him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Remus answers anyway. “Michael Rossiter.”

Sirius sits back like he’s been slapped. “Rossiter? No. That absolute knob?”

“You see?” Remus says, gesturing. “It’s not just me.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius mutters. “Should’ve hexed him when I had the chance.”

“You did hex him,” Remus points out.

“Not enough, apparently.”

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN? | DRABBLE

→ PAIRING: brother in law!jungkook x widowed fem!reader

→ WARNINGS: oc being a damsel in distress, emphasis on distress, mentions of insomnia, handyman!jk because he got us all feelings things, oc driving him insane (quite literally), whipped jk, flirty jk, unholy thoughts (can you blame her?), suggestive, kissing, fluff, domestic moments

→ W.C: 5.5k (whoops)

→ A/N: request from a cutieful ask that I accidentally deleted 😭😭🤦‍♀️ I'm so sorry anon I really hope you see this!! This was the ask for more context or if anyone's curious (I really hope I did it justice): "since you said you accept requests for drabbles etc.-or did you or am i making this up lol- i’d like to request a little thing. since i want y/n to understand how jungkook fits her life so easily, i imagined a little scenario in my head where something in her house gets broken and she can’t fix it by herself and gets it even messier and everything, and jungkook comes in and being a perfect handyman. Like literal husband material. Would fit in her house so well omg don’t judge me please you know what i mean right? Maybe she’ll get struck by a lightning and finally understand how jungkook is perfect for her and stops treating him with only little’s “i don’t hate you”😭😭😭 like helloo that is the most husband thing ever don’t live apart live together!!! plus handyman jk got me feeling things in my head ngl lol don’t judge me I’M SORRY HAVE A NICE DAY!💌"

Fridays didn’t feel like Fridays anymore.

There was a time when they smelled like oven-warm pizza and the kind of laughter that made your cheeks hurt.

They arrive tranquilly now, slipping in like a breeze through the kitchen window, brushing past your ankles before vanishing again.They were tired, you presume. Dragging their feet behind a week’s worth of lectures and papers, staff meetings and half-hearted nods in break rooms with bad coffee.

Tonight is no different. You return home just shy of the rise of moon, the university car park already thinning out as you sling your bag over your shoulder, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of your limbs. Your bag slumped onto the floor, missing its usual hook, but you didn’t bother correcting it. You barely managed to toe off your shoes when you enter inside, your mind already curled up beneath the comfort of your duvet, not asleep, but still.

The warmth here is a familiar fondle. The scent of coffee beans lingering from the blurry kind of rushed morning, a sweater thrown carelessly over the arm of the couch, your favorite mug turned upside down on the drying rack. You nudge your shoss beneath the bench for some dignity, and hang your lanyard on the little ceramic hook shaped like a leaf--a flea market find you told yourself you didn’t need, but bought anyway.

You tell yourself you’ll spend the night in. Maybe watch reruns of that one reality show where couples decorate homes under a tight budget, even though the drama feels scripted and the contestants are always suspiciously good-looking. You’re too tired for anything else. And sleep isn't exactly your best friend. Hasn't been for years and the slender orange bottles in the bathroom shelf only help so much.

But you'll try to make peace with it. You'll pour yourself some tea. You'll pretend to rest.

You shrugged off your coat and padded into the kitchen, your socks catching on the cool tiles. Your mother had sent a whole box of chamomile tea and though you had deemed the purchase dramatic and unnecessary, it had become a part of your routine, even had helped. Maybe not with the sleep exactly, but with the ritual. The motion of it. Perhaps there was something about the way the steam curled from the mug, about the soft floral taste blooming on your tongue.

You flicked the kettle on with one hand, digging through the tea box with the other, thumb brushing over foil packets and paper tags. You were just reaching for the mug—the one with a tiny chip on the handle, the one you never threw out because it had once been Minho’s favorite—when it happened. A sputtering hiss, like the dying breath of an appliance on its last leg. You freeze.

You pad toward the sound with the kind of dread that only adult independence teaches you. The overhead light flickers as you walk in—rude. You flick it again, squinting into the sudden brightness, only to be met with the absolute betrayal of your faucet spurting water like it’s trying to reenact a geyser, sounding alarmingly like a cough—if sinks could cough.

You turned, slowly. The faucet gave one last shake like it was shivering, then spat out a violent stream of water that shot sideways—directly across the counter and onto the floor.

“Oh, come on—!”

It happened fast. One second you were watching, horrified, and the next, you were slipping on the tile, a yelp caught in your throat as you stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding a face-first dive into the cabinet doors. Water sprayed in chaotic, unholy arcs, and all you could do was scramble for the towel drawer and grab anything vaguely absorbent to try and... do what? Patch it? Mop the mess?

The kettle beeped softly behind you, as if offended that you weren’t paying attention.

You drop to your knees, arms full of misguided hope and whatever towel you had on hand. You tug open the cabinet beneath the sink, only to be greeted with a far more dramatic leak than you were prepared for. It's not just dripping—it’s running, and you don’t need to be a plumber to know that water should not be forming a shallow puddle across your kitchen tiles.

Still, you try.

From what you learned from that one experience ages ago. Atleast it felt like it. The last time this had happened, Minho had still been here. Not that he was a great help. He had crouched down next to you, equally clueless, wearing an old college hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and a flashlight clamped between his teeth. The entire operation had failed in spectacular fashion—he had twisted the wrong knob, somehow made it worse. You remember him saying, “This is why plumbers make so much, sweetheart,” shaking his dripping bangs out of his eyes like a soaked retriever and you both ended laughing so hard you forgot to be mad.

You wedge the towel beneath the pipe, curse softly when it does absolutely nothing, and press your palm against the cabinet in frustration. It doesn’t help. “No, no, no,” In fact, the towel slips, sending a fresh arc of water across your shirt, soaking you down to the skin.

“Cool. Great."

The kitchen light above you flickers again. The universe, it seems, has a flair for theatrics.

And somewhere deep down, as water laps against the hem of your slacks and frustration coils behind your teeth, you think that maybe you should call your father but even if he dropped everything, it would take him hours. And any plumber worth their salt wasn’t showing up past eleven on a Friday night.They’d quote you something ridiculous and half of them wouldn’t even show.

You sat back on your heels and stared at the faucet as if it had personally offended you.

“I just wanted tea,” you said to it, as if it cared.

The towel slipped again. A fresh wave of water hit your calf.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

When you opened them, you stood, sedate and careful, the weight of water squelching in your socks. The kettle had long since finished boiling, and the kitchen now smelled faintly of wet cloth and chamomile. It hit you then. Sharp, stupid, and far too late.

You were going to have to deal with this yourself.

You looked around the mess—water creeping toward the rug, the under-sink cabinet now a tiny swamp—and, you felt like stomping on the floor.

But you didn’t. Descions. Descions.

Instead, you walked toward the living room, your wet socks squelching softly on the floor like some small betrayal with every step. To your phone.The living room lamp glowed with its usual mellow burke, casting a familiar amber tepidity against the old armchair and the book you never finished last week.

You considered, briefly, knocking on a neighbor’s door. There was that older couple two houses down, always kind, always offering extra tangerines from their tree. But it was too late. Every window was dark. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where people stayed up. It was made of quiet porches, retired teachers, and families who went to bed after the ten o’clock news. You didn’t know many of them by name.

Besides, no one young lived here who had a wrench or a better idea or just... two working hands and a sense of plumbing.. Not anymore.

Your thumb hovered over your contact list. You scrolled aimlessly at first, names passing in a blur—colleagues, an ex-classmate from grad school, your old roommate who now lived somewhere with palm trees and said things like “detox weekends."

You paused when the screen stilled on him.

Jungkook.

The last message between you was just hours ago. You tapped it open, heartbeat hitching like it always did when you saw his name.

Jungkook [10:03 PM]:

"I can come pick you up."

You had replied right before you clocked out. The university halls had been emptying, and his voice had played in your head, low and patient in a way he rarely was with anyone else. But you had remembered his mother’s voice too—her mentioning something about an urgent meeting, his father stressed, something about a time-sensitive deal.

So you had told him no.

You [10:04 PM]:

"I heard mom talking about some big deal tonight. Focus on that. I’ll be fine, I promise."

Jungkook [10:05 PM]:

"I want to focus on you, angel."

You’d stared at that one a little longer. Your reply had come thorough.

You [10:06 PM]:

"I’ll be okay. Just heading out now. I’ll text you when I reach."

Jungkook [10:06 PM]:

"Send me your location anyway, yeah?"

And you had. You remember the map loading. The little pin that showed you halfway between the library steps and the bus stop, your tired feet dragging. You had gotten home. You meant to message him.

You just… hadn’t.

And now you thumbed over his contact again, chewing the inside of your cheek.

Would it be selfish? What if he hadn’t wrapped up work yet? What if that deal was still unfolding across tense boardrooms and cigar-stale air, with his father pacing like a panther? You didn’t want to pull him away from it just because you couldn’t tame a faucet. You should figure this out alone. You could figure this out alone.

Your phone buzzed before you made a decision.

A message. From him.

Jungkook [11:40 PM]:

"Tell me you've reached home, angel."

Your stomach twisted. Guilt blooming like mold in the back of your throat. You opened the message and typed quickly.

You [11:41PM]:

"Yes! Sorry. I got in and just crashed a little. Long day. I forgot to text."

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Jungkook [11:43 PM]:

"Live location. Again."

Your fingers hesitated. You frowned. That was odd. He sounded off. Sharper than usual. Not even the quietly protective version of him that surfaced on late walks or busy subway platforms. This was tight. Worried. Paranoid? You don’t wanna argue with that.

You tapped the map again, sent your updated location.

Your phone lit up again the second after, not even giving you the chance to type out and ask if he's good with his hands? (He is.)

Jungkook [11:43 PM]:

"I'm coming over."

You stared at the message. Read it twice. It was… certain. No question mark. No soft preface like he usually gave. Not like, “Should we stop by that bookstore again?” or “Feel like something sweet tonight?” No, nothing of that sort. He sounded definite.

You [11:45 PM]:

"Wait, now? Why? Is everything okay?"

Jungkook [11:46 PM]:

"It will be after I see you."

You sat back against the armrest, stunned silent for a second. And then, unexpectedly, your chest loosened. Not all the way. Not enough to erase the mess in your kitchen or dry your clothes or make you feel less like a walking soggy dishrag. But enough to let the weight shift, to let something else settle in.

You didn’t have to ask.

He was just coming.

You didn’t even get the chance to ask.

There was something wild and lovely in that. And you had no reason to say no.

If anything, your knees were starting to ache and the towels weren’t doing much and if one more cabinet decided to leak, you might genuinely lose it.

You padded back into the kitchen with an exasperated sigh, hair tied up in a lopsided bun, wet socks thrown in the laundry basket and sleeves shoved past your elbows. The faucet was still dripping—not a full-on spray anymore, but enough that you had to keep a rag pressed under it while kneeling on a folded towel, praying the water wouldn't reach the hallway. The bucket you’d shoved under the sink was nearly full now.

“Come on,” you muttered, gripping the wrench tighter. “Just cooperate for once, you stupid little—” The knock came—two sharp raps, low and firm. The kind that didn’t ask for permission, just announced itself.

You startled, bumping your shoulder into the edge of the cabinet with a muffled curse. You stood up too fast, nearly slipping on the wet tile again as you shuffled your way toward the door, leaving a trail of soggy towel behind you like the saddest version of Hansel and Gretel.

When you opened the door, the hallway light spilled over the man in front of you—and for a moment, all you could do was stare.

Jungkook looked… wrong. Not bad. Just undone.

His hair was mussed, not in that calculated, magazine-cover way but like he'd dragged a hand through it too many times. His under shirt that complimented his navy blue suit jacket real nice was half-buttoned, slightly crooked, and the faint glint of moisture on his collarbone made you think he might’ve walked part of the way in the rain without noticing. Or maybe he’d driven with the windows down. You didn’t know.

But it was his face that startled you most.

There were creases that hadn’t been there earlier. Between his brows, along the line of his jaw—like worry had clawed through the muscle. His lips were pressed into a firm line, but his eyes—God, his eyes—landed on you like an earthquake landing on calm soil.

You opened your mouth to speak, maybe to ask what was wrong, but he beat you to it.

“Jesus, y/n.” He crossed the space in two strides and hauled you into him.His arms came around you, sudden and firm and full.

He pulled you to his chest like he needed to feel you breathe. You didn’t move. Couldn’t, really. Your cheek bumped against his chest and a sound of confusion spilled out of you, the worn material of his shirt warm under your skin, and his breath stuttered above you. You wondered if he hadn’t been breathing right. You wondered why.

Your forehead barely brushed his collarbone. He smelled like wind and smoke and his usual cologne, but the sharp edge of it was dulled by warmth. You didn’t even know what to say at first. Your hands fumbled before curling into the fabric of his coat. Your heart beat a little faster. “Jungkook…are you okay?” you managed, a little breathless, a little confused.

He didn’t answer immediately.

You felt it more than heard it—His chest rose again. Slowly this time. Not panicked. Just… relief. You felt the faint tremor of it, the way he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for too long. His hand at your back tightened, his other curled lightly around your shoulder, fingers flexing once, like he was still checking you were really there.

"You gave me a fucking scare." He rasped against your temple, low and rough like tension left him one muscle group at a time.

Your brows pulled together, breath catching. "What?"

"Your location glitched." His hand curved around the back of your head, his voice dropping to your ear. “Said you were halfway to some fucking bridge, then blinked out. You didn’t text, you didn’t call—” He closed his eyes for a second.

You blinked, contrition and some sort of realization crashing into your chest like a tidal wave.

His grip tightened as if remembering it. "I think I broke half the traffic laws in this city trying to get to you." he muttered, jaw clenching as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Red lights. Lanes. Might’ve clipped a side mirror. I don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Oh my god,” Your voice went small. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I thought I sent it properly. I didn’t mean—”

He looked down at you then, brows still furrowed, frustration still etched into his face, but it was laced with something softer. Quiet worry. A tension he couldn’t seem to shake off even now, not when you were in his arms and clearly fine.

“I thought something happened to you,” he said, quieter now.

You couldn’t hold his gaze for too long. The penance burned too hot. You ducked your head, pressing your face into his shoulder, cheeks going warm. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“You should be.” he muttered, but one of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head. It took you a second too long to realize your fingers were still curled in his coat in an embarrassing grip.

Inevitably, you did pull back—just enough to catch your breath, to speak properly.

But his eyes didn’t leave you. They tracked you, unwavering.

And then they dropped.

His brows furrowed again, more subtly this time, like he was recalibrating. His eyes skimmed your form with a confusion you couldn’t quite place, until he paused halfway down, raising a lone brow.

You followed his line of sight and—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Your dress shirt had soaked through somewhere along the way. You’d been too distracted, too frantic, to notice that the thin cotton now bore a dozen little damp spots where stray faucet spray had kissed your chest and abdomen. The fabric clung in places it shouldn't, half translucent under the low light, revealing the outline of the camisole underneath, and your cheeks went hot in record time.

Your eyes widened. You stepped back fast. “Shit—oh, god, the kitchen—” you breathed, half to yourself.You turned abruptly, feet splashing against the wet tile again, panic reigniting as the sound of dripping water resumed its dominance in your ears.

Jungkook followed. Of course he did. His long strides eating up the hallway carpet before he stopped at the kitchen threshold.

You, for lack of a better word, flung yourself inside and the sight that greeted you was even worse than before. The bucket was near overflowing. Towels had started slipping from their makeshift barricade. Water gleamed beneath the fridge now, threatening to reach the living room carpet. You cursed again, louder this time, and bent to wrestle the mop back into place even though it had already given up.

There was a beat of silence behind you.

Then Jungkook’s voice, dry and unimpressed: “What the hell happened in here?”

You turned your head, heat rushing to your face, your soggy sleeves dragging like guilty flags. "I didn’t mean for it to get this bad. The faucet handle cracked while I was making tea, and then it wouldn’t stop leaking. I tried to turn it off underneath, but I think the valve’s jammed or something, and then I slipped, and the towels weren’t enough, and—”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face now. Exasperation flashing over his features—but not directed at you, not exactly. More at the mess itself, at the helplessness it had clearly stirred in you.. "Baby."

"I know I didn't do great." You wipe your hands on your thighs uselessly.

He didn’t answer right away. Then—with that bone-deep steadiness you had come to expect from him—Jungkook moved. Sliding off his suit jacket with one smooth pull, the fabric whispering against itself as he tossed it over the back of a dining chair, careless in a way he never was in public.. His undershirt clung to his shoulders in a way that made your stomach tilt.

Then he undid his watch with practiced fingers, slipping the leather strap open before placing it gently on your counter, far from the puddles.Quiet. Like he had done this a thousand times. Like fixing your mess was just the next item on his list. The silver caught the light, but your eyes didn’t linger there long. They trailed upward. To his arms.

The moment he reached for the knot of his tie, you forgot how to breathe properly. He reached up, his fingers working the knot loose with one practiced twist, tugging the fabric from his collar slowly. His throat flexed as he did, and you felt something shift in your stomach. The black silk slipped from his collar like a sigh, and your eyes followed it. His sleeves rolled up.

That’s when the stuck breath made a movement. Stuttered in your throat.

Ink emerged from beneath the fabric-those familiar lines, curves, the dark threads of his tattoos curling up his forearms like they had grown there, like they belonged. They caught the light and your memory all at once. Your mouth went a little dry.

His voice low, almost careless, as he crouched beside the sink. “Where’s the valve?”

You blinked. “Um. Under—under the cabinet.”

The same hands that had once made a mess of you in entirely different ways, in stolen moments, now curled around a rusty wrench.

"You need to do nothing." He gave you a brief look over his shoulder. “I’ve got it.” I've got you.

You stared. Blankly. Still half-dripping, still overwhelmed. "Do you… actually know how to fix that?”

A small, sardonic huff left him, like he found your surprise kind of insulting. He looked at the wrench—smaller than his palm, honestly—and turned it in his hand before answering.

“One of our safehouses in Daegu had pipes older than me,” he said, voice low, casual. “No plumber, no hot water. I figured it out. Got pretty good at it too. Don’t act so surprised.”

"I'm not. I know you've been good with your hands." You're not being cheeky when you say this, and are definitely not filing away the movement of his hand as he runs a practiced palm along the copper pipe.

Jungkook glanced up then. His eyes looking at you again—his gaze heavier this time, traveling down your soaked sleeves to the water-darkened hem of your shirt that clinged stubbornly to the side of you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sound like you’re remembering something, angel."

You turned quickly, heat crawling up your neck, your voice tumbling out too fast. “I’ll go change.”

Jungkook chuckled behind you. Low, deep, satisfied. Your silhouette vanishing behind a bedroom door with the softest click. He didn’t realize he was still listening for your footsteps until the silence settled in, heavy and warm and whole.

It was the first time in a long while that he’d been in your home like this. Not standing stiffly by the entryway waiting so he could steal you away.Not brushing fingertips against yours in a room half-full of people who didn’t know better. But here.

He let his eyes wander.

The place smelled like you. Something sweet, something quiet. A little bit like cinnamon and tea leaves and the faintest trace of your shampoo, clinging to the walls like memory.

His gaze drifted as he adjusted the position of the pipe, letting it drain into the bucket beneath. He didn’t rush. He didn’t want to. The metal pipe groaned as he tested the pressure, the familiar resistance grounding him. It was easy, this—manual labor. Straightforward. You tighten what’s loose. Replace what’s worn out. Drain what’s overflowing.

If only the rest of life were that obedient.

The photo frames caught his eye next.

They were perched on the shelf beside the kitchen door, slightly crooked from where you’d bumped them a hundred times, probably too tired to fix them. His knees ached slightly as he shifted for a better look.

The first was a wedding photo. Your wedding photo with his brother kissing your cheek. You were by his side, the most beautiful, your eyes squeezed shut, mid-laugh, a smear of cake icing on your chin.

Somehow, instead of jealousy, instead of resentment or guilt or the thousand other things he’d prepared himself to feel, what rose in him now was something fonder.

Before he could read more of the notes sticked to the fridge, you walked in, in softer clothes—an old cotton shirt that had seen too many laundry days and a pair of worn drawstring sweats that swallowed your ankles. Your hair was still damp at the ends from where the faucet had christened you earlier, but your skin was warm, your breath easier.

Your hands rubbed at your arms as if still chasing the chill away, but your eyes found him instantly. Crouched in front of the sink, sleeves rolled up, inked arms flexed in motion as he twisted the wrench one last time.

You watched the slow ripple of muscles beneath his skin, the way his jaw ticked in concentration, how his thumb brushed the valve like it mattered—like the faucet had personally wronged you and he was going to make it pay for its sins. There was something magnetic about the way he worked—focused, assured, steady like he belonged exactly here, doing exactly this.

“Is it… better?” you asked, voice soft, tentative, almost afraid to interrupt.

He didn’t turn, but you saw his shoulders relax at the sound of you. “Better than it was,” he murmured, tightening the last screw with a grunt. “Still leaking a little. I’m gonna seal the joint. Won’t be pretty, but it’ll hold.”

You nodded. And then you stepped forward without thinking.

“I can hold the light,” you offered. “Or the bucket?”

He blinked once. “You know I've got—”

Your shirt pooled at your wrists when you pushed up the sleeves. "I know."

He glanced up then, eyes catching on your legs first—his eyes always had a way of pausing before they moved—and then up to your face. A slow blink. A flicker of something unreadable behind his gaze. But it softened when you sank to your knees beside him, close enough for your thighs to brush.

He passed you the flashlight without a word, and you angled it as best you could while he unscrewed the makeshift clamp he’d used. Your shoulders brushed. His hand bumped your knee. You didn’t move.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his gaze shift again—upward, this time. Toward the shelf by the kitchen door.

He was looking at the oldest photo. The one most guests skimmed over. Minho in the middle with his mouth wide open in laughter, arms slung around Jungkook and her both, pulling them close like they were parts of himself. Jungkook’s hair had been longer then, messier.

That photo had never made sense to others. Why he was in it. Why the three of you looked so stitched together. But you’d always known. Jungkook had been there. Not just in the periphery of your memories, but rooted in them. Always just close enough to feel like something vital.

He turned his head then, catching your gaze, that made the tips of his ears turn pink and averted his eyes back to the situation in his hands so quick, you assumed it was to hide the color before it got any more prominent. You suppressed a giggle. Cute.

You looked back at the photo, softer now. “That was the summer he dared us to eat all the ice cream in one sitting.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched. “You threw up. On my shoes.”

You grinned, head tipping back just a little. “That does sound like me.”

“Got it,” he said suddenly, wrench twisting one final time, the valve clicking into place. The pipe stilled. No more dripping.

Relieved and stupidly proud, you said. "You actually did it."

“I said I would." He confirmed.

"Just had to find the right valve. It’s mostly just pressure build-up now.”

You didn’t really understand what that meant, but you nodded anyway, watching his hands as they moved, shoulders finally sagging with something like satisfaction as he leaned back against the cabinet door and sank onto the kitchen floor fully, legs stretching out across the wet tile without care. His hands—damp, calloused, smudged faintly with sealant—fell to his thighs, fingers flexing once, then going still.

He looked… tired. In that content, bone-deep sort of way that follows after fixing something with your own hands. There was a smear of dust on his cheek, his shirt clinging to his frame in places from residual dampness. But his jaw was loose now, his brow no longer furrowed, and the sharp concern in his eyes had faded into something tamer.

You watched him for a beat longer than necessary. "I could make you coffee." You offered, gently.

His head turned slowly to look at you, blinking like he hadn’t heard right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, already rising to your feet and brushing off the knees of your pants. Pretending it's not a excuse to have him longer.

for a second, he just processed, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him. And then his lips curved into a lopsided smile. “Okay. Yeah, I’d like that.” Pretending he's agreeing not because that he'd get to stay around you more.

You moved through the space like you’d done a thousand times before—reaching for the coffee tin from the cabinet, setting the kettle to boil again (this time with crossed fingers), and pulling two mismatched mugs from the drying rack.

You poured the dark roast into one mug and the steeped chamomile into your own, then carried both back toward the floor where he still sat, one knee bent, arm slung casually over it, eyes trailing the edge of your bookshelf like he was trying to memorize every title. He looked so at home, it hurt a little.

You sank down beside him, passing him the coffee, fingers brushing, fleeting but lingering just long enough. He murmured a quiet "thanks, baby" and took a sip, eyes falling shut for half a second.

Your though dipped to his wrist.

The thread. Still there.Faded, frayed, stretched just a little thinner than it once was; all crooked knots and uneven loops, a charm shaped like a crooked star dangling lopsided from the string.That same dumb knot you tied when you were kids, tangled so tight neither of you could undo it without scissors.

Your nose scrunched. “It’s going to fall off if you keep pretending it’s not ugly.”

Jungkook glanced down like he didn’t even know it was there. Like it had become part of him. He flexed his wrist, the fabric barely clinging to the bend. Then he said, almost immediately. "It's not ugly."

You gave him a look. Is it?

Jungkook took a slow sip of his coffee. “A little angel once told me to never take it off.”

You rolled your eyes. “That angel was, like, ten.”

He leaned back against the cabinet again, looking at you sidelong. “She knew what she was talking about.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just looked—really looked—and saw every year layered across his face. The boy, the teenager, the man. The moments between. And how maybe you weren’t so different from him.

His eyes slid toward you again, a subtle flick of attention like the tug of a thread. “What’re you drinking?” he asked, nose twitching, playful.

You blinked. “Hmm?”

He nodded at your mug, brows pinched slightly in thought. “That’s not coffee. I smelled it when you handed it over. Doesn't seem like mint, either."

You raised a brow. “What, are you some kind of tea sommelier now?”

"Just curious, angel. Smells like flowers."

You opened your mouth to respond. You really did. The words were halfway to your tongue—about how it was a new chamomile blend, how your mother sent it to you from some little organic store that also sold hand-knitted socks and lavender bath salts—but before you could speak, Jungkook leaned in.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even planned, you were sure. His hand didn’t even touch you. He didn’t brace your face or cradle your jaw like he had in other moments-those aching, desperate ones.

Your breath caught-stolen in the way it always had been with him. His mouth brushed yours-warm, careful, lips parted just enough. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your hand hovered somewhere between your mug and your lap, suspended like your pulse.

His mouth was doing all the grab and push.

He coaxed yours open, suckled at your bottom lip like he was trying to draw the flavor from it. Tenderly sucking at your bottom lip before he bit it, just barely, like he couldn’t help himself.

A sound escaped you, half-breath, half-surprise.

He pulled back just a fraction. And when your eyes fluttered open, he was already looking at you with that maddening calmness of his, like he hadn’t just unmade you with his mouth.

“Chamomile,” he said, deadpan.

"W-What?"

He didn’t look even the slightest bit ashamed while licking the taste from his lips. "With a little honey. Suits you."

You scramed for coherence. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you’re flushed.” He smiled into his mug. "So pretty when you're flushed, angel."

You scoffed into your own mug, taking a long sip of tea you no longer needed to explain.

Fridays are forever changed. Perhaps, they are now for laconically returns and falling over people who never stop feeling like native land.

[starryylies]

I don’t know how to explain it but I would love to see your take on a shy reader asking Simon to roleplay something with her💘💘💘 Maybe him not being so sure of the idea, kind of laughing at it at first but then enjoying it more than he thought he would:)

Also I love your blog and adore your writing style so much!!! xx

Simon and shy reader who wants to try roleplay

OHMGEEE THANK YOU SOOO MUCH!! Im so glad you think i can pull it off. Thank uuu 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷. Also im so sorry this ask is being answered so late, i just saw that it was in my drafts 😭😭

He wasn’t really a roleplay guy, never felt the need to be someone else, never wanted you to change anythin’ bout yourself.

He didn’t think you were into it either. I mean look at you

You’re his sweet little baby, always wearing frilly pink tops and your signature white stockings, who would’ve pegged you to be someone who’s into that stuff.

But you were, oh god you were in way too deep. You needed it, you craved it.

Some part of you always knew you had a thing for men in uniforms. You never knew how bad it was though, not until now.

Ever since you saw Simon in his military gear, all you can think of is him taking you, his new recruit training you to become the big bad lieutenant’s perfect soldier.

You didn’t know how to bring it up in a normal conversation so you did what you thought was best.

You wore his extra oversized military uniform and dog tags and sprawled your body across the bed trying your hardest to look seductive as you waited for him to come home from work.

As you heard the door open you started to second guess if doing this was a good idea but it was too late, Simon’s heavy footsteps reached the master bedroom and there he was standing infront of you.

Sweat dripping off his neck while he was wearing his full military gear, without the mask though. As always.

“Welcome home sir” you chirped out

“What ya doin’ wearin that love” he grumbled out, taking a Quick look at your lacy bra that was peeking out from his uniform before heading towards the bathroom.

“Um I just wanted to try it out ya know?” You said meekly, a deep blush covering your face as you tried hiding yourself.

“Try what love?” He looked at you while he dried his face with a towel,

Your eyes went on the droplets of water dripping down his tactical vest, your train of thought was interrupted by his big hands now reaching your face. Cupping your cheeks as his deep voice rumbled through his chest

“use your words baby”

“Oh I just you know, wanted to like try out like um roleplay?” You said it, you finally said it!

In hopes of an answer you looked up at him, to your dismay you saw him holding back a smile. Not the normal one he gives you, this felt like he was laughing at you.

Suddenly realising that you made a fool of yourself you quickly got off the bed. Only to be trapped by his big arms.

“Where ya runnin’ off to lil bunny”

“Fuck you, yer making fun of me” you cried out. His big arms now encasing you in a hug.

“M’ sorry baby, js’ didn’t expect ya to be into military stuff ya know? it’s not exactly rainbows and sunshine like you princess”

He cupped your face, wiping away the tears carefully, “stop cryin’ lovie, remember soldiers don’t cry on the field yea?”

With that your ears perk up, your eyes meeting his which are now sparkling with a hint of mischief. His hands gripping your ass as he leads you to the bed.

Removing his vest, keeping the rest on for you.

His kisses are deep and desperate, messy with the tongue and all.

His hands find a way to your clit, rubbing right circles on it as he unzips his pants, freeing his angry cock.

“See what ya did soldier? Gotta punish you fo’ that now shouldn’t I?” He groans into your mouth. His cock finding your entrance as he fucks you in a violent pace.

“Hm yer taking me so well soldier, wan’ me to go faster? Wan’ me to finish inside your lil cunt as a punishment?” he slurs out,

“Ye yes lieutenant yes please yes” you moan out, the obscene sounds of skin slapping and deep groans filling your ears and fueling your arousal as you find yourself nearing to your high.

“Lieutenant, sir please lemme cum please sir I beg you”

“Yer gonna cum so easily eh soldier? Guess ya need some endurance training”

he finds himself rutting into you like a wild animal, his hands bruising your waist as he mouth bites onto his dog tags, the metallic taste and smell of sex filling up his senses.

“Fuck soldier m gonna cum” he hisses out as he fastens his pace, rutting inside of you one last time, a loud slap noise echoing in the room as he empties his load inside you.

The after haze making both of your minds blurry as you cling onto one another like koalas.

“Guess we both need some endurance training don’t we love?”

[coralquill]

Wax, Woes, &—Whoops

synopsis: you had an idea, and you wanted to share it with Rafayel. simple and straightforward—what else could happen?

pairings: rafayel x reader

contents: fluff, comedy, suggestive (a bit), innuendo || wc. 381

You walked into Rafayel's studio, having a very fun and enjoyable activity idea for the both of you that you wanted to share with him. As you searched for him in the rooms and corridors, you heard faint hums coming from his room. Bingo! There you go.

Knocking on the door, you announced your presence and went inside. Rafayel was lounging against the headboard of his bed, sketching on his sketchpad while humming soft tunes. You smiled, crossing the room to reach where he sat.

"Hey, Rafayel, can we—fuck!"

Once the last syllable of your sentence was uttered, Rafayel was yanked out of whatever had him focused on humming and sketching. His eyes widened at what he heard you say, and he looked up just in time to see you falling onto his lap face first.

"Oh, of course we can!" He replied a bit too enthusiastically as he looked down at where your head was resting and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Ow..." came out your muffled reaction a bit too late as you lifted yourself up with a pout and brought your foot up to rub at your toe.

"Ow?" Rafayel echoed.

"Yeah, ow," you muttered, "I stubbed my toe and tripped." You pouted at the pain before continuing, "as I was saying, can we paint candles today? I thought it would look pretty to have themed candles on the tables and the bookshelves..."

Your voice started to become one with the background sounds as Rafayel flushed deep red from the misunderstanding that had just happened, and he was too eager to agree to it at that. How desperate can he be!

"Hey, Rafayel, are you listening?" You looked into his flushed, blushy face, raising an eyebrow.

"I—yes, let's go!" He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room, and to the art studio he guided you.

"Why are you so red?" You asked as you got dragged.

He gave you a quick glance over his shoulder, mulling over if he should tell you about the error of the earlier scenario. And knowing you, you'd poke fun at him for the rest of the day from knowing how eager he was to have you. "It's just—it's too hot today."

"Is that why your shirt is unbuttoned?"

"...Yeah."

likes and reblogs will always be appreciated ♡ let me know what you think!

— until next tide, thanks for docking by ｡𖦹°‧𓇼

© coralquill 2025 – do not copy, steal, or translate my work.

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑇𝑜 𝐵𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠

Pairing- Uchinaga Aeri (Giselle) x fem reader

Genre- Angst, (some fluff)

Word count- 4137

A/N: This fic is based off the song ‘Back to Friends’ by sombr

“We’re back to being friends but it’s never just that”

The lights in the practice room buzzed overhead, fluorescent and far too bright for how dim everything felt inside you.

Aeri sat across from you, laughing—too loudly, too easily—at something Ningning said. Her voice, warm and familiar, laced with that same lilt that used to curl around your name in the dark. Now it wrapped around everyone but you.

You laughed, too. Because that’s what friends do.

It had been three months since the night she ended it. Not with anger, not even with tears. Just quiet, tired resignation.

“I can’t keep doing this… not when it could ruin everything.”

Everything. Her career. Her image. SM’s precious doll couldn’t be tangled up in something so messy. So real.

So you let her go.

Well—no.

She walked away.

You just stood there and didn’t chase her.

Now, things were “normal.” Which meant you were back in the same room, the same group chat, the same proximity where nothing ever felt the same.

She glanced at you then—only for a second. Long enough for your eyes to meet.

Long enough for your chest to tighten.

Long enough to remember.

But she looked away first.

And that’s when you knew: she remembered too.

She just chose not to say anything.

Like always.

The ride home was quiet.

You sat by the window of the company van, earbuds in but no music playing. Just static silence and the occasional murmur of the others behind you. Aeri was a few seats back, talking softly to Karina, her voice muffled but unmistakable.

She used to sit beside you.

Your shoulder used to be her pillow on the way back from late-night rehearsals. You’d tilt your head, just enough to feel the weight of her hair against your cheek, and she’d mumble about how sore her legs were, how she hated SM’s mirrors because they made her look tired.

“You never look tired to me,” you told her once, eyes closed, fingers brushing hers beneath the shared blanket.

She had smiled—sleepy, soft, and so in love.

“That’s because you’re looking at me like that.”

You blink, the memory washing over you with a sting that feels almost physical.

When the van stops outside the dorms, you’re the first one out. The air is cold and damp, Seoul’s late spring drizzle soaking into your hoodie as you wait by the door for the others.

Aeri steps down last.

You hear her behind you, her footsteps slowing when she sees you standing alone. For a moment, the only sound is rain. You think maybe she’ll say something. That she’ll break character—just for a second—and let you see her.

But instead, she walks past you.

You catch the faintest whisper of her perfume—vanilla, musk, and something uniquely her—and the way her hand tenses by her side like she wants to reach for yours. Like she almost does.

Almost.

You don’t turn around.

You just whisper to yourself,

“You used to hold my hand like you meant it.”

_____

That night, sleep doesn’t come.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling of your shared dorm room, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and the distant rustle of someone getting water in the kitchen.

It’s probably her.

You hate that you know her habits that well. That your body still reacts to the sound of her steps, to the rhythm of her breath in the silence. Like it remembers what your mind keeps trying to forget.

Eventually, the ache becomes too much.

You swing your legs out of bed and pad barefoot into the kitchen, hoodie hanging off one shoulder.

She’s there, of course—leaning against the counter, sipping water like this is normal. Like the air between you isn’t heavy with everything you’ve both left unsaid.

Aeri turns, startled. Her eyes widen, then soften.

“Hey,” she says quietly, like it’s the first word of a song you used to know by heart.

You swallow. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She nods. “Me neither.”

You both stand there, the space between you only a few feet but it might as well be a canyon. Her fingers tighten around the glass.

You open your mouth—then close it. And she sees it. Of course she does.

Her voice breaks the silence. “Do you hate me?”

The question slams into your chest.

You stare at her, startled. “What?”

Aeri doesn’t look at you. Her eyes are fixed on the floor. “I mean… I would. If I were you.”

You take a breath, shaky and sharp. “I don’t hate you, Aeri.”

She finally looks up. And there it is—everything she’s been holding back. Regret. Fear. Love. God, it’s still there.

“I didn’t want to let go,” she whispers. “But I was scared. Of what people would say. Of losing everything I worked for.”

You laugh—dry and bitter. “So you let go of me instead.”

She flinches.

You step closer, just enough for her to feel your warmth. Not touching—never touching.

“I would’ve waited for you,” you say, voice low. “I still am, if I’m honest. But I can’t keep doing this if you’re going to pretend it never mattered.”

Her eyes shine, and you see the crack forming in her armor.

“I never stopped loving you,” she says, almost like it hurts to say it.

You smile, but there’s no joy in it. “Funny. You’re really good at acting like you did.”

Silence settles again. Thick. Heavy.

She opens her mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to beg—but you shake your head gently.

“Goodnight, Aeri.”

And you walk away, not because you want to. But because you have to.

She doesn’t follow.

You turn your back to her. It should be final. It should feel like closure.

But then her voice cuts through the quiet—cracked, raw, the way you’ve only ever heard when she’s breaking.

“How can we go back to being friends,” she whispers, “when we just shared a bed?”

You freeze.

“How can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you never met?”

Each word lands like a blow. You can feel the memories rising, thick and unwelcome—her hand curled around yours under the sheets, the way she said your name like it was a secret, like it meant something sacred. The warmth of her skin. The way she kissed you slow, like time didn’t matter.

She shared everything with you.

And then she walked away.

You turn around, and she’s crying now—silent tears slipping down her cheeks, but she’s still trying to stay strong. Still trying to act like the truth doesn’t ruin everything.

“You think I haven’t asked myself that every single day?” you say, voice trembling. “You think I don’t lie in bed and replay every second we had, wondering how the hell you can pretend it didn’t happen?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

Because it did happen. And no amount of pretending can erase it.

You take a slow, shuddering breath. “You made me feel like I was something worth breaking rules for. And then you decided I wasn’t.”

Her knees buckle a little, like your words hit her physically. But she doesn’t stop you when you step back.

“I can’t keep being your almost, Aeri.”

Her lips part. Maybe she’s going to say your name. Maybe she’s going to say stay.

But she doesn’t.

And that silence?

That’s the loudest answer you’ve ever heard.

_____

You don’t see her the next day.

Not really.

She’s there, of course—at rehearsals, at meetings, beside you during makeup. But there’s a new kind of silence now. One that wraps around you both like barbed wire. Every glance you catch feels like a wound reopening. Every touch not given, another wall built higher.

You wonder if she’s avoiding you.

Or if she just doesn’t know how to be near you now that the truth’s cracked the surface.

You try to focus on the choreography, on the beat of the music, the count in your head. But your mind keeps flicking back to the kitchen. Her voice. The look in her eyes when she asked:

“How can we go back to being friends when we just shared a bed?”

You remember the night she meant.

It had been a week before she ended things.

You both knew it was coming—the tension from the company, the fear in her eyes every time your fingers brushed in public. But that night… you let yourselves forget.

You let yourselves be soft.

Her arms around you. Her lips against your throat. Her voice breaking as she said, “Stay, please—just for tonight.”

And you did.

You stayed.

Now, every moment since feels like a betrayal of that night.

Later, in the dorm hallway, you hear her behind you again. The silence that always comes before her voice. But this time, you don’t walk away.

“Aeri,” you say quietly.

She stops mid-step. You don’t turn, but you feel her gaze burning into the back of your neck.

“I meant what I said,” you continue, fingers curling at your sides. “I can’t keep living in the ghost of what we were.”

“I know.”

Her voice is soft, broken.

“Then why do you keep haunting me?” you ask. “Why do you keep looking at me like I’m still yours, if you don’t want to be mine?”

The silence stretches long. Too long.

Then—

“I do want to be yours,” she says. “I never stopped.”

You close your eyes.

“Then why didn’t you choose me?”

Another pause. Then, even quieter:

“Because I didn’t think I was allowed.”

The honesty in her voice makes something inside you collapse.

You finally turn around. She looks like she hasn’t slept. Like maybe she’s been asking herself the same questions every night that you have.

You could run to her now.

You could forgive her.

But something holds you back—because loving her has always meant losing parts of yourself, and you don’t know if you can afford to keep bleeding for someone who won’t fight.

So you say nothing.

And she doesn’t push.

You both just stand there—bathed in hallway light, drowning in everything unsaid.

The hallway feels too bright. Too sterile. The kind of place where nothing raw is supposed to happen.

But you’ve reached your limit.

You look at her—really look. Her arms folded across her chest like she’s holding herself together. Her eyes rimmed red, mouth parted like she wants to explain, to beg, but she’s too scared to say the wrong thing again.

So you speak for her.

Quietly. Bitterly.

“How can we go back to being friends…”

Her head jerks slightly—recognition in her expression. You’re repeating her own words. But you’re not done.

“When we just shared a bed?”

You take a step forward. She doesn’t move.

“When you kissed me like I was the only thing in the world that felt real. When you cried into my chest and told me you were scared, and I said I didn’t care—I just wanted you?”

Your voice is cracking, but you keep going.

“How can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you never met?”

She flinches.

Tears rise in your throat before they fall.

“How could you do that to me, Aeri? If you actually loved me?”

That’s the moment her walls finally collapse.

She takes a step toward you—just one, hands trembling, eyes wide with grief. “I didn’t know how to choose you without losing everything else.”

“And I was what, collateral damage?”

“No!” Her voice sharpens with panic. “You were everything. That’s what made it so hard.”

“Then why wasn’t I enough?”

It slips out before you can catch it, the truth naked and trembling between you both.

She doesn’t answer. Her face crumples.

You step back. The tears are falling freely now—hot, bitter, unforgiving.

“You broke my heart and then asked me to be your friend,” you whisper. “Like that would be easier. Like I’d forget everything you gave me just because you’re too scared to keep it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she chokes out. “I swear to God, I never wanted to—”

“But you did.”

Silence. A final blow.

And this time, when you turn away, she doesn’t stop you.

She just stands there, tears streaking her cheeks, hands limp at her sides, watching the one thing she said she loved walk away—again.

Except this time, it might really be the last.

_____

It’s a few days later when it happens.

You’re backstage at a music show, sitting stiffly in the corner of your group’s dressing room. Earbuds in, head down, pretending to scroll through messages you haven’t answered. You’ve kept to yourself since that night. Let the silence stretch. Let her live in the space she created.

You didn’t expect her to fight for you.

But part of you had hoped.

You glance up when you hear her laugh—bright, that specific octave you used to think she saved only for you. Aeri’s standing a few feet away, near the hallway connecting to the other dressing rooms.

She’s with another idol—someone from a popular boy group. Someone tall and golden and easy.

They’re standing too close.

Her arm brushes his.

He says something that makes her laugh, and she tilts her head just the way she used to when you whispered something against her ear. Playful. Intimate.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself it’s probably fan service. Just another planned interaction. SM is good at orchestrating chemistry where there is none. You know that.

But she looks too comfortable.

And he’s looking at her the way you used to.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Karina nudges your shoulder.

“You okay?”

You force a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But your throat is tight. Your eyes are burning. And it feels like something’s clawing its way up from inside your chest—raw and sharp and loud.

Because maybe it is just for show.

Or maybe it’s not.

Either way, she’s still smiling for someone else.

And all you can think is:

How could you hold me like I was the only thing that mattered, and then laugh like that with someone new?

The jealousy isn’t even the worst part.

It’s the betrayal. The quiet ache of knowing she still hasn’t come to you—not to explain, not to fight, not to say she regrets letting you walk away.

She just moved on.

Or maybe she’s pretending again. The way she pretended not to love you. The way she pretended you could be “just friends.”

You turn your head and blink away the tears before anyone sees.

But inside, it feels like someone’s driving a blade straight through you—slow, deliberate.

And the worst part?

You still love her.

Even as she’s breaking you.

You don’t talk to her that day.

You don’t even look at her.

But she notices.

You can feel it in the tension of her body when you pass in the hallway. In the way her laughter falters when she realizes you’re in earshot. In the silence that follows her when she walks into the dressing room and sees you curled up in the farthest corner, earbuds in but no music playing.

She doesn’t approach.

She just watches.

And for once, you let her.

Let her see what she’s done—what you’ve become in the aftermath of her choices.

_____

It’s late that night when you finally break.

You’re alone in the bathroom, the fan humming above you and your hands gripping the sink so tightly your knuckles ache. You stare at your own reflection, and you don’t even recognize the girl looking back.

Tired. Dull. Hollow.

This isn’t who you were when she loved you.

This is who she left behind.

You whisper it at first, just to yourself.

“I hate you.”

Your voice cracks.

“I hate that you let me go. I hate that you kissed me like you meant it and then left. I hate that I still check every room just to see if you’re in it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The tears come too fast, hot and familiar.

“I hate that you looked at him like that.”

Your voice breaks entirely.

“I hate that it still feels like you’re mine.”

You slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the cold tile floor, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself because there’s no one left to do it for you.

Because she’s not here.

Because maybe she never really was.

The next morning, she tries.

Not with words—Aeri has never been good with those, not when it matters—but she lingers beside you in the kitchen, opening the fridge even though she doesn’t need anything. She brushes past your shoulder when you’re tying your shoes. She laughs a little too loud when you’re nearby, like she’s trying to recapture something lost.

And you snap.

You stand up. Loudly. And when she looks at you, startled, you finally say it:

“You don’t get to smile at me like that anymore.”

The room goes silent.

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“You don’t get to act like we’re okay. Like this is okay.” Your voice is shaking, but the anger steadies it. “You let me fall apart while you kept performing like nothing happened. Like we didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No. Stop.” You step forward, and her back hits the counter. “You don’t get to mean anything anymore. Because you watched me drown, Aeri. And you chose not to jump in.”

She looks like she’s about to cry.

Good.

Because for once, she should.

She’s still on the floor, her head buried in her arms, her sobs quieter now. A dull hiccup here, a shaking breath there.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But you don’t.

Because no matter how badly she hurt you, no matter how sharp the words she left behind, she’s still Aeri.

And you still love her.

You crouch down beside her slowly. “Come on,” you murmur, gently brushing hair from her face. “You can’t sleep on the floor.”

She blinks up at you, eyes red and glassy. “Why are you still so kind to me?” she slurs, voice thick with guilt. “Why do you still… care?”

You avoid the question. “Let’s just get you into bed, okay?”

You help her up, and her body folds into yours like second nature. Like muscle memory. Her arms come around your waist clumsily, and she leans her head against your shoulder.

And then—barely audible, breath warm against your neck—she says it:

“Baby…”

Your whole body goes still.

She used to call you that only in the quiet. In the spaces between kisses. In the breathless seconds after laughter and before sleep. It was yours.

And hearing it now—drunk, broken, fragile—it shatters something in you.

You swallow hard. “Don’t call me that.”

But she doesn’t hear you. Or maybe she doesn’t care.

“I miss you,” she murmurs. “I miss you so bad, baby. Please don’t hate me…”

You guide her to her bed gently, ignoring the way your hands tremble as you pull the blanket over her. She clings to your wrist like a child.

“Stay?” she whispers.

You pause. You should say no. You should.

But she looks so small like this. So not the composed idol the world knows. Just Aeri—messy and drunk and terrified of being alone.

So you sit beside her, careful not to slip under the covers, careful not to give her the wrong idea.

She turns her head toward you. Her voice is quieter now. “I loved you first, you know.”

You close your eyes. “Then you should’ve fought for me.”

A long silence.

And then: “I still want to.”

You don’t answer.

Because wanting and doing are two very different things.

You sit there until her breathing evens out, until her fingers go slack on your wrist. Until the weight of everything you’ve been holding in settles like ash over your chest.

You brush a tear from her cheek before you even realize your hand’s moved.

And then, quietly—like a prayer—you whisper:

“I still love you too.”

But she’s asleep.

She won’t hear it.

Maybe that’s for the best.

_____

The room is quiet, sun bleeding through the curtains in soft gold. You’re still sitting in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed, head tipped back against the wall. You hadn’t meant to stay the whole night—but your legs felt too heavy to move, and maybe a part of you needed one last night close to her. Just to remember.

Aeri stirs.

You glance over as she groans quietly, hand pressed to her forehead, already wincing at the hangover. Her eyes flutter open, and the moment she sees you—really sees you—everything on her face shifts.

Regret. Confusion. Then shame.

She sits up slowly. “You stayed…”

You nod once. “You were a mess.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, then rubs her face. “I remember… some of it.”

“I figured.”

Her hands tremble slightly in her lap. “Did I say anything… awful?”

You look at her for a long moment, and when you speak, your voice is soft. “You called me baby.”

She freezes.

“And you told me you loved me.”

Silence stretches thin between you.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, voice hoarse. “That wasn’t fair.”

“No,” you agree quietly. “It wasn’t.”

Aeri looks at you like she’s searching for something—maybe a crack in your armor, maybe a reason to hope. “But I meant it. Even drunk. Especially drunk.”

You nod again, slowly. “I know.”

She opens her mouth to speak again, but you hold up a hand. Gentle. Final.

“You can’t keep doing this, Aeri. You can’t keep breaking me open every time you feel broken.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she says, desperate now. “I want to fix it. I want—”

“You already lost me,” you say, and it’s the first time you let the words come out. Really come out.

Her face crumples.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “I’ll always love you. But I can’t keep waiting for the version of you who’s brave enough to love me back.”

She nods, tears falling freely now.

You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It’s not a promise. It’s a goodbye.

“Take care of yourself,” you whisper.

And then you stand.

You walk out the door with your heart in pieces—but your head held high.

Because sometimes love isn’t about holding on.

Sometimes it’s about knowing when to finally let go.

_____

Alternate ending:

You wake before she does.

Your neck aches from where you’d slumped against the edge of her bed, but you don’t move right away. Instead, you just sit there, watching her sleep.

She’s curled toward you, face soft in the morning light, tear tracks still faint on her cheeks. Her hand rests near yours—not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth.

You should leave.

You meant to leave.

But something about last night still lingers. Not just the apology. Not just the pain. Something deeper.

When she finally stirs, her eyes flutter open—and panic sets in almost immediately.

“I—” Her voice is rough. “I didn’t mean to show up like that. I was just—God, I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment.

Then: “Do you remember what you said?”

She hesitates. Nods. “Some of it.”

You meet her gaze. “Do you mean it?”

She sits up straighter. Her fingers tremble as she reaches for yours but doesn’t quite take them. “I do. I meant all of it. I just… didn’t know how to say it sober.”

You watch her carefully. She looks raw. No defenses. No mask.

“I let fear control me,” she whispers. “I thought loving you meant losing everything else. But it didn’t. It just meant being brave. And I wasn’t. Until now.”

You swallow hard. Your heart’s thudding in your chest, loud and hopeful. But cautious.

“What do you want, Aeri?” you ask softly. “Really.”

She takes your hand in both of hers now—firm, sure. “You. Only you. And not just in secret. Not for a night. For real.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever—you believe her.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you slide your hand into hers and pull her gently forward until her forehead rests against yours.

“Then be brave,” you whisper. “Because I’m not doing this halfway again.”

She nods, eyes wet, smile trembling.

“I’ll fight for us,” she says. “Every day. If you let me.”

You press your lips to hers—soft, careful, but real. And when she kisses you back, it feels like coming home.

_____

The both of you step offstage after a joint performance. She’s sweaty and beaming, breathless from the adrenaline. You start to turn away—to keep it professional—but her fingers brush yours, and then she quietly, quickly laces them together.

A small gesture.

But this time?

She doesn’t let go.

And you don’t have to hide the smile that rises to your lips.

Because finally—she chose you.

And this time, she’s not afraid.

[fellominaarcher]

Would you mind doing nsfw headcannons for ryujin from itzy? I love ur works btw!

♯┆ NSFW HEADCANNONS FOR RYUJIN .ᐟ

⤷ main m.list | itzy m.list | navigation

⤷ ANONNN YOU ASKED FOR IT AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!!

⤷ It gets progressively dirty ig

⤷ Ryujin x fem!reader

──────────────────────

1. The confidence is criminal

Ryujin knows she's hot and knows exactly what she's doing with you when she leans in close to grab your chin and she murmurs, “You missed me?” like she hasn't left you soaked from her voice alone. Smirking? Always. Neck kisses? She lives there.

2. Backseat Queen

She loves taking you in the car, BACKSEAT, tinted windows, AC to the max cos y'all are gonna make it HOT, sensual RnB songs playing from the car speakers and seats pushed back enough just for you to ride her while she tugs on your hair, “God, you're so good...”

3. Slow Teasing in Public

That hand on your thigh? Creeps up slowly under tables. That smirk when you’re trying to focus on a convo? Evil. She whispers filth in your ear just to watch you squirm and then says, "Don't embarrass yourself, baby."

4. “Sit On My Face” Energy

She has absolutely told you to sit on her face like it’s your goddamn throne and she does not stop until your legs are shaking, tears are in your eyes, and you’re pushing her head away only for her to grab your thighs and pull you right back.

5. Morning After Menace

Wakes up horny, clingy, and needy. Slides her hand between your thighs half-asleep and gets rougher the more you moan. Sometimes doesn’t even let you leave bed until she’s had her fill, twice. Evil.

6. Phone Sex Queen

When she’s on tour, she’ll FaceTime you and circle her fingers on her clit while watching you touch yourself, she's completely unashamed. Mutters “Fucking miss this pussy,” and begs you to “Keep the camera there, yeah baby, don’t stop, fuck.” Goddamn ittttt.

7. Possessive but Quietly

Leaves hickeys where your stylist won’t see. Low growls in your ear like, “You’re mine, yeah?” while her fingers are inside you, knuckle-deep and curling just right. She won’t even let you cum until you say it back. Abusing that very needy cunt of yours.

8. Dirty Talk Queen

Her mouth is absolutely foul during sex. She’ll degrade you in the filthiest ways:

“My needy little cumdump,”

“You act so innocent in public, but the way you cream on my cock (or strap) says otherwise,”

“Open wider. I want to see that pretty mouth drool around me.”

“You wouldn't know your pussy could feel this good,”

9. Marking You Up

Hickeys, scratches, bite marks on your thighs, her name written in permanent marker just above your clit... yeah, she’s obsessed with making sure people know who you belong to ;((

10. Switch with a Dom Lean

Ryujin LOOVESSSS control. She’ll let you take the reins every now and then, but her natural state is pinning you down, one hand around your throat, smirking against your lips as she murmurs, “You’re mine, yeah?”

11. Pillow Princess? Pleaseee!

You thought Ryujin would lay back and enjoy. Nope. She wants your legs over her shoulders, your body shaking from overstimulation, her tongue ruthless and precise until you’re writhing and begging her to stop but she won’t until you squirt, her favorite prize.

12. G!p Ryujin?

Oh baby.... When she straps it on (or magically grows it, up to you), she’s relentless. Slow strokes just to tease you, then sudden hard thrusts that leave your voice cracking. She grips your hips hard, leaving bruises as she pounds into you from behind, murmuring, “That tight little pussy’s made for me.”

13. Mirror Play

Ryujin loves watching. She’ll bend you over in front of a mirror and fuck you from behind while making you stare at your wrecked expression. “Look at how pretty you are for me. Such a slutty little thing.”

14. Lingerie Killer

She’ll buy you the skimpiest black lace sets... only to rip them off. “That was cute. Shame it had to die.” She likes you naked, begging, and collared.

15. Aftercare Surprises

After completely wrecking you, she becomes soft, gentle and she rubs your thighs, kisses your forehead, and offers snacks or a bath. But she still teases: “You looked so cute crying for me…”

[daxisyzz]

Hey there! Love your work and would love to submit a request if that’s alright. I have an idea for a Bucky x reader one shot inspired by his look in Thunderbolts. I love his longer hair coming back, but imagine Bucky having the reader put in hair extensions in his hair so he can have really long hair again instead of waiting for it to grow out? If this idea inspires you to write then I’m so glad but if not don’t feel pressured to write anything. Hope you’re well! :)

heyyy I love this idea!! Sorry for replying late. Here's your little fic. Hope you have a great day<3

Hair Me Out…

Summary: Bucky didn't think he'd miss his long hair — until he sees you casually ordering hair extensions for yourself. Now he needs them too... and you're the poor soul tasked with making it happen. Along the way, he finds a small part of himself that he'd forgotten he still loved.

Word count: 1.1k+

Setting: pre-thunderbolts*, post-tfatws.

Bucky wasn’t even trying to snoop.

Really, he wasn’t.

He was lying across your bed, big and lazy, arms folded behind his head as he listened to you tap away at your laptop, a content little hum coming from your side of the room. Every so often, you’d mutter to yourself or click your tongue in frustration, but otherwise, you were blissfully unaware of his not-so-subtle staring.

“What’re you doing?” he finally asked, lifting his head to look at you.

“Shopping,” you said, clicking a few more times. “Hair stuff. Some skincare junk. You know essentials.”

He hummed, about to close his eyes again, when something bright and silky caught his eye.

You were browsing a site that sold hair extensions — gorgeous, long, flowing locks in every shade imaginable.

Bucky blinked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Wait. Is that for you?” he asked, sounding more interested than he probably should’ve.

You nodded. “Yeah. I wanna try longer hair without committing to, like, years of growing it out.”

He kept staring. At the screen. At you. At the screen again.

Something deep inside him — something he thought he’d buried — stirred.

His own hand went to the ends of his current hair, brushing it lightly. It had been growing out again after a few trims and missions that had demanded ‘uniform standards.’ It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t short.

But it wasn’t his long hair, either.

He missed it.

Missed the way it used to fall in his face, missed the wildness of it, the way it made him feel a little less... polished. Less fake. More himself. More of someone he'd become after losing everything.

“...Can you get me some, too?” he blurted, before he could think better of it.

You paused, hands frozen over your keyboard. “...What?”

He scooted closer, earnestness written all over his stupidly handsome face. “Extensions. Get some for me.”

You turned to stare at him fully, one eyebrow raised. “Bucky. Babe. Love of my life. You are a literal enhanced super soldier and you’re telling me you can’t wait for your hair to grow?”

He pouted actually pouted and tugged lightly at the ends of his hair. “But you’re gonna have long hair and I’m gonna look like a half-baked chia pet.”

You snorted so hard it startled him.

“A chia pet?” you repeated, wheezing.

“A sad one,” he said gravely. “One that needs love.”

You were half-crying, half-laughing now, clutching your stomach. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” he said, grabbing your hands in both of his big ones, squeezing them like he was proposing marriage. “Doll. I’ll do anything. Just order some for me, too.”

"You'll do anything?" you teased, still wiping tears from your eyes.

"I'll be your personal assistant for a week. I'll clean the kitchen. I'll even let you pick the next five movies we watch. Even if they suck."

You shook your head, grinning like a fool. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. Only because you look so cute."

Bucky whooped and immediately pulled you into his lap, hugging you tight enough to make you squeak. "You're the best. Seriously. I'm gonna look so good."

"You’re gonna look like a prince," you said dryly.

"Prepare to have Sam roast you into oblivion."

"I don’t even care," Bucky said, burying his face in your shoulder. "I want my hair back."

Few Days Later

Bucky was sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crossed, a towel thrown around his shoulders like a cape. You carefully parted his hair, sectioning it and clipping in the silky extensions you had color-matched for him.

He was so still, so obedient, it made you grin.

"You’re a good client," you teased.

"Yeah, well," he said, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk. "I gotta be. My stylist’s got very delicate hands."

You rolled your eyes fondly and snapped another clip into place.

As you worked, you caught him sneaking peeks at himself in the mirror watching the longer pieces blend into his real hair and his smile was so genuine, so open, it almost hurt.

By the time you finished, Bucky looked like he'd stepped straight out of 2014 — but softer, happier.

You admired him from a few steps back, a fond warmth blooming in your chest. "You look perfect, Buck."

He preened a little, flipping a lock of hair over his shoulder. "Damn right."

Just then, the door creaked open.

Sam stuck his head in, mouth already open to say something — and froze.

The look of pure, stunned silence on Sam's face was priceless.

You bit your lip hard to hold back a laugh.

"...No," Sam finally said, deadpan. "No. Absolutely not."

Bucky grinned, pure menace. "Hey, bird boy. You like the new look?"

Sam just shook his head slowly. "You look like a dude who lives in a cave and plays the flute for forest animals."

Bucky tossed his newly long hair dramatically. "Jealousy’s an ugly color on you, Wilson."

"I'm sending this to Torres," Sam said immediately, pulling out his phone.

"Traitor!" Bucky shouted, lunging for him.

You laughed so hard you had to sit down, watching Bucky chase Sam down the hall, towel flying like a cape behind him, hair streaming.

After the chaos died down, you found Bucky sitting in front of the bedroom mirror again, just quietly looking at himself.

Not in the playful way from earlier.

Softer. Sadder.

But not bad.

You walked over slowly and wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He smiled faintly at your reflection.

"You okay, Buck?"

He nodded, his hand coming up to tangle lightly with yours.

"Just... stupid," he said quietly. "Looking at myself like this."

"Not stupid," you murmured.

He shrugged a little. "It reminds me of... when I wasn’t doing so good. Long hair, no plan, no peace. I hated that version of me for a long time."

You pressed a kiss to his temple, squeezing him tighter. "He was doing the best he could. He survived. And he deserved love, too."

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed under your hands, the tension easing out of him slowly.

He met your eyes in the mirror and the look he gave you was pure devotion.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe he did."

You leaned your forehead against his. "Definitely did. Definitely does."

For a moment, you both just stayed there him, you, the soft lamp light, the long, wild hair breathing together, existing without judgment.

And when Bucky finally smiled, really smiled

it was brighter than any version of himself he'd ever worn.

[philosians]

wc: 705 ;; just fluff + self-indulgent af bc I had a flare up of an old injury earlier + menstrual/endo bs and am tired of it all. wrote this in like an hour total so it’s probably not that great lol

Sylus doesn’t hear the hiss of pain that normally leaves your lips once you get out of the car, nor the wincing and narrowing of eyes from the discomfort.

He counts the win, mentally tucking it under his belt and closes the car door behind you.

Pain is something you’ve dealt with for years, alleviated by painkillers that you’d often end up taking too much of because you’d grown a tolerance to them. Heating and cooling pads were used quite often, too, and almost always on standby when you’d pop a Tylenol (or three).

Now that you’re in his world, Sylus fully intends to change things for you.

Comfort and care had been given to you on a gold platter ever since you’d dropped into the world of Love and Deepspace—ever since you’d dropped right into Sylus’s home—by some mysterious, unearthly event a year ago.

Sylus had chalked it up to a massive fluctuation in the Deepspace Tunnel at the time. And while you agreed, especially after seeing evidence, you knew just from the expression on his face that he absolutely had something to do with it.

With how your life was going in the previous world, you weren’t about to start complaining. Not anymore, anyway. You’d done enough of that to the man beside you when you realized he had become sentient.

Once the front door unlocks, you feel yourself become weightless. Your feet are suddenly off the ground and dangling in the air as Sylus carries you inside with one arm.

“Warn me next time,” you grumble.

“You should be used to me carrying you by now,” he teases.

You flick his forehead softly. “Doubt I’ll ever be.”

He hums happily. “That’ll change one day.”

You scoff, gazing at him in disbelief. “You sound certain.”

“I am.” He chuckles. Sylus sets you down on the sofa gently and presses a kiss to your temple. “You should change. I’ll get started on dinner.”

“You put food and clothes in this safe house?”

“Not a safe house,” he corrects, stifling a laugh at your bewildered expression. “And yes. I did say I we were going to get out of the N109 Zone for awhile, did I not?”

You look away bashfully. “You did.” A sigh leaves you and then you ask, “What’s for dinner?”

Sylus shrugs. “Whatever you’re craving.”

You wrinkle your nose before shrugging at him. “Just meat. Steak, maybe… And maybe some sweet potatoes.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, I really have to pee.”

You bolt, hearing Sylus’s laughter as you shut the bathroom door. You do your business, clean yourself up a bit and change into a new set of clothes.

When you walk back out, your head is buried in your phone, so you miss the way Sylus looks at you when he sees you wearing one of his sweaters over leggings. He feels himself soften inside, love filling his chest. It makes him feel warm inside, seeing and knowing how comfortable you are with him and that you enjoy wearing his clothes. It makes a possessive feeling in him rise, a feeling he tucks back down as he feels your arms wrap around his torso.

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Feeling okay?”

“I’m okay,” you mumble. “Back hurts again.”

“Cramps?”

“Maybe…” And when you let out a sigh, he’s immediately worried by the tone. Even more so when you sink further into him. “I think it’s time to set that appointment, Sy. I’m tired of the pain.”

He says nothing. Instead, he sets down the utensils in his hands, turns himself and envelopes you in an embrace, tucking you into him. Your weight falls into him almost completely, and he has no trouble holding you up. Sylus’s arms are warm, tight around you as he rocks you both side to side.

“I’ll set it up for next week,” he promises. “We’ll get you taken care of, I swear it. This pain will come to an end.”

“… No more?”

“No more.”

Sylus hears you sniffle, feels you nod and squeeze him tighter.

“Thank you.”

“No need for that,” he replies, voice soft and sweet and full of adoration. “I’d do anything for you. All you have to do is ask.”

[viastro]

i wanna know you | boo seungkwan

ミ★ synopsis: everyone has a dream. to seungkwan, volleyball had been everything to him, and almost everyone in high school knew that—especially you. so why was it so strange to see him years later working towards anything but that?

ミ★ genre: strangers(?) to kinda lovers!au, unrequited love!au (in hs!), coach!seungkwan, teacher!reader, humor, fluff, some angst

ミ★ warnings: sexual innuendos (very brief), so much cursing (i'm sorry), one kms joke (from beomgyu)

ミ★ word count: 18,653 (i need to be put down)

ミ★ pairings: seungkwan x gender neutral reader

ミ★ notes: heyyyy... it's been a very long time. i know. i'm so sorry. i'm going straight to hell, i know. tldr - i graduated undergrad in 2023, got a full-time job 2023-2024, and then i started my first year of grad school in sept. of 2024!! wow!!! this fic has been in the works since like... end of 2023 prolly... i suddenly got a burst of wanting to write so that's how i finally was able to finish this fic ?? crazy. anyways, i hope you guys will enjoy this fic that took me actual years to finish <3 please give seungkwan lots and lots of love :3

You tiredly stumble into the convenience store, having just finished your last eight hour shift at the school before spring break. Typically, you would’ve gone straight home after work, but you had a craving.

A craving that could only be fulfilled at the convenience store.

You walk straight to the ramen aisle and grab the shin ramyun off the shelf, before heading to the freezer to grab a cup of ice and a bag of tea. A little smile forms on your face at the image of you eating your favorite ramen in a few minutes, and you hurry to the cash register to speed up the process.

Placing the cup of ramen onto the counter and the drink you got, you glance down at your bag and prepare to pull out your wallet when the cashier speaks.

“That’ll be $8.”

You blink at the familiarity of the voice, and slowly lift your gaze until you lock eyes with a familiar pair.

“Boo Seungkwan?” You murmur in surprise, and the blonde blinks at the sudden mention of his name.

He tilts his head and points at himself, “Me?”

“Well, I’m not Boo Seungkwan.” You respond, to which he bites the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. You tap your card on the reader, hearing the familiar ding that signals your payment went through. You slip your card back into your wallet, feeling your cheeks flood with warmth at the awkward silence that has fallen over the two of you.

Curse my dumbass mouth, you think to yourself.

“Here’s your receipt.” Seungkwan says, holding out the piece of paper with a curious look on his face. You give him a tight smile and bow your head in thanks, taking the receipt from his grasp and turning to practically sprint out of the store.

It’s when you’re about to rest your hand on the handle of the door that his voice rings out from behind you,

“Do you know me from somewhere?”

You shut your eyes tightly, wishing that you could just act like you didn’t hear him. Except you can’t, because you practically froze when he asked you the question. Letting out a breath, you slowly turn to face him with a small, albeit strained smile.

“We were in the same graduating class in high school. You were class president of our class, and the captain of our school’s volleyball team.” You explain, the sound of your heartbeat becoming more apparent at how mortified you are at this interaction. The blonde stares at you for a moment, before his eyes flash in recognition.

“Yn Yln, right? You were always in the Top 3 for exam scores.” Seungkwan says, and your eyes widen at the fact that he even knows your name.

You were always quiet in school, not really stepping out of your comfort zone until your undergraduate years. Your high school graduating class only knew your name because of your high exam scores, but your face? Not so much.

You’re pretty sure everyone only found out what you looked like when your name was called during graduation.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You respond with a smile, and the blonde grins softly. Biting the inside of your cheek, you lift up the unopened shin ramyun, and with a sudden wave of courage you ask, “If you’re able to, do you want to join me outside for late night ramen?”

Seungkwan blinks in surprise at the invitation, glancing at the time to see that he’ll be off shift soon. He looks back up at you and nods his head, “I’ll be off work in 10 minutes.”

You let out a quiet breath of relief and give him a thumbs up, “I’ll prepare my ramen then.”

You sip on your iced tea, staring out at a flickering lamp post down the street as the city life starts to dwindle down. You take note of the different types of people who walk past the convenience store. There are office workers who just got off shift and are walking back home, college students stumbling through the streets after a fun night out, and some younger students who just got out of cram school.

You always wondered which group Seungkwan was part of after graduating high school.

“I got some extra sausage. I feel like you should always pair ramen with some protein.” His voice rings out, startling you from your thoughts.

A smile makes its way onto your face when you see the plate of sausage, looking up when he sits across from you. He lets out a breath, shivering slightly from the brisk night air as he breaks apart his chopsticks.

“Thank you.” You murmur, and the blonde waves his hand at you as if to say, no biggie.

Biting your bottom lip, you break apart your chopsticks and remove the lid of your ramen, practically salivating at the sight of the spicy noodles. The two of you start to dig into your ramen without another word, showing how hungry you both must have been as you each eat in silence.

It’s only when you reach out and take a sausage that you manage to glance at Seungkwan, noticing the dark bags under his eyes. You place the sausage into your mouth, looking back down at your ramen as questions start to arise in your mind.

Where did you go to college? What have you been up to? What are you doing working the night shift at a convenience store?

What happened to your volleyball scholarship?

“Are you a teacher now?” Seungkwan asks suddenly, startling you out of your thoughts once again. You look up from your noodles to see the blonde looking at you with a curious gaze, and you tilt your head at him, “Oh? How’d you know?”

“You’re still wearing your lanyard.” He tells you with a smile, and you look down to see your smiling face looking back at you. You let out an awkward chuckle and take off your lanyard, placing it onto the table. “I work at a private school right now. I’m a first grade teacher.”

“That’s super cool! I bet it’s hard work too.” Seungkwan tells you with a grin, and you nod your head while letting out a whistle. “You can say that again. Sometimes they can all be such little shits and it drives me insane, but I also love them all dearly. Is that crazy? Is this a toxic relationship?”

“I think those are valid feelings to have when working with children.” He says, and you smile softly.

“What about you? What have you been up to since high school?” You ask, and the blonde just shrugs his shoulders as he nonchalantly replies, “Graduated from SNU and now I’m working two jobs in order to pay off the student loan.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your other job?” You ask, not ignoring the fact that he strategically didn’t mention his volleyball scholarship.

“I’m the volleyball coach for our old high school. Our old coach retired after I got into college, so the principal hired me immediately once I graduated.” Seungkwan explains, and you nod your head, now understanding the dark bags under his eyes.

Slurping up a noodle, you ask, “You didn’t want to join the National Volleyball Team after you graduated?”

Seungkwan freezes at the question, and when you don’t hear him respond, you slowly look up to see him staring down at his ramen with a faraway look to his eye.

Oh no. I shouldn’t have asked.

“It… seemed like too much pressure. I thought it’d be better to just be a coach, that way I’m still part of the sport.” Seungkwan says carefully, and you bite the inside of your cheek at his answer.

He’s not telling the full truth.

“That makes sense. Does that mean your school is also starting Spring break?” You ask, choosing to ignore your curiosity as you slurp up the last of your noodles.

The blonde nods his head, halving the last sausage so that you both can have a piece. “Yeah, I was planning to pick up extra shifts from the convenience store so that I can make some extra money.”

You purse your lips when a thought comes to mind. It’s an impulsive thought, if you will. A thought that’s always been like a faraway dream to you since high school, one that’s never been within reach.

Until now.

You suck in a breath in an attempt to gather the courage that took over you earlier.

“I don’t really have any special plans for Spring break. I was thinking of just going with the flow, but do you want to hang out during our week off?” You ask in a quiet voice, already wincing at the thought of incoming rejection from the pretty boy. Silence falls over the two of you, and you’re too scared to look up to see his reaction, so you continue to have a staring contest with your empty cup of ramen.

“Why?” Seungkwan asks softly after a moment, a question you weren’t prepared to answer. Trying to act nonchalant, you shrug your shoulders while turning your attention to the flickering convenience store sign.

Your heart is racing within your chest as you answer truthfully, “I want to get to know you.”

Seungkwan stares at you for a moment, but you continue to avoid eye contact as you stare down at the table. The blonde lets out a breath after a moment, and holds his hand out towards you. Your eyes trail up towards his hand, before finally looking up at his face.

“Let’s exchange numbers.” He says, and you almost exhale a breath of relief. A small grin makes its way onto your face and you nod your head, pulling out your phone and placing it in his hand. You watch quietly as wisps of his blonde hair flow along with the gentle breeze, and you fight the urge to reach out and pat them down into place.

He looks up at you after hearing the notification from his phone, and he hands you back your phone. A small smile escapes you when you see the tangerine emoji in his contact name, “You’re from Jeju, right?”

“Did the tangerine make it obvious?” Seungkwan asks with a grin as he takes a bite of the sausage. You shrug your shoulders with a teasing smile, “Maybe a little bit.”

The two of you chuckle, before continuing to eat your late night meal. The full moon shines down onto you both as you fill each other in on what’s been going on since high school graduation. Quiet laughter and conversation fill the silence on the first night of Spring break, a night that feels like a small beginning, something neither of you expected.

“Boo Seungkwan! You killed it at last night’s game. Are the college scouts coming to the next one?” You glance up from your desk to see a group of boys from the other classroom surrounding the class president. Your eyes linger on the bright smile that graces his face when one of them ruffles his hair fondly, feeling your heart thump against your chest at the sight.

“I think so, there were a couple that came last night too. Yonsei University’s scouts talked to Vernon and Mingyu after the game last night.” Seungkwan tells one of the boys, eliciting a chorus of ohh’s from them.

“Isn’t your goal SNU? When is their scout coming?”

“They’re coming to Friday’s game.”

You turn your gaze away when the boys start excitedly rooting for Seungkwan and asking him how he feels about the upcoming game. Glancing down at your journal, you start to write the date and subject of the upcoming lesson at the top of the page to try and distract yourself from the noise around you.

Your pencil freezes at the top when the sound of Seungkwan’s laugh rings in your ear, and you find yourself stealing a glance at the popular boy once again.

He has a big smile on his face and shrugs his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant as he says, “I’m a bit more nervous since this game means a lot more to me, but I’m excited. I’ve been preparing myself for this moment since I was a kid, so you guys better come to cheer me on, alright?”

He’s glowing, you think to yourself as the guys around him let out a chorus of cheers. The sunlight peeking in through the windows casts a warm glow over his face, making his smile look a little bit brighter than usual. His black hair reflects a pretty shade of brown underneath the sun, complimenting the warmth of his skin.

Feeling the corner of your lips quirk upwards, you turn your head and look out the window of the classroom. Your gaze follows the single white cloud in the bright blue sky, and you close your eyes at the feeling of the sun hitting your skin.

You silently root for Seungkwan, hopeful that he’ll perform well at Friday’s volleyball game.

“Yn.”

You keep your eyes closed, wanting to bask in the warmth from the sun a little bit more.

“Yn.”

You refuse to open your eyes, but there’s a frown on your face now, starting to grow a little bit annoyed at the pestering.

“Yn…”

You’re about to open your mouth to tell the person to fuck off, only for them to cut you off with a loud call of your name,

“YN!”

You gasp awake at the shout, turning with wide eyes towards the source of the sound. You let out a little groan when you see your roommate, Beomgyu, glaring at you from your doorway. You reach out to prepare your pillow, “Why are you waking me up so rudely?”

“Cause you told me last night that if you aren’t out of your room by 10:30, to wake you up as rudely as possible.” Beomgyu responds, amusement present in his voice as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open now that you’re awake.

“I don’t recall the as rude as possible part of that request.”

“I could’ve been a lot meaner by pouring a bucket of ice water on you, but I chose kindness today.” He says, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Letting out another groan, you roll over, your back towards Beomgyu as you grab your pillow. He squints at you, “No way you’re about to fall back asleep after bitching about me waking you–”

Beomgyu’s cut off by you chucking your pillow, making direct contact with his face. He sputters and falls backwards onto his ass, eliciting a cackle out of you. He sits up in shock, pillow in hands as he stares at you with a look of betrayal on his face.

“You bitch bastard.” He says quietly, and you smile.

“Good morning~” You greet warmly, and his eyes widen. He shakes his head, “You cannot act all sweet and like an angel after chucking your pillow at my face! What if I died?! What if I fell onto my head, broke my neck, and DIED?!”

You sit up in bed and stretch your arms over your head, feeling very refreshed after attacking your roommate with your least favorite pillow. Reaching out towards your bedside dresser, you grab your phone and check your notifications.

seungkwan🍊: what time did you want to meet at the beach?

You practically shoot up out of bed at the text, quickly typing out a response as you step over Beomgyu who is still laying on the floor. The brunette turns his head, eyes following you as you hurry towards the bathroom.

“Are you going on a date?!” He shouts out from the floor, and you shoot him a glare as you squeeze toothpaste out onto your toothbrush.

“Fuck off.”

“Please try to dress nice! Don’t dress like you usually do.” Beomgyu calls out as he finally gets up off the floor. You pause at his words, sticking your head out of the bathroom to squint at him as he starts to go through your closet.

“Now what do you mean by that?” You ask, to which the brunette just steps out holding an outfit he quickly prepared for you.

Beomgyu has your white t-shirt and sage jersey jacket in one hand, and your favorite pair of wide jeans in the other. He gestures with his chin towards your white sneakers by the door, “Wear those with this fit.”

You purse your lips, curse you Beomgyu for your good fashion sense.

“Okay.” You state, not wanting to compliment him on anything after his jab at your current fashion sense. However, the smirk on his face says that he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Biting the inside of your cheek, you point your toothbrush towards him, “Shut the fuck up.”

You shut the bathroom door afterwards, letting out a small smile when you hear his loud laughter through the door.

“You know, for some reason, I was really hoping you’d bring a beach towel.” You say as the two of you sit on the hot sand, staring out at the people swimming in the cold ocean water. Seungkwan turns to you, a small smile playing on his features, “I was hoping you’d bring one too. I usually mooch off my friends for their beach towels when we have a rare beach day.”

“Damn. You’re just like me.” You joke, and the blonde lets out a short chuckle with a shake of his head. He pats the sand beside him, “Now we’re both sitting on this hot sand. Absolutely rawdogging it. Sand getting in crevices where the sun doesn't shine.”

You bark out a loud laugh, making Seungkwan laugh alongside you. That wasn’t something you ever expected to hear him say in your life, particularly the word rawdogging has you doubling over in laughter.

His laughter dies down shortly after, but you’re still giggling to yourself as it keeps replaying in your head. You even wipe away a stray tear that fell down your cheek, and you turn to look over at Seungkwan, just to see him already staring at you with a small smile on his face.

You blink in surprise, letting out a slight cough into your elbow and standing up from the hot sand. You try to brush away all the particles of sand on your legs, and Seungkwan looks up at you with a curious gaze.

“Well, we’re at the beach. Shouldn’t we go and swim?” You ask and point over to the glistening water, a mischievous smile on your face. Seungkwan raises an eyebrow at you, “Neither of us are wearing swimsuits.”

You squint, “You’re wearing shorts, and I’m wearing shorts–”

“We’re both wearing jeans.” The blonde deadpans, but you continue while waving him off.

“That’s basically swim attire to me!” You exclaim, and Seungkwan stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. Without waiting for a response, you bend down to fold your jeans up to your knees, and then make a b-line straight for the ocean.

“Yn? Please be serious!” You hear him call out from behind you, but you ignore him, continuing to head towards the ocean with a look of determination.

Is this crazy? Yes. Is it disrespectful to go into the ocean wearing a pair of wide leg jeans? Absolutely.

Are you going to stop?

…

No. You’ve already gone this far, how could you back out now?

“They’re crazy.” Seungkwan murmurs to himself when he sees you make it to the water, and he stands up in shock when you step into the ocean without hesitation. “Oh my God.”

The blonde bites back a laugh when he hears you let out a squeal from the cold water. He watches as you go further into the water, but not far enough for the tides to reach your folded jeans. He’s about to call out for you to come back, only to feel the words die in his throat when you turn to face him.

The sun is glistening over the ocean, causing the waves to sparkle as they crash ashore. Your hand is raised up to shield your eyes from the bright sun, and there’s wisps of unruly hair blowing all over your face from the wind. The folded part of your jeans are beginning to get wet and you’re struggling to keep your balance, but there’s a big smile on your face as you call out to the blonde.

“Seungkwan! Come join me!”

The blonde blinks, as if pulled from a trance, eyes still fixed on you as you wade deeper into the water. He doesn't move at first—just watches as you try to keep your balance amidst the waves. He takes note of the way your laughter carries over the wind, the way the sun lights up your face despite the strands of hair whipping wildly around it.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, unsure whether to interrupt the stillness he’s caught in. Then you start waving again, more animated this time, and he shakes his head, no, at you. A small smile tugs at his lips when you let out an exaggerated sigh, before he braces himself, because the cheeky smile on your face tells him that you’re definitely up to something. He wonders what mischievous thought you have stirring up in your head when you suddenly call out:

“Don’t be a pussy!”

Seungkwan’s jaw drops at the vulgarity of your statement.

He can admit that he may be a lot of things! To list a few: loud, slightly sensitive, perhaps even a little bit… silly.

But Seungkwan is not a pussy.

“Hurry up! Live a little!” You shout towards him, and he presses his lips into a thin line. You watch in delight as he starts muttering to himself, bending down to roll up his jeans and slip off his shoes before walking over to you.

“I can’t believe you’re making me go into the water fully clothed.” Seungkwan grumbles when he’s now standing in front of you, arms crossed as the water barely touches his ankles. You tilt your head with a sly smile, “You could’ve said no, you know? You have free will.”

“You called me a pussy! I practically had no choice in the matter.” He whisper-shouts, eliciting a chuckle out of you. Pursing your lips, you reach your hand out for him to grab, and he glances down at it with a frown.

He looks back up at you, “What?”

“Hold my hand. You’re barely in the water, you should at least get the bottom of your jeans wet.” You explain with a wave of your hand, and he shakes his head with a little laugh.

“I’m good staying right here.” The blonde answers as he raises his hands up for emphasis, and a quick exchange with your conscience occurs.

If you reached out and grabbed his hand to pull him deeper into the water with you, he would certainly get mad at you. And it doesn’t help that this is the first time you’ve ever hung out with the guy you may have secretly admired in high school. This would make a spectacularly bad second impression.

However, you’re standing alone in the water, hand still outstretched towards him like a fool as you get openly rejected. Is it embarrassing for you? Perchance. Are you willing to have him get mad at you in order to not be standing alone in the ocean in wide leg jeans?

Absolutely.

Without a second thought, you grab his hand and yank him towards you. He lets out a loud shout of surprise, eyes wide as he trips onto you, causing the both of you to fall into the water.

You jump out of the water with a gasp that quickly turns into a snort when the blonde practically leaps up from under the ocean. He lets out a cough as he pushes his wet hair back, before turning to look at you with a combination of both shock and pure, utter betrayal etched onto his face.

“There is no way you just did that.” Seungkwan states as he coughs out some more water, and you simply shrug your shoulders, trying to fight back the laugh that’s threatening to escape, “I definitely did.”

The blonde blinks, takes a glance down at his soaking wet attire, and cringes slightly at the feeling of his wet jeans. Letting out a breath, he looks back up at you and tilts his head, “Do you regret it?”

You stare at him for a moment, taking in the way the sunlight spills across his face. The leftover water droplets clinging to his skin catch the light like tiny sparkles, and you find a smile making its way onto your face as you shake your head at him.

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

Seungkwan’s eyes bore into your own, and before he can get distracted by your pretty eye-smile, he lets out a sigh and turns away from you. He stretches his hands out and cracks his knuckles, then attempts to crack his neck by tilting his head from side to side.

Your smile falters slightly at the implication of his sequence of actions, “Oh neptune.”

“Oh neptune is right,” Seungkwan states after he finishes warming up, and you’re already starting to put some distance between the two of you when he lets out a maniacal laugh, “You better run bitch.”

You’re laying on the beach towel that you had bought after Seungkwan chased you around in the water for an hour, staring up at the sky that’s starting to get painted with different shades of pink and purple.

After you yanked Seungkwan into the water with you and the blonde attempted to murder you as revenge, you had bought both of your beach towels at the nearest convenience store as an act of apology. Whereas Seungkwan had bought you each ice cream as a sign of a truce, and now the two of you have been sunbathing for the last few hours, allowing the sun to dry up your clothes.

“That cloud looks like a butt.” Seungkwan points out, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. You follow his pointed finger to find an orange cloud slowly floating away, and your eyes narrow at the sight, before agreeing with the blonde, “That’s an ass if I’ve ever seen one.”

You hear him chuckle at your comment, eliciting a small smile out of you as you turn your head to look at him. However, you’re quickly distracted by the beach volleyball game that’s going on, and you sit up on the towel to watch more carefully.

Your eyes follow the ball as it bounces back and forth over the net, and the corner of your lips tilts upwards when it finally hits the sand, watching as the team that scored a point let out a chorus of shouts. Nudging Seungkwan with your knee, you glance down to find him already looking at the volleyball players as you say, “You should join them.”

The blonde stares at the ongoing volleyball game in silence, and you’re about to repeat yourself when he suddenly turns away to look back up at the sky as he mutters, “No thanks.”

You blink at his answer.

In high school, Boo Seungkwan would never turn down an opportunity to play volleyball. It was almost as if the sport was a need for him—just like food, air, and water. Whenever the chance to play volleyball arose, he was always the first one to join.

And his team was always the one to win.

So now here you are, 8 years later, staring down at Seungkwan in surprise after hearing him turn down a game of beach volleyball.

“Why not? Whichever team you join would win since they’d have you as their teammate.” You say with a small smile, but the blonde just shakes his head, continuing to stare up at the sky with a faraway look to his eyes. A slight frown takes over your features at his indifference, and you press your lips into a thin line as an awkward silence settles over the two of you.

“You seem like a different person.” You murmur after a moment, trying to decipher what emotion is hidden beneath his gaze as he lets out a breath.

Seungkwan doesn’t turn his head to look at you, but he quietly asks, “What kind of person was I before?”

You stare at him, watching the way his eyes trail from side to side as he follows the clouds while you think to yourself.

From the dark eyebags he’s worn each day you’ve seen him, to the slight limp in his step after running with you in the water, and his disinterest in the sport you watched him fall in love with all those years ago.

“Right,” You mutter, turning away from him as you look up at the sky yourself, “I must’ve been mistaken.”

Silence falls over the two of you, and it lingers up until you go your separate ways. There’s a promise to reach out once you each make it home, a promise that is later fulfilled as soon as you enter your apartment. Your phone buzzes shortly after your text is sent, and a small smile graces your features when you glance down at the screen.

seungkwan🍊: good just made it home too i’ll see you tomorrow ?

You quickly type out a yes, before making a b-line to the bathroom in order to take a shower. However, as you lather your head with shampoo, your thoughts continue to stay on the faraway look to the blonde’s eyes.

You carry the full trash can towards the garbage, letting out a little grumble as you try not to get anything on your uniform. Making it to the bottom step of the stairwell, you turn the corner, just to let out a squeak and turn back around to hide behind the wall.

Heart pounding, you cautiously peek your head out to make sure your eyes aren't deceiving you. But they aren’t. Your jaw drops when you find Seungkwan standing in front of a girl from another class, her face bright red as she holds out a letter towards him.

“I just wanted to throw out the trash.” You murmur, wondering how you’re supposed to walk past them without getting noticed.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you peek at them again to find the girl’s letter still in her hands, but tears now flooding her eyes as she stares at the boy in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan finally speaks in a soft voice, and you hold back a gasp at the scene unfolding before you, “I don’t think I’ll have time to be in a relationship once we graduate. I’m honored that you like someone like me, but you’ll find someone better.”

You watch as her bottom lip quivers, and you almost feel terrible until she cries: “But I only want you!”

Your jaw drops in horror when she starts bawling, quickly snapping you out of your stalkerish behavior. Seungkwan reaches out to comfort her, and you find that this might be your only chance to sneak past them.

Grabbing the trash can tightly, you quickly start heading towards the garbage and recycling, only to freeze in your tracks when you suddenly hear:

“Yn!”

Your head whips around, watching in both slight horror and awe as Seungkwan jogs over to you.

“He knows my name?” You whisper to yourself in shock. Your eyes stay wide as he suddenly appears in front of you, and before you can even find your voice, he’s already reached out and taken the heavy trash can out of your grasp.

“I almost forgot that it was my turn to do the trash today. You didn’t have to take it out on your own!” Seungkwan lies with a pleading look to his eyes that absolutely does not match the smile he’s forced onto his face. He has an expression that is screaming: Please save me.

The corner of your lips twitches upwards as you attempt to use your best acting skills, taking a step forward to guide him in the direction of the trash can, “It was way too full and everyone was starting to complain. I decided to be a good natured human and take it out since you weren’t in class.”

Seungkwan almost lets out a sigh of relief when he finds that you’re going along with the lie. He chuckles and tries to look apologetic, “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a treat after to make up for my forgetfulness.”

You let out a soft smile as you turn to look at him. You’d like to say this smile is a part of your act, but you know it’s not true. When the two of you finally make it to the trash can, you sneakily glance back to see if the girl is still there, and feel a bit of relief when you see that she’s gone.

“She’s not there anymore.” You tell Seungkwan after he throws the trash into the bin, and he practically collapses to his knees. He claps his hands together and looks up towards the sky, “God, I may not be religious, but I am asking you to let me finish my senior year without having to reject anyone else like that.”

You giggle at his dramatics, “What a privileged prayer to be making. Do you know how many guys are praying for the exact opposite of what you just asked for?”

Seungkwan snorts at your statement, and he starts leading the way back to your guy's classroom. You grin and follow after him, ignoring the way your heart is thumping in your chest as the two of you walk side by side.

This is the first time you guys have ever talked.

“I feel like it should be common knowledge that I’m only interested in both academics and volleyball. I always feel bad when I have to reject someone’s feelings, especially when they react like that.” Seungkwan explains, and you nod your head in understanding.

You and the class president have been in the same school since middle school, and you’ve watched his skills and passion in volleyball evolve over the years. You’ve admired him from a distance, always rooting for his ventures in the sport.

“That makes sense. It’s also a more stressful time for you since you’re getting scouted now, aren’t you?”

Seungkwan nods his head, letting out a short laugh, “Yeah. It’s around the time players will start getting offers from universities, so I keep frantically checking both the mailbox and my email whenever I can.”

You both pause outside of your classroom’s doors, having not realized you’ve already made it back to class during your conversation. Turning to look at the class president, you see the slight furrow to his eyebrows as he stares at the closed door of your class.

You don’t like seeing him look so anxious.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nudge Seungkwan’s shoulder. He turns his head to look at you, “I’m not sure how much comfort or reassurance this will offer you, but they would be crazy to not scout you. You’re the best player on our team, and they chose to watch you at our games for a reason.”

Seungkwan stares at you for a moment, and you feel a bit of relief when you see the furrow to his eyebrows slowly melt away.

He eventually gives you a small smile, one that reaches his eyes as he softly says, “Thank you, yn.”

You nod your head, ignoring the warmth to your face as you raise both your fists up and say, “Fighting!”

“Here’s your latte.” You’re snapped out of your daydream once your coffee is placed in front of you, and you look up to give Seungkwan a smile, “Thank you.”

He nods his head and sits across from you, taking a sip of his iced americano and grinning in satisfaction. You find yourself frowning at the sight of the battery acid he’s drinking, “I can’t believe you like iced americanos.”

“Why? Do you like hot americanos instead?” The blonde asks, and you shake your head as you take a sip of your latte, “I don’t like americanos in general. It’s an espresso shot and water. That’s a recipe for me to shit my pants.”

Seungkwan lets out a chuckle, “Says the one who gets a latte. That’s an espresso shot and milk. Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

You press your lips into a thin line and turn away from him, “I am not answering questions at this time.”

The blonde guffaws at your answer, and you have to bite back a smile to keep up your serious persona. Turning to glance at him, you take another sip of your delicious latte and grimace when he takes a large gulp of his iced americano. You point to it, “You don’t even add at least one sugar? You just get the espresso shot and water?”

“And I’m proud.” He answers with a sly smile, and you shudder in disgust. You set down your coffee to raise both your fists up and go, “Fighting!”

You watch as his eyebrows furrow slightly at your action, tilting his head as he leans back into his seat to look at you. You raise an eyebrow at him, “What?”

“Nothing. I just felt like that wasn’t the first time I heard you say that.” Seungkwan says, still trying to search his memory as he takes a sip of his coffee.

A small smile takes over your features at the distant memory you were just reflecting on, and you shrug your shoulders, “It’s something I say pretty often.”

The blonde stares at you for a moment longer, before nodding his head and seemingly letting go of trying to remember. There’s a loud ring of laughter that echoes through the cafe, and you both turn to find a small group of high schoolers joking around as they try to evenly split a cake slice.

“Can’t believe Spring break is almost over.” You mutter. It’s the fourth day of your guys break, so you only have three more days of freedom before getting back to work as a teacher. Seungkwan nods his head in agreement, letting out a low whistle.

“Tell me about it. I’m not ready. I want to continue sleeping in for another week.” Seungkwan responds with a sigh, and you grin, “What should we do with our last three days of freedom?”

The blonde thinks to himself for a second, before turning back towards you, “I’ve been interested in sourdough these days.”

“Sourdough.” You repeat, having not expected that answer at all.

Seungkwan nods his head, “I’ve been getting a lot of sourdough starter and sourdough videos on my timeline, especially in the middle of the night when I’m doom scrolling. Safe to say that it piqued my interest.”

You snort and lean back into your seat as you take a sip of your latte, “Alright, Shakespeare.”

“What? Is it a crime to use the word pique?”

“It’s a bit silly to hear it in the same sentence as sourdough and doom scrolling.” You say with a giggle, watching as the blonde lets out a smile. He waves a hand at you, “So are you down to bake sourdough?”

You grin and nod your head, “Yeah. Actually, my roommate also fell down the rabbit hole of sourdough starters and sourdough videos, so he made his own sourdough starter.”

“Woah, is it alive?” Seungkwan asks, and you nod again, “Yeah. He named him Soobin for some reason. I think it’s because he discovered that punching and slamming the dough onto the table is good for it, so he named it after his friend.”

“I know a Soobin,” Seungkwan states as he taps his chin, “I don’t think I would punch or chokeslam the Soobin I know, though.”

“Beomgyu and Soobin have a love-hate relationship.” You say, and the blonde’s eyes widen, “Wait. Is your roommate Beomgyu? Like, Choi Beomgyu?”

You nod with a smile, “Yes, why? Do you know him?”

“Yes! I met him through Soobin back in college. Soobin and I were both on SNU’s volleyball team.” Seungkwan explains, and your eyes widen in disbelief.

“Choi Soobin? Tall and cute, but not a sliver of an athletic bone on his body… on SNU’s volleyball team?” You clarify, and Seungkwan tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Soobin’s really good at volleyball.”

“But I’ve never once seen him make a basket when the boys played basketball?”

Seungkwan gives you a deadpan expression, “Volleyball and basketball are two very different sports, yn.”

“Okay, yeah! But how can you be super good at one ball sport, and terrible at another?!”

Seungkwan sips the last of his iced americano and places his glass down onto the table. He reaches out to tap your forehead with his pointer finger, and you swat his hand away with a glare.

“Come on, let’s make sourdough out of Soobin.”

“Bamgyu~ your best friend and perfect roommate is back home.” You call out in a singsong voice, stepping out of your sneakers and putting on your slippers. Seungkwan gently closes your front door and locks it, before slipping out of his own shoes.

“Yn! You’re lucky I just fed Soobin last night. That greedy fucking bastard. You know, this is the type of greed they warned about in the bible—Boo Seungkwan?” Beomgyu rounds the corner and pauses mid-rant when he looks up from the floor to see Seungkwan standing behind you.

He glances between you and the blonde, before he lets out a dramatic gasp, “Oh! Is Boo Seungkwan the one you went on a date with the other–AH!”

You run up in horror and immediately put him into a chokehold, cutting him off from finishing his sentence. The brunette slaps your arm that’s now tightly wrapped around his neck, and you gently lower him to the floor. Seungkwan lets out a small smile, seemingly unphased by your violence as he waves at your struggling roommate.

“Beomgyu! Long time no see!”

“H-Help… help me…” Beomgyu chokes out, gasping for air as you give Seungkwan a big smile from the floor. You nod your head in the direction of the kitchen, “You can go wash your hands in there~”

The blonde gives you a thumbs up and heads over towards the kitchen. You watch until he’s behind the kitchen island, and finally release your roommate from the chokehold. Beomgyu gasps for air, letting out a cough as he clutches onto his neck and puts distance between the two of you. He points at you in horror, “What the fuck?! I almost died—you fucking rat bastard!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t know how to watch your mouth?! I had to do what was best to save myself.” You whisper-shout, and Beomgyu continues to stare at you with wide eyes. He waves his hands around, “You could’ve, I don’t know, told me to shut the fuck up like a normal human being?!”

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it, you freak.” You state as you stand up from the floor. He opens his mouth to argue, but you point at him with an accusatory finger, “I saw your likes on Twitter before they went private. Don’t forget that we used to read the same manga, too.”

You watch as his mouth slowly closes, and he clears his throat. He nods his head, and takes your outstretched hand, allowing you to help him stand back up.

“Noted.” Beomgyu says, and you bite back a chuckle before the two of you head over towards the kitchen. You turn the corner to find Seungkwan staring at Soobin the sourdough starter with a look of awe on his face, and your roommate lets out a smirk.

“I know, pretty sick.”

“Does Soobin know that you named a sourdough starter after him?” Seungkwan asks, and Beomgyu shakes his head, “No, I think he’d kill me if he knew that I beat him in dough form.”

“Ah.” Seungkwan states, and you have to hold in your laughter. You nudge the blonde, “Is there a specific recipe that you were looking at? Or should we just go for it?”

“You guys know that the dough will need to be proofed, right? Seungkwan might need to sleepover and you can finish baking Soobin in the morning.”

Your mouth drops open slightly, having not known the intricate process of baking sourdough. Seungkwan, on the other hand, nods his head, “Yeah, I’ve been watching a lot of videos. I don’t want to intrude by sleeping over, though. I didn’t even bring anything.”

“You can just borrow my clothes. We can all hangout and watch a movie, or something.” Beomgyu says, and you nod your head in agreement, “Yeah, you live pretty far from here. I’d hate for you to have to make that commute.”

The blonde purses his lips, before nodding, “Alright. As long as the two of you are okay with it.”

You and Beomgyu exchange a glance, which leads to you elbowing your roommate in the gut when he knowingly wiggles his eyebrows at you. He lets out a slight grunt, before you both turn back towards Seungkwan and give him a thumbs up.

“Okay, let’s get this bread.”

“Who knew beating the fuck out of Soobin would be such a stress reliever.” You say as you flop down onto the couch, and Beomgyu snaps his fingers in agreement. Seungkwan chuckles, “Maybe we should start saying Soobin the sourdough starter instead of just Soobin. A stranger might think we’re actually assaulting someone.”

You immediately sit up and point at Seungkwan, “I would never beat Soobin up. That’s my princess.”

“What about me?” You glance at your roommate on the floor in front of the couch, who’s cupping his face with his hands and batting his eyelashes at you. You grimace and push his face away, and he lets out a loud whine.

“You don’t love me the way I love you.” Beomgyu grunts, making Seungkwan grin as he sits beside you on the couch. Rolling your eyes, you pick up the remote and start scrolling through Netflix to try and find a movie to watch.

“Woah. They added Interstellar to Netflix?” Your roommate exclaims when he sees the popular movie, and you nod your head in surprise, “I guess so. Should we watch it?”

“Nah, we should watch something funny. I think Interstellar would be too damaging.” Seungkwan adds as he makes himself comfy on the couch. You nod in agreement, scrolling until you find the remote landing on the movie White Chicks. Your eyes fall on the red box beneath the movie poster, reading the words:

Leaving Soon

There’s a shift in the air, and Beomgyu slowly turns his head to look at you, as does Seungkwan. The three of you exchange a glance, and through impeccable team synergy, you all decide to watch the movie White Chicks without having to say a single word.

“I’d say it was a sign from God to watch the movie.” Beomgyu finally speaks once the movie starts, and you let out a snort.

You attempt to make yourself comfortable as the movie goes on. Shifting on the couch, you purse your lips when you take note of the seating situation: Beomgyu is sprawled out on the floor in front of you, and Seungkwan is right beside you—effectively blocking any chance you had of stretching your legs out. With a sigh, you draw your knees to your chest and rest your chin on top of them.

The blonde takes notice of your discomfort shortly after, especially since you kept shifting out the corner of his eye. He leans towards you and whispers, “Are you not comfortable?”

You glance at him just as Beomgyu lets out a loud laugh, and offer a small shrug, “A bit. I just want to stretch my legs, but I’ll live.”

Seungkwan takes a quick look at your surroundings, quickly understanding why you’re stuck in a pretzel stance. Without a word, he rests his feet onto the floor and pats his knees, looking at you expectantly. Your eyes widen at the idea of skinship and you quickly shake your head, no, but the blonde pats his legs a second time.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind sitting like this.” You whisper, and Seungkwan shrugs his shoulders, “I’d rather you be comfortable than uncomfortable.”

The warmth that floods your chest is immediate. After a moment, you tentatively stretch your legs out and rest them onto his knees, trying very hard not to overthink your position. You try to turn your attention back to the movie, but it’s quite hard to focus when Seungkwan’s hands are lightly patting your shins in a rhythm far too gentle for your nerves.

Beomgyu, that little shit, turns his head to shoot you a smirk after eavesdropping on your whole interaction. You send him a death glare. He blows you a kiss, before turning back towards the movie and letting out a loud laugh. You fight back the urge to reach out and grab a handful of your roommate’s hair, instead taking a deep breath and focusing on the movie again.

You try your best to watch White Chicks like a normal human being after the whole interaction, you really do.

But it’s difficult when all your brain can focus on is the fact that your legs are resting on Seungkwan’s lap—and he’s been gently tapping his fingers on your shins for thirty straight minutes.

It’s only when the infamous fitting room scene comes on and Seungkwan finally stops the gentle patting that you feel yourself able to breathe again. The three of you laugh and joke throughout the rest of the film, and when the movie credits come on, Beomgyu lifts up the remote to return to the home page.

“I forgot how much I love this movie–” Beomgyu starts as he turns to look at you and Seungkwan, only to pause when his eyes land on the guy beside you. Raising an eyebrow at his reaction, you follow his line of sight, only to find Seungkwan fast asleep on the couch.

“Damn. He was laughing just a minute ago.” You murmur, and Beomgyu nods his head. His eyes trail down to find Seungkwan’s hands still resting over your shins, and he takes a moment to take in the sight, before turning to you with a shit-eating grin.

“Shut the fuck up.” You state, and his shit-eating grin turns into an expression of mock offense, “What the fuck? I didn’t even say anything!”

“Your stupid face says enough.”

“I can’t win in this household.” Beomgyu mutters as he stands up from the floor and stretches his arms over his head. You take this moment to slowly remove your legs from Seungkwan’s lap, with Beomgyu helping you transition off the couch.

You let out a breath, crossing your arms as you look at the blonde fast asleep. You tilt your head at the same time the brunette tilts his head towards you, “He didn’t even brush his teeth or change into the pajamas we offered.”

“Should we wake him up?”

“No… let’s just place the pajamas and toothbrush on the coffee table and adjust him on the couch so he’s more comfortable.” You answer, and Beomgyu nods his head in agreement. You walk away to grab the spare toothbrush and clothes, while Beomgyu goes to get the pillows and blankets. 

You return with the toothbrush and clothes right as Beomgyu finishes fluffing a pillow and draping a blanket over the couch. Stepping carefully around the coffee table, you crouch down and place a hand gently on Seungkwan’s shoulders, guiding him slowly onto his back.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t woken up during any of this,” you whisper as Beomgyu moves to lift Seungkwan’s legs onto the couch. The brunette handles him with care, cradling each leg as if he’s done this before. For the first time, Seungkwan stirs—his brows knitting together as his body shifts on the cushions.

You watch closely as his legs move slightly into what looks like a more comfortable position, though the frown on his face remains. Biting the inside of your cheek, you tentatively reach out and carefully rub the crease between his brows until his expression eventually relaxes.

Beomgyu lets out a low whistle, “I tried to be careful with his leg, but I guess not careful enough.”

You pause mid-motion, blinking, “His leg?”

Beomgyu glances at you, nodding as if you’d just asked whether the sky was blue. He takes the blanket and places it over Seungkwan, then steps back with a soft sigh. But when he turns and sees the confused look still etched on your face, his expression falters. He blinks. Then blinks again.

“You don’t know?” 

“What am I supposed to know? Seungkwan and I only reunited a week ago, and before that we had spoken a total of like… two times.” You explain, and Beomgyu presses his lips in a thin line. He turns to look at Seungkwan once more, before turning to you and pulling you towards your room.

He makes you stand in front of your bedroom door, gestures in the direction of where Seungkwan is sleeping, before stating, “Frankly, it’s not my story to tell–”

“Bitch. You pulled me aside just to say that?” You ask with a deadpan expression, and the brunette shushes you.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he gives you a pointed look, “It’s not my story to tell, so I’m only going to tell you the gist of it. Seungkwan tore his ACL in his senior year of volleyball at SNU, and it completely ended his volleyball career.”

Your heart sinks.

Boo Seungkwan? The same Seungkwan who lived and breathed volleyball? Whose energy lit up every game you ever watched?

Flashes of him come back in an instant—his bright smile whenever he played, his excited shouts when his team would successfully run a play, his laughter that echoed off the gym walls, the loud cheers from the crowd whenever he’d score a point. All that joy, that purpose, gone in a moment.

“He… he what?” You whisper, almost to yourself.

Beomgyu just shakes his head gently, “That’s all I should say. The rest is his story to share, not mine. I’m just happy to see him smiling again at least.”

The brunette stares at the look of something akin to both horror and sadness etched onto your face, and he can only fondly pat the top of your head. He squeezes your shoulder, “You should go to sleep. We have important business tomorrow. As in, baking Soobin tomorrow morning.”

You can only muster a tight-lipped smile, and Beomgyu turns and heads towards his room. Your eyes trail over to Seungkwan’s sleeping figure once more, unable to believe what your roommate just told you.

You saw the signs in the time the two of you have spent together, but you’re still unable to believe how harshly Seungkwan’s dream was ripped from his grasp. The late nights working at the convenience store, the dark circles under his eyes, and the detachment he showed when watching the beach volleyball game—it all makes sense now. All the signs were there.

But you still can’t quite believe it.

The dream he’d built his life around, ripped away without warning. The thing that had shaped so much of who he was, and now it’s gone.

A sharp ache lodges in your chest, and you shake your head, trying to push the weight of it all away as you step into your room.

You carefully weave through the crowd to get to your seat on the bleachers, and you let out a big smile when you see one of your few friends, Mark, waving you over. Hurrying to your spot, you plop down into the seat he saved for you, and hand him the bag of candy he asked for.

“Oh hell yeah! I’m glad they didn’t sell out of the gummy clusters, they’re usually the first to go whenever we have a home game.” He tells you as he opens the bag, and you nod your head in agreement as he holds out the candy to you.

Taking a piece, you toss it into your mouth as you explain, “Just so you know, I almost fought for my life getting you that candy. I didn’t think it would be that busy since it’s about to be the fourth set, but holy shit.”

Mark laughs and pats your head affectionately, “Well, thank you for going head first into battle for my favorite candy.”

“It’s only fair since you saved us seats earlier.”

“Well, it’s the last home game of the season. I figured you’d want to see the love of your life playing his last home game–”

“Shut your whore mouth?!” You whisper-shout, and your friend guffaws at your reaction. You have half the mind to start choking him out, but you do appreciate having at least one good friend in your school who you can confide in.

“I told you that in secrecy, and it was only told because you caught on to my heart eyes.”

“Yn, anyone can catch onto your heart eyes if they just glanced at you whenever the man called us to stand for the morning greeting.”

“You know what? I don’t need this right now. The fourth set is about to–” You’re cut off by the sound of cheers, and you immediately snap your head towards the court. Your heart practically leaps out of your chest when you see Seungkwan walk out while laughing with his teammate, Mingyu, before going straight to his position.

“Exhibit A.” Mark whispers into your ear, and you blindly slap his stomach, making him double over.

You watch as your team gets the first serve, and with bated breath, your eyes remain on the ball as it successfully gets served to the other team.

You watch in fascination as the game goes on, feeling a smile form on your face whenever Seungkwan lets out a cheer from a successful play. The crowd gets noticeably louder as your team wracks up points over the rival team, and you’re sure your heart rate is in the 100s from how close the game is.

Your eyes follow Seungkwan across the court, completely entranced by how his passion radiates through every movement. He plays like he’s part of the game itself—from the unwavering focus in his gaze, to the way his smile lights up whenever he scores, to the joy in his voice as he cheers on his teammates even when he’s subbed out. There’s no mistaking how much he loves this.

Your heart swells watching him—class president, volleyball captain, the sun around which so many orbit.

The crowd gets louder as the ball is kept alive longer than expected. You and Mark are on your feet now, having just watched your team’s libero dive over a table to save the ball. Hands clasped over your head, you brace yourself as the opposing team sets up for a block.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter under your breath.

Then, just as quickly, everything shifts. A feint. A fake spike. And suddenly, Seungkwan is high above the net.

For a breathless second, time seems to stop. The noise of the crowd fades. The bright lights of the gym are shining onto the court, and all you can see is the way the lights illuminate Seungkwan’s form suspended mid-air, arm raised as the ball is passed to him. He strikes.

The ball slams into the floor untouched. Point.

25–20.

The scoreboard confirms it, but the deafening roar from the stands says it first. You and Mark jump and scream, pure joy coursing through your veins. Your eyes immediately search for Seungkwan, finding him at the center of the court, his smile wide and bright as his teammates pile onto him.

“Exhibit B,” Mark grins beside you, nudging your arm. “You practically have hearts shooting out of your eyes.”

You don’t even bother defending yourself this time, a warm smile on your face as you watch the team toss Seungkwan into the air in celebration.

Because all you can think is: he’s so happy, and he is so dearly loved.

And that’s more than enough for you.

Your eyes slowly open, the sunlight shining in through the cracks of the curtains. The corner of your lips quirk upwards, warmth lingering in your chest at the fond memory. Letting out a yawn, you roll over to check the time, only to pause when you hear the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen.

“You’re telling me that this whole time I’ve known you and Soobin, that Soobin actually won that League game?”

“Yeah. I think since my frontal lobe is developing, I’ve decided to be truthful.”

You roll your eyes at Beomgyu bringing up that League game once again. In the years you’ve known him and Soobin, it’s brought up at least once a month.

Grabbing your phone, you step out of bed and open your bedroom door to find Seungkwan and Beomgyu carefully putting flour over the dough.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to wake up. We’re about to score Soobin, yn.” Your roommate calls out when he glances up from Soobin the dough, and Seungkwan looks away from the dough at the mention of your name. You watch as the blonde’s eyes scan the room before landing on you, and you feel your heart thump against your chest at the warm smile that appears on his face.

“Good morning, yn.” Seungkwan greets, and you smile, “Good morning.”

“Good morning Beomgyu, my favorite person in the whole wide world.” Beomgyu interrupts in a high-pitch voice, clearly trying to impersonate you, and your smile turns into a death glare, “Awe~ thank you, yn. You’re so kind to me.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that? You should definitely know it. You absolute son of a bitch. ” You deadpan as you walk over towards the bathroom to brush your teeth, and the brunette lets out a cackle before chatting with Seungkwan again.

Grabbing your toothbrush, you start to brush your teeth and head over to the kitchen to watch them score Soobin the sourdough. You stand beside Seungkwan and sleepily lean against his shoulder as the two of you watch Beomgyu whip out the blade.

You fail to notice the small smile that graces Seungkwan’s face from your initiated skinship.

“Do you trust Beomgyu enough to do this?” The blonde leans in to ask, and right before you get the chance to answer, your roommate lets out a maniacal laugh at the thought of scoring Soobin.

Soobin the dough.

You shake your head, no, and the blonde chuckles.

You stand together in a comfortable silence as your roommate seemingly locks in and starts etching a design onto the top of the dough. You have to hide how impressed you are at the delicate design Beomgyu scores into the dough. You didn’t think he had it in him, but then again, he’s already baked quite a few sourdough loaves.

As you try to reflect on Beomgyu’s previous loaves of bread, you almost inhale all the toothpaste foam in your mouth when Seungkwan suddenly rests his head on top of yours.

Beomgyu lets out a satisfactory smile once he finishes the score design, and turns to look at the two of you for praise, just to freeze at the sight resting before him. You’re still frozen as well, but even moreso now that you feel like you just got caught.

He stares at the two of you for a moment, before that sly smile you dread makes its way onto his face.

“Well, this is cute.” Your roommate states quite matter of factly as he gestures between the two of you. It takes you an egregious amount of energy to not spit the toothpaste foam directly onto his face as you instead step away to go and rinse out your mouth in the bathroom.

“I should just kill that guy.” You mutter to yourself after drying your mouth with a towel. Stepping out of the bathroom, you walk over to the kitchen to watch as Seungkwan places Soobin the sourdough into the oven.

“Wow~ I hope Soobin tastes good.” Beomgyu says in a singsong voice after the blonde shuts the oven door. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at the other way you can interpret that statement.

Seungkwan chuckles, however, and corrects your roommate, “Soobin the sourdough.”

“Tomato, potato.” The brunette says with a wave of his hand, making you roll your eyes before realizing that Seungkwan is wearing the sleeping clothes Beomgyu offered, “Oh! You’re wearing pajamas. Does that mean you woke up last night?”

Seungkwan glances down and laughs as he nods his head, “Yeah, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling gross in my jeans. Thank you guys for helping me lay down and stuff…”

But you barely catch the end of his sentence.

Your gaze has already drifted to the long surgical scar resting along his knee. It cuts sharply against his skin, a quiet but jarring reminder of everything Beomgyu told you.

Your chest tightens.

It’s not fair. Why him? Of all people?

“Yn!”

You jolt, immediately looking up to find both boys staring at you, “Sorry! I completely zoned out, what was that?”

“Seungkwan asked if you wanted to go pick up coffee at the place downstairs so we can drink it as we eat Soobin.” Beomgyu explains.

You bite the inside of your cheek, silently hoping that the pretty blonde didn’t notice you staring at his surgery scar. But when your eyes meet his, you know that he did.

He gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite match his gaze, “I can go by myself if you guys want. I just wanted to treat you guys for being such great hosts–”

“No!” You cut off, making Seungkwan and Beomgyu pause at your sudden outburst. Clearing your throat, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and gesture towards the door, “I can go with you. I wouldn’t want you to carry Beomgyu’s gigantic diabetic drink by yourself.”

“Okay–what the hell. I just breathed.” The brunette says in offense, but you don’t even shoot him a glance as your eyes stay on Seungkwan.

The blonde lets out a breathy chuckle and gives you a thumbs up, “Sounds good. What drink did you want though, Gyu?”

You shoot your roommate a pointed look, already knowing what his ass is going to ask for. He seemingly ignores your gaze as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, looking up at the ceiling as he mutters, “Cinnamon shortbread latte. Extra vanilla syrup… please.”

You slap a hand over your mouth to fight the laugh that threatens to escape, and he raises his hand to flip you off in response. Seungkwan bites back a laugh as well, turning and heading towards the door, and you follow after him.

As you slip into your slippers and grab your keys, Seungkwan steps into his sneakers and throws a jacket on. The two of you leave the apartment in a silence that feels heavier than it should.

Inside the elevator, you finally speak, “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh—yeah. Your guys’ couch is very comfortable so I practically slept like a baby.” Seungkwan answers with a small laugh, and you exhale in relief as you give him a smile.

“I’m glad. Beomgyu and I were surprised to find you fast asleep as soon as the movie ended.” You say with a giggle as the two of you step out of the elevator. Seungkwan chuckles and nods his head, holding the loppy door open for you before falling into step at your side.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

You nod, but hesitate for a second, “Will you be okay for your shift at the convenience store tonight? I almost forgot that you’re working the night shift.”

Seungkwan waves it off, “I’ll be alright. Nothing I’m not used to, don’t worry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but decide to let it go.

At the café, you order and sit side-by-side on the tall stools by the window as you wait for your order. Despite the light conversation, you find your thoughts drifting to the long scar you caught a glimpse of, and everything Beomgyu told you last night. You have to force yourself not to look at Seungkwan’s leg, and instead stare out the window.

“What are you thinking about?” Seungkwan asks in a soft voice, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turn to look at the blonde, “What?”

“It’s just, you’ve been frowning since we sat down. Are you okay?” You press your lips into a thin line at the fact that he noticed. Feeling a bit embarrassed at how you’re not able to hide your emotions, you just shrug your shoulders, “I���m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Seungkwan presses, and you nod your head. However, you seemingly couldn’t get the slight frown to leave as the pretty blonde sighs and reaches out, gently rubbing his thumb over the crease between your eyebrows.

“You’re not very good at hiding your feelings, you know?” He teases lightly, and a small smile escapes you at that.

You’re about to joke with him when the sound of your order number is called, and you move to hop off the stool, but Seungkwan stops you, “I got it.”

You freeze mid-scoot when you see him actively trying to be careful as he steps down from the high stool, favoring his leg. Your eyes dart to his scar, unintentionally this time, and your breath catches in your throat.

“I got it,” you say quickly, already moving. “No worries. Just… stay here.”

Without waiting for his response, you walk over and grab the drink carrier. Giving your thanks to the barista, you turn around and head back to Seungkwan, coming to a slow pace when you see the hard expression on his face.

“What?” You ask in a quiet voice, and he stares at you in silence for a moment. His eyes are unreadable as he looks at you, and you can’t help the feeling of guilt that washes over you.

“Seungkwan, what is it?” You ask again, and he just lets out a sigh, turning away to scratch the back of his neck in frustration. Without a word, he takes the drink carrier from your grasp, and heads for the door. You trail behind in silence.

Outside, the air feels heavier than it did before.

“Seungkwan?” You call again, softly.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk after you call his name once more, and he turns to you, frustration etched across his features.

“Just because you found out about my injury, doesn’t mean you need to pity me.” Seungkwan tells you, anger laced into his voice.

Your eyes widen, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant to do at all–”

“Well, that’s what you did,” he snaps. “You embarrassed me there, you know? I’m still physically capable, so I can get my own coffee. I don’t need your pity.”

His voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through you. You take a step back, eyebrows furrowed as you stare into his eyes.

“Why are you being so hostile over this one thing I did?” you ask, voice rising. “You’re not even giving me the chance to apologize or explain.”

Seungkwan shakes his head, “I’m not being hostile.”

“You totally are!” You scoff.

Silence stretches between you. You're both too annoyed to even attempt to hear the other out.

After a moment, he finally lets out a breath and hands you the drink carrier, “You can have my drink. I’m going home. Tell Beomgyu I had an emergency or something—I don’t know.”

“What the hell? You’re going to leave over this?” You ask, and he gives you a dry chuckle.

“You were right. I should rest before my night shift tonight, so yeah. I am leaving over this. I’ll see you tomorrow, or something.” Seungkwan says, before turning around and walking away without looking back.

And you’re left alone standing in the middle of the sidewalk with three coffees—one normal, one diabetic, and one that tastes like battery acid—and a sharp ache blooming in your chest.

“Chat, am I the asshole?” You mutter on Beomgyu’s floor, holding his plushie to your chest as he plays League on his computer. You hear him insult Soobin through his mic, before shooting you a quick glance.

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, per se. I can see where he is coming from, though.”

You sniffle, “What does Soobin think?”

Beomgyu lets out a breath, before quickly fixing his settings so that Soobin’s voice comes out of his pc’s speakers instead of his headset, “Yn can hear you now, Soobin.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, yn.”

You can’t fight the pout from forming on your lips as you actively hold back the tears threatening to spill.

High school you could never imagine fighting Seungkwan like that—let alone fathom being close enough to hurt each other like this. Friends who sometimes feel like something more… but you won’t let yourself go there right now because:

you don’t want to be delusional

you’re still a bit mad at him

why the hell would Boo Seungkwan, your first love, ever feel something for you?

“Princess, am I going to hell?” You ask, feeling a bit more sad at your trail of thoughts as you clutch the plushie tighter to your chest. Beomgyu and Soobin answer in perfect unison, “Of course not, yn.”

“Shut the fuck up Beomgyu! I was talking to Soobin! You already know he’s my princess, not you!” You cry out, flopping backwards onto the floor. Your roommate bites his bottom lip, visibly holding back a retort. You’re sad over fighting with your first love, so he should be nice to you. Probably.

Still, he mutters under his breath, “I should just fucking kill myself.”

“I think you guys just need to talk it out,” Soobin says gently. “It was a bit of a silly fight, so you guys should be able to resolve it as long as you talk.”

Your pout deepens at his words, and you sniffle. The sound of a potential cry incoming causes Beomgyu to freeze.

A tear finally does escape past your eye, and Beomgyu immediately dies in the game.

“Ain’t no way you just died like that.” Soobin says.

The brunette doesn’t respond. He turns to look at you, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of you trying to hold back tears, and ultimately failing. He feels his own lips form into a pout at the pitiful sight.

“Yn,” Beomgyu says gently, “Soobin’s right. You guys just need to talk, okay?”

And that’s it.

You just about start wailing at your roommate talking to you in a gentle tone. Beomgyu flinches back in horror, and you hear Soobin start panicking and asking if you’re okay in-between a chorus of:

oh shit! son of a bitch?! beomgyu what the eff i need support?!

Your roommate rushes off his gaming chair and sits on the floor beside you, patting your head as you cry it all out. He’s practically holding back tears of his own, feeling like a strong empath at the moment, you suppose.

“I-It’s just not fair? How can the universe rip Seungkwan’s dream right out from under him like that? That’s so not fair! He of all people deserved to fulfill his dream!” You cry, voice cracking, and Beomgyu turns his head away so that he’s not looking at you while continuing to pat your head.

“It’s not fair. You’re right, yn. It was probably the most heartbreaking thing to watch him go through during that time.” Soobin agrees, and you almost start crying even harder as you reflect on your argument, realizing that you have been pitying him.

You hiccup through another sob and turn to your roommate, looking at the back of his coconut-shaped head.

“I am the asshole.” You whisper through your tears.

“I think you’re both the asshole. Asshole is kind of a strong term though. Maybe you guys are more like, I don’t know… baby bastards.” Beomgyu suggests, still facing the white wall as he pats your head.

“Listen,” Soobin continues, “it’s not my story to tell. But yeah, Seungkwan went through a lot. It still hits him emotionally to this day, so I’m not surprised that he reacted like that. You guys just need to talk.”

You sniffle, clutching the plushie tightly in your arms as you think of how to even start that conversation.

“He’s working the night shift right now, so I don’t think I’ll be able to talk to him until tomorrow.” You state, feeling your pout deepen at the fact that you might have to wait until tomorrow.

“Why not go visit him during his shift?” Beomgyu suggests, still facing the wall. “That’s how you guys reconnected in the first place, anyways.”

“That’s a good idea! You should do that, yn.” Soobin voices his support, and you snap your fingers as a lightbulb figuratively appears above your head.

“I can bring him his half of Soobin since he didn’t get to try him today!”

The moment the words leave your mouth, Beomgyu’s head snaps to you right as Soobin goes, “You can bring him his half of huh?”

You and Beomgyu freeze as your princess on the other end goes quiet.

Your eyes widen in horror. Beomgyu’s eye twitches.

You glance at Beomgyu, mouthing the words: I’m so fucking sorry.

He can only let out a deep sigh, reaching out and wiping the tear tracks off your cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Did you say bring him his half of me?” Soobin asks slowly. “Like… me, Soobin? Choi Soobin. Me?!”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gently place Beomgyu’s plushie back on his bed, and stand up from the floor. You step over towards the mic, “I’m going to go get ready to talk to Seungkwan. Thank you for your help, Soobie my princess.”

“Anytime, yn… but seriously. What did you mean by bring him his half of me?”

“Haha, that’s crazy. Reception is so bad here. I hope y'all win your next game!”

“Reception? We’re calling on Discord.”

Without responding, you turn towards your roommate. You raise your fists up towards Beomgyu, who is in a state of fear, and go Fighting! before practically sprinting out of his room.

Beomgyu stares blankly at his screen, already wondering what picture of him his parents will use for his funeral.

“Beomgyu… what are you doing with my name?” Soobin asks, and to one with an untrained ear, this is a simple question. To Beomgyu, however, this is a matter of life or death. He gulps and slowly stands up from his bedroom floor. He carefully walks over to his gaming chair and sits down.

“So… crazy story…”

Holding Soobin the sourdough in a tupperware, you walk in the direction of the convenience store where Seungkwan works. The late evening spring air is warm, just enough to hint that summer is slowly starting to settle in.

It’s 1:00 AM. You’d spent the latter half of the night groveling in Beomgyu’s room over Seungkwan—until the brunette, in an incredibly rare instance of genius, suggested you go visit him at work.

You pause your walk, “Does intruding during his shift make me more of an asshole?”

You think for a moment longer, before shaking your head and continuing towards the convenience store. You had already made it this far, you can’t back down now.

Your mind drifts to memories of Seungkwan in high school, and how you had admired him quietly from a distance. Back then, you wished nothing but the best for him. And now? That hasn’t changed.

But as the gentle breeze brushes past you, you realize that perhaps you idolized him too much. You only ever expected the best from him, because that’s all you saw growing up. From his perfect grades, his charisma, to his genuine love and passion for volleyball. You only ever pictured him fulfilling his dream of becoming a national athlete, loved by fans all around the world.

But life doesn’t always follow the plans we make, and success doesn’t only come in one form.

The convenience store finally comes into view, and you pause when you see the blonde staring at his phone with a furrow to his eyebrows. You watch quietly as he presses his lips into a thin line, and starts typing something into his phone. He stares at the message for a moment, before seemingly deleting the text and resting his head onto the counter in frustration.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you carefully walk up to the convenience store and push the doors open.

“Welcome in–Yn?” Seungkwan’s eyes are wide when he looks up to see you standing there, clad in only a t-shirt, thin jacket and jeans. You give him an awkward smile and raise Soobin the sourdough towards him as you take a step forward, “I brought you your share of Soobin the bread. It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get to try your hard work.”

Seungkwan watches as you gently place the tupperware on the counter, before taking a step back and staring at him with a slightly nervous expression on your face.

“Thank you, yn… I was actually just about to text you.” Seungkwan confesses in a soft voice, one that drips with a tinge of remorse. You blink, suddenly realizing that what you saw a moment ago was him working up the nerve to reach out to you. The corners of your lips tilt upwards, and you gesture towards the ramen section, “I can go buy us ramen and wait for you outside?”

The blonde stares at you for a moment, before a small smile graces his own features. He nods his head, “Yeah. I’ll get on my break and buy the sausages.”

You grab the cup ramen the two of you like and prepare it after paying. After transferring the first cup of ramen outside, you quickly head back into the store to grab your ramen. Carefully holding the second cup, you walk out the convenience store and place it on the table before sitting down. A cool breeze blows past you, making you shiver as you break your chopsticks.

“Guess it’s not exactly summer, yet.” You murmur, starting to regret not bringing a thicker jacket. Rubbing your chopsticks together, you’re about to check on your noodles when you suddenly feel something get draped over your shoulders. You turn your head to find Seungkwan settling into the seat beside you, only wearing his sweatshirt and convenience store vest as he breaks his chopsticks apart.

“Thank you, Seungkwan.” You say softly, already feeling warmer by the affectionate act. The blonde just gives you a smile before gesturing to the sausages he bought, and you grin before digging into your late night meal.

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable or tumultuous like it was earlier in the day. This silence is comfortable, as you both feel remorseful for what happened.

It’s only when you each slurp up the last of your noodles, and the container of sausages is empty, that Seungkwan finally breaks the silence.

“It happened during my last volleyball season at SNU, right before I was supposed to join the national team—I tore my ACL.”

You turn your head to face the blonde, and feel your chest tighten at the familiar sight of the faraway look to his eyes. He presses his lips into a thin line, avoiding eye contact with you as he continues.

“It was a big game. We were playing against our top rival, scouts for the national team were in the crowd, and my team was in the lead.” Seungkwan explains, letting out a shaky breath before continuing, “And I had landed wrongly in trying to save the ball. Most people assume that I would’ve only remembered the searing pain I felt in my leg. Yet, all I remember at that moment was the feeling of my heart breaking.”

You feel tears flood your eyes at his vulnerability in retelling this story, your own heart breaking within your chest at the pain he must’ve felt. The blonde bites his bottom lip at the memory, and lets out a dry laugh, “For some reason, I just knew at that moment that my dream was over. Of course, I fought with my doctor and my surgeon. I worked my ass off in rehab too because I just didn’t want to accept it. I knew it was true, but I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge that.”

“I just,” Seungkwan scratches the back of his neck, still refusing to meet your eyes, “I just couldn’t believe it—all my hard work, the blood, sweat, and tears I poured into my passion for the sport—just gone in a split second. It was my dream to play on the national team. Volleyball was all I knew, and I was good at it. So when it was taken away from me, I felt like I wasn’t worth anything anymore. It put me in a really dark place, if I’m being honest.”

“Since I couldn’t play the rest of the season, my volleyball scholarship had to be revoked. My coach and team fought for me, but we lost. I had to take out a loan and work outside of school in order to pay my tuition. I’m towards the end of my loan payment now, so I guess it’s fine. I was only lucky that I had a strong support system at the time, because I don’t think I would’ve been able to get to where I am today if I endured that alone.” Seungkwan explains, and you can only stay silent as you stare at the blonde.

You stare at the boy who made your time in high school shine brightly. The boy you once admired for his effortless charm and athleticism, unraveling before you—burdened by a dream that was suddenly out of reach.

“Rehab was hard, and I still occasionally have to see a physical therapist. Once you tear your ACL, it’s incredibly easy to tear it again. It’s changed the way I live my life, but I’m stubborn and like to think I can still live the way I once did. That's why I was so sensitive with you today when you were just worried. And for that, I’m sorry, yn. I shouldn’t have been so hostile towards you.”

“No, no. I’m so sorry, Seungkwan.” You interrupt, and the blonde finally turns to look at you for the first time since starting the conversation. His eyes widen at the sight of the tears in your eyes, and he reaches out to rest his hand over yours, “Yn, why are you crying?”

Your bottom lip trembles, but you suck in a deep breath to keep your tears at bay. You shake your head, voice shaking as you begin, “It’s not just what happened to you that hurt. It’s that… you of all people, didn’t deserve it. Not after everything you worked for. When I think of you, I remember how serious you were about volleyball. How much passion you had–even back in high school. You were always so sure of yourself, always chasing something bigger.”

You glance down at his hand over yours, willing your voice to stay steady, “So hearing what you went through, and seeing it in person–it hit me. Maybe because I saw your love for the sport, and the love you were shown. Maybe because… back then, you were this source of brightness in a place that didn’t always feel bright to me. And to know that even someone like you could have something like that taken away, it just made the world feel cruel.”

Seungkwan stays quiet, an indecipherable emotion in his eyes as he stares at you, and you offer him a faint, tearful smile.

“It wasn’t fair for me to change the way I acted around you as soon as I found out what happened. The last thing I would ever want to do is make you think that I pity you, or that you’re not capable of doing something just because of your injury. I don’t ever want to belittle you, or make you feel small.” You explain, and the blonde bites the inside of his cheek at your honesty. He gives your hand a squeeze and nods his head with a close-lipped smile, “It’s okay, yn. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Seungkwan.” You tell him softly. The two of you stare at each other for a moment longer, a weight being lifted off both of your guys’ shoulders after communicating. Seungkwan turns away and lets out a sigh, “Maybe I should’ve bought us beer instead of sausages. I didn’t expect to pour my heart out like that.”

A laugh escapes you at his joke, and he grins at you, before reaching out and adjusting his jacket over your shoulders so that you’re fully protected from the cold air. Feeling warmth flood your face at the affectionate action, you turn away and look up at the stars as a comfortable silence settles between the two of you.

You turn towards the blonde a moment later, finding your gaze drifting along his profile under the streetlight. His features are cast in a soft gold, and for once, there’s no heaviness in his expression. The dark circles beneath his eyes have faded since the first day you saw him again, no longer etched so sharply into his skin.

Your eyes catch sight of the roots of his hair just beginning to peek through, the dark brown growing in against the light blonde. It’s a gentle contrast, a quiet sign of time moving forward, or something coming back into bloom.

Though the streetlight is not the most flattering light to most, it lays on Seungkwan’s features softly—highlighting the gentle curve of his cheekbones and the warmth in his eyes as if the night itself were conspiring to make him glow.

“It must’ve taken a lot of courage.” You suddenly speak, and the blonde turns to you with a raised eyebrow. The corner of his lips quirks upwards, and he just scoffs, “To what? Get an injury so severe that it made me ineligible for the national team?”

You shake your head, and he tilts his head at you, awaiting your response.

You can see how deeply the struggle has affected him, and you can’t help but admire the strength it must have taken to let go of something he loved so much.

“To give up on your dream…” You pause, trying to find the right words, “That took courage, Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan stares at you as your words soak in, unable to respond. He blinks slowly, before turning away from you and looking up at the sky. You look away and up towards the stars as well, your breath catching when you feel him gently rest his head on your shoulder a minute later.

For a while, neither of you speak, the quiet weight of the moment settling between you.

You stay like that until Seungkwan’s break is over, shoulders touching as the world outside of this moment fades away.

You glance down at the small bouquet in your hands, making sure the SNU logo in the middle of the flowers is perfectly centered. Letting out a small smile, you adjust your graduation cap on the top of your head, and turn to your parents, “I’ll be right back! I just need to drop this off.”

“Okay honey, but try to hurry! We have the reservation at the restaurant soon!” Your mom shouts after you, and you shoot them a thumbs up as you hurry towards the school building.

You pass by many of your classmates, congratulating them on also graduating as you do so. There’s families and teachers everywhere, big smiles on everyone’s faces as you walk through the building.

It’s only when you finally make it to your classroom for the last time, that you almost let out a chuckle at the sight that lays before you.

“Guess I’m not the only one who wanted to leave him a gift.” You murmur as you walk up to Seungkwan’s desk, seeing the numerous boxes and candies left on top and on his seat. Biting the inside of your cheek, you place down the bouquet of flowers in the last empty space on his desk. You quickly fix the position of the attached noted you had written,

Congratulations, Class President. I’ll be rooting for you.

Taking a step back, you smile to yourself at the sight of all the love shown towards the boy you admired throughout all of high school. You let out a breath, and take one last look around the class. Your fingers trail over your desk and cubby as you walk by, until you reach the doors of the classroom.

Smiling softly, your eyes linger on all the gifts laying on Seungkwan’s desk, before nodding your head in satisfaction as you turn around and walk down the hallway of your high school one last time.

Goodbye, my first love.

You smile to yourself at the memory as you prepare your lunch bag for work. You never would’ve thought you and Seungkwan would reconnect, especially not like this. However, the smile on your face soon drops when the bane of your existence breaks the silence.

“I can’t believe I’m losing my roommate to the workforce once again.”

“Beomgyu, I am choosing peace instead of violence, and asking you to shut the fuck up.” You respond without even shooting him a glance, and the brunette lets out a whine from the couch.

“Can I not mourn the loss of you returning to work and me not waking up to already made coffee and breakfast?” Beomgyu asks, and you squint, “You only care about the meals I made, not my actual presence.”

“Well, yes.” The brunette answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you let out a sigh. Reaching down, you grab your slipper, and before he can react, you chuck it right at his forehead. You turn around right when you hear your slipper reach its target, a satisfied smile forming on your face when Beomgyu lets out a cry from the floor instead of the couch.

Placing your lunch into the refrigerator, you let out a yawn and check the clock on the microwave, seeing that it’s almost time for you to sleep.

“You don’t love me the way I love you! And after all I did to make you and Seungkwan be #endgame!”

“We aren’t dating, Gyu.”

“Right… didn’t you guys start casually holding hands three days ago? And have continued to do so everyday after that?”

You pause your journey to your bedroom, and slowly turn to glance at your roommate. You squint at the sight of his knowing smile, and he starts making kissy noises that trigger you to imagine throwing your other slipper at him.

“We’re just… holding hands. You and I have held hands!”

“If you’re counting the times I had to grab your hand to stop you from choking me to death, then that does not count.” Beomgyu says with a deadpan expression, and you purse your lips.

You cannot refuse nor deny that statement, unfortunately.

The brunette lets out a sigh, stands up from the floor at your silence, and tosses your slipper in your direction, “Have a good day back at work tomorrow, and have fun with your boyfriend~”

“He’s not my boyfriend! It’s only been a week!” You immediately exclaim as you slip back into your other slipper, and your roommate just waves a hand at you as he walks off in the direction of his bedroom.

“Potato, tomato. Either way, I expect to be the Best Man at the wedding.”

Feeling how warm your cheeks are at Beomgyu’s teasing, you quickly shout goodnight! before stepping into your room and shutting the door. You let out a breath, and plop down onto your bed. Raising your hands up to your face, you feel slightly more embarrassed from how warm your cheeks are compared to your hands.

“That bastard.” You murmur to yourself with a small smile. Shaking your head, you reach for your charger to plug in your phone, just to pause when you see the notification you missed.

seungkwan🍊: have a good day back at school tomorrow ^^ are we still on for after school?

you: have a good day back too seungkwannie~ and yes of course!

seungkwan🍊: yay i’ll see you tomorrow <3

you: night night <3

Plugging your phone into its charger, you place it on your bedside table, and roll onto your back. You stare at your ceiling in silence for a moment, feeling your face warm up again from the interaction. Biting your bottom lip, you roll over and shove your face into your pillow, letting out a squeal as you kick your feet.

At the end of the day, you’re still 16 year old you at heart.

“Hi! I’m here in the teacher’s office. I had to greet everyone first.” You say into your phone, and you hear Seungkwan chuckle from the other end. “I’ll be there in a second. Don’t let Mr. Kim rope you into a long conversation or else we’ll be late to practice.”

“I would never. Not intentionally, at least.” You joke, and the blonde laughs before telling you he’ll see you soon. Hanging up the phone, you glance around the teacher’s office, feeling incredibly nostalgic at being in your old high school.

“Yn!” You turn your head at the call of your name, and a smile graces your features when Seungkwan walks over to you from the doorway.

“Oh~ who would’ve thought I’d see this pairing in my life?” Your old homeroom teacher says in a singsong voice, causing the other teachers to start giggling. The sound of your old teachers giggling and commenting happily at the sight of you and Seungkwan together has heat rushing to your face.

You’re about to laugh it off when suddenly you feel Seungkwan’s warm hand encompass your own, and you turn your head to find him giving your old teachers a small smile. “We have to head to volleyball practice now–the students are waiting. We’ll see you guys later!”

Your old teachers start cooing at the sight of your intertwined hands as Seungkwan turns and leads you out of the teacher’s office. You can’t help the shy smile from forming on your face, and when you spare a glance at the blonde, you catch sight of his ears that have turned a soft shade of red.

Your heart thumps against your chest when the blonde turns to give you a smile as he leads you down the hallway. The two of you pass right by your old classroom, and you give his hand a squeeze as all the bright memories from high school flash past your eyes.

“Are we also going to hold hands in front of your students too? I think our old teachers are having a field day in the office right now.”

Seungkwan lets out a short laugh and nods his head in agreement, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Probably shouldn’t, but I would if you wanted to,” he teases, but there’s a tenderness to his voice that lingers even after the joke fades.

The two of you walk in step through the quiet hallways, with only a few students remaining in some of the classrooms for the after-school program. There’s a distant echo of laughter and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the gym floor growing louder with each step.

When you’re finally standing in front of the doors to the gym, the two of you let go of each other, and Seungkwan gives you a shy smile, “Just to warn you, these kids can be a bit… you know. Teenagers. Think they’re the shit and try to act like adults, but in reality their mom is paying for all their stuff. You know, it’s a canon event. When you get to know them though, they’re really great. Trust me. I’m pretty sure a few of them are getting scouted for SNU and Yonsei in the upcoming games.”

“I know what you mean, don’t worry. Do they know how lucky they are to have you as their coach?” You ask with a grin, and he fondly nudges his shoulder against yours, before pushing open the doors. He picks up his whistle and blows into it, immediately capturing the attention of the young students who were simultaneously messing around and stretching.

“Coach Seungkwan! We’ve been waiting for you!” One of the boys exclaims with a big smile, and you feel warmth flood your chest at the affection that drips from all the students’ expressions as they look at the blonde.

“I’m sorry for being a bit late! I had to bring my classmate here to meet you guys. Everyone~ say hi to teacher yln.” Seungkwan gestures in your direction, and you wave your hand at the students who eagerly smile and wave at you. “Hi! I’m a fellow alumni from Coach Seungkwan’s year. You guys should know that you’re very lucky to have this guy as your coach.”

“Was he really the best on his team like he always brags about?”

“Woah, woah, woah. I never claimed I was the best on my team!” Seungkwan intervenes, and you have to hold back your laugh at the sight of his wide eyes and red ears to match.

“Then who claimed it?” You tease, and the students look towards the blonde expectantly. You giggle at how flustered he looks as he tries to come up with an answer, and the kids start laughing and exposing him. You smile at the sight of Seungkwan waving his arms and trying to shush them as you start to walk in the direction of the bleachers.

“Alright, alright. I hope you guys had your fun ruining my ego in front of teacher yln.” Seungkwan states with a fake glare towards the students, causing them to laugh and high five. “Anyways, since we have a special guest here, I expect you guys to put in 110% effort into today’s practice. Afterwards, I’ll treat you all to some snacks for tomorrow’s practice. Deal?!”

“Deal!!” The students immediately answer, and you giggle as Seungkwan raises his arms up in celebration. He shoots you a wink, before turning back to the students and blowing his whistle, “Okay! Let’s start with warm-ups!”

You sit down on the bleachers as Seungkwan starts directing warm-ups, and you feel yourself become entranced as you watch him from afar.

His voice is firm, but kind as his presence grounds the whole gym. You watch as he moves along the sidelines, the detail in his instructions. You watch as he demonstrates some techniques, and calls out encouragement to the kids. Even when there needs to be something corrected, he does so with a gentle hand on a shoulder or a few clear words that make the kids focus.

And you sit there, tears flooding your eyes as you watch him, having not thought you’d see him like this again in your lifetime. Even though he’s not the one on the court, jumping high above the net—he still shines as brightly as you remember him.

You feel it in the way the kids look at him–the admiration, trust, and respect in their gazes. Through his posture, his quiet confidence, and the pure love that shines through his eyes and actions. He’s still leading, still burning with that light that once made your high school years feel a little less dull.

You find yourself smiling to yourself as you watch Seungkwan laugh with one of the students, feeling a tear escape your eye when you catch sight of his beautiful smile as he ruffles another one’s hair for serving well.

The volleyball practice eventually ends with laughter and a dramatic dive for the ball that sends one of the students skidding across the floor. Seungkwan blows his whistle, claps his hands, and announces that practice has ended. The students shout, thank you! before bowing and cleaning up the gym.

You watch as the blonde joins them in cleaning up, even helping some of the students carry away the volleyball nets. There’s sweat dripping from his forehead, and his hair is a little messy from the practice, but he’s smiling in a way that makes something ache in your chest.

When the gym is cleaned and the locker room finally quiets down, Seungkwan jogs over to you, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath, “Sorry that took a while. They’re a bit loud and yap a lot, but they’re great, right?”

You nod your head slowly, watching him with something unreadable behind your eyes, The blonde tilts his head at your silence, before letting out a nervous laugh, “Shit. Did you have any critiques? Should I have been tougher on them?”

“No,” you quickly interject, and Seungkwan bites the inside of his cheek, afraid of what’s on your mind that has you so speechless. He’s about to ask you if something’s wrong, but the words die in his throat when you softly confess, “You were great out there.”

He looks at you like he’s not sure how to respond to that, sensing that your words carry more weight than the simple compliment.

Then, quietly, almost like you’re not sure if you should say it, you do.

“You haven’t changed.”

He blinks at your sudden observation, remembering the day on the beach.

“Why not? Whichever team you join would win since they’d have you as their teammate.” You say with a small smile, and Seungkwan just shakes his head. He stares up at the sky, watching the cloud slowly move past his gaze. He can’t bring himself to tell you the truth, not when you remember him in such a pure light.

He can’t help but feel bitter at how his life turned out as you stare at him in silence.

“You seem like a different person.” He hears you murmur after a moment, and his heart pangs against his chest. Swallowing the lump that’s built up in his throat, he lets out a breath at your statement.

Unable to look at you due to the fear of seeing disappointment or pity in your eyes, he quietly asks, “What kind of person was I before?”

Seungkwan feels your gaze on his face, but he continues to stare up at the sky as he waits for your answer.

“Right, I must’ve been mistaken.” You mutter, and the blonde can only watch the cloud drift further and further away from him as silence settles over the two of you.

Seungkwan bites the inside of his cheek as he reflects on that day, remembering how bitter he felt when he watched those guys play volleyball. He was hurt when you said what you did, but he didn’t want to let it show. It wasn’t fair to you when you didn’t even know the story.

Letting out a breath, he asks, “What do you mean?”

“You always made people feel like they belonged… you still do.” You explain, trying to come up with the words to make sure you’re conveying your feelings right. “You didn’t lose the best parts of yourself when you had to give up your dream, Seungkwan. You carried them with you.”

He stares at you after you finish. His lips opening and closing like he wants to respond, but not able to find the words. Instead, he swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat, and lets out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t know if I had,” he begins softly, “for a long time after my injury, I didn’t know if there was anything left of me outside of volleyball.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at the sight of tears pooling in his eyes, before reaching out and encompassing his warm hand in yours, “There is. There always has been. I saw it today, and honestly? I think I always did, even back then. You always shined so brightly, and you still do. You shine even brighter than before.”

Your words linger in the air afterwards. You’re not even sure if he’ll believe you, but you meant it. Every word.

And Seungkwan just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face at this exact moment.

Then, a small, wet laugh escapes him—half disbelief, and half something else entirely as he gazes at your surroundings.

He shakes his head and looks at you, “You’re going to make me cry in our old high school gym. It almost makes me feel like I peaked in high school.”

You let out a loud laugh and squeeze his hand, “Trust me, you didn’t. Beomgyu, on the other hand? He’s bordering on that.”

Seungkwan laughs at your joke, shaking his head as you giggle along with him.

“Come on,” he says after a moment. He picks up your bag on the bleachers and gives your hand a gentle tug, “I’m not getting you locked in here with me overnight. Our old teachers are already having a field day over what happened earlier—they’d definitely go into cardiac arrest if we’re found here together after hours.”

You smile and let the blonde lead you towards the exit, the quiet hum of the gym settling around you like an old blanket. As you walk towards the doors, Seungkwan doesn’t let go of your hand, and you don’t want him to.

The gym lights above flicker once before shutting off behind you, the echo of your footsteps fading as the doors close.

Outside, the night air is cool against your skin. And the world feels slower, somehow. Almost suspended.

Seungkwan glances over as you step through the school gate together, watching as you turn back to look at your old high school one more time.

He gives your hand a squeeze, causing you to turn to look at him, “Thank you for coming today. Really.”

“Thank you for showing me.” You say with a soft smile, “I think… I really needed to see that.”

Seungkwan hums in agreement. A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you walk hand-in-hand towards the bus stop, allowing yourselves to just soak in this moment. The weight between the two of you is lighter now, easier.

You glance at the pretty blonde, the boy you once watched from across the classroom and gym bleachers, never once daring to imagine a moment like this. Back then, he felt worlds away, like a star that’s bright and unreachable. It felt right to just watch him shine from a distance.

But now he’s here beside you, fingers laced with yours, walking home with you under the same stars.

And you silently think to yourself, maybe you’ve both found something better than what you first dreamt of.

ミ★ taglist: @sunlightwoo @aurenvoire @dreamerhaos @brinnalaine @minluvly @wonunuu @suhfluffy @shuajeong @kuromieiie @minghao-will-be-the-death-of-me @miruac @jaeyuni @sunflowergyeomie @cheolliehugs @smileyjimvn @sukisdeliveryservice @ghostvx @kodzumo @dwcljh @hanniehaeism @taeguk-munchkin @w8nuzone @shuatic @semicolorn @haonysus @adoreateez @anissanightyoung @serenadesvt @linhyyboo12 @junjungsunwoo @wooahaeproductions @changbinworld @mybbtaeyong4thewin @chwesbaby @soobin-chois @bibinnieposts @laylasbunbunny @yoonzinoooo @toruro

[moonyysgirl]

More stoner Remus 🙏🙏🙏🙏

here's another part of the dealer!remus series, enjoy!!

You're so hot when you're jealous - Remus Lupin x reader

pairing; dealer!rem x reader summary; reader gets jealous of remus for the first time and decides to do something about it cw; smut, stoner!rem, loser!rem, jealous!reader, reader is kinda dom, desperate!remus pt 1; pt 2; pt 3

After the last hookup, you and Remus were growing closer and closer. You would often catch him looking at you in class, and you would return his looks when you were sure no one else was looking, teasing him with a pencil in your mouth.

He was driving you crazy. But you couldn't bring yourself to ask him out still, and apparently he couldn't either. He would drag you into empty classes to make out during lunch break occasionally, but he would never speak about going out or becoming something more.

You were both frustrated and excited about it, and you were still secretive about him with your friends. In some ways though, you liked it as it was, cause you wanted to keep it as a little secret between the two of you for a little longer, but at the same time you would often catch yourself secretly dreaming for more.

When you heard about the party that was happening on the weekend you immediately thought about him, blushing at the memory of the last one you spent together. You smiled at yourself and immediately reunited your friend group to organize a pregame at your house. Although this time you didn't want to drink, you wanted to enjoy the possible hookup with remus as sober, since you didn't know when the next would occur.

That was the thing about you, you craved him, his touch, his lips, but you were also too scared to actively seek out for it, afraid of rejection and afraid of looking too desperate for him. Which you definitely were by the way, but you wouldn't want him to know, in case he would get too cocky about it and maybe starting to take you for granted.

But the party was finally happening, and you were so ready. You wore all the clothes you knew he liked (skirt, tight shirt, no bra, no thighs) and you drowned yourself in perfume. When you arrived the party was already taking off, and your friends were completely dazed with alcohol. They ran on the dance floor, meeting their friends, or their boyfriends, leaving you behind. Which was perfect, cause that meant they wouldn't notice your absence.

You immediately went to look up for Remus, outside, where you imagined him to be smoking or dealing (or both). You wandered for a bit, without effect. You were about to come back inside, filled with disappointment, when you spotted his friends. They were smoking on the patio, slouched on the chairs, around the fire pit. You looked around.

Where was he? You sighed. You needed to find him, and for that you had to put your pride aside. You took courage and went up to his friends, straightening your skirt, your cheeks blushing. "Hey" you greeted them, they acknowledged you, slightly lifting their chins to greet you. You cleared your throat "um..did you see Remus?"

One of them took a long drag of his joint before answering you "you need some stuff?" you bit your lip...so they really had no idea huh? You sighed, then nodded "yeah, he told me he would be here" his friend nodded "yeah..he should be around here, look by the pool on the back" you nodded "okay, um..thanks" he shrugged "no problem".

You went in the back garden, there were little groups of people talking and smoking sitting on the chairs by the pool. You looked around. There he was. Leaning on the wall, hands in his pocket, vintage sweater and slouchy jeans. Hot as usual. Your guts immediately filled with butterflies as you went up to him. But then you noticed.

He was talking to a girl. You felt a deep sorrow take over you as you went closer, jealousy burning your throat. You needed to hear what they were talking about. He hadn't noticed you still, as you sat on the sunbed in front of them. Lighting up a cig, to keep your hands occupied.

You could hear the girl giggling "stop! just give me the usual" Remus chuckled "fine, fine, but you're really missing out on my new stuff" the girl was smiling "will be for the next time" Remus giggled "okay, I''ll forgive you... okay, so it's 10, as usual"

"I might be 5 short..." the girl was still smiling, you could hear it in her voice, Remus sighed "alright...I'll give you a discount, but only cause it's you" the girl squealed "oh Rem! you're the best" you heard her kissing what you supposed to be his cheek.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach, as you took the longest drag of the cigarette, burning your lungs. Remus giggled awkwardly "alright, now piss off, and don't make me regret it" she smiled again "bye Rem, it's always a pleasure!"

She walked away fast, passing in front of you. You recognized her, she was in your English class, but you never really spoke. As in that moment you decided you hated her. You took another couple of drags before the cig was over. You felt the anger rush to your hands, you threw the cigarette on the floor, you just wanted to walk away, but as you stood up, Remus noticed you

"Y/n!" you sighed, still not turning over to him. He came up to you, hugging you awkwardly. You didn't hug him back. "Watch'a doing here?" I was looking for you, you stupid fucking-"nothing, just smoking a cig" you gritted your teeth, trying to smile

Remus seemed genuinely confused "everything fine?" you shrugged "totally" Remus scratched the back of his head "um..you wanna take a walk?" you shrugged again "my friends are probably looking for me...so..." You tried walking away but he grabbed you by your wrist, making your breath hitch, pulling you into his chest.

Your heart fluttered, as his scent filled your nose, his breath on your face, suddenly so close to you. "Tell me what's wrong" he murmured. His voice was deep, you and him the only ones that could hear. You sighed deeply, inhaling his scent, feeling his cold fingers press into the warm skin of your wrist. You needed him. Right there and then.

You impulsively grabbed him by the arm, dragging him inside. Suddenly uninterested in what the others could see or think. Remus was chuckling "easy baby" you rolled your eyes, he could be such a dick sometimes.

You dragged him through the crowd, trying not to bump into too many people. You went up the stairs, still gripping his sleeve. You opened a couple of doors before finding the bathroom, lucky empty, and pushing Remus inside it, following him and locking the door closed behind you.

Remus smiled "what is it?" "who was that?" Remus frowned "huh?" you rolled your eyes "don't act dumb, she was with you outside" he looked confused "Em'? She's just a regular" you scoffed "Em'?" Remus grinned, his hand grazing your cheek "oh! I see, you're jealous of her!" you slapped his hand away "I'm not..."

Remus smiled, teasing you with his stupid condescending pout "oh, but you are" you rolled your eyes "you were literally flirting with her" Remus frowned again "I wasn't?" "I'll give you a discount, but only cause it's you" you said in a high pitched voice, mocking him.

He laughed "Okay...I do not talk like that!" you bumped his shoulder, Remus chuckled "Ow! You're become so aggressive when you're jealous" you shook your head "I already told you I'm not, but you were clearly flirting with her, and you can't deny it"

He shook his head, grabbing you by your shoulders "Y/n...I promise you, I wasn't, that's just how I act when I deal, and if I hurt you, I'm sorry" you scoffed "I'm not hurt! it's just..." he was looking at you intensely, seriously, listening, he really cared, so you finally let your guard down.

"It's just that I'm scared you'll like her more than me" you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, Remus sighed, he lifted your chin "Y/n, look at me" your eyes locked together "I know how it feels, cause I'm afraid of the same exact thing with you, all the time" you felt your heart fasten "really?" Remus nodded "of course I do, I like you so much, I don't want to lose you"

Your gaze softened "me neither" he smiled, kissing you. You deepened the kiss, and just like that, you were making out. Remus interrupted the kiss, looking at you "you're so hot when you're jealous, I should start flirting with girls more" You hit him on his chest "Hey!" he grabbed your wrist "that's enough" he said giggling.

You grinned "you can flirt with every girl you want, but no one will ever make you feel like I do" you said, your heart beating faster, your cheeks getting red, faking a confidence you didn't have. "Oh, I see" Remus said, caressing your cheek "and how would you make me feel?" you grinned again, maybe your confidence was fake, but the effect that your touch had on Remus was very real indeed.

You kissed his neck, sliding a hand under his sweater, caressing his smooth torso, going lower and lower, touching his belt. You looked at Remus, his previous confidence already disappeared. You unbuckled his belt slowly, hearing his breath hitch. When you unbuttoned his pants, Remus let out a light whimper "relax" you whispered, before kissing him. As your tongues swirled together you started to touch his bulge through the boxers, Remus whimpered in your mouth.

"I should show you how I could make you feel" you whispered on his lips, in a teasing tone. Smiling. Remus cheeks were burning, his half lidded eyes were getting wider. You slowly lowered yourself on the floor, your knees on the cold pavement. Remus stopped breathing "Wh-what are you doing?" he stuttered, you grinned, brushing your hair away from your face, looking at him with innocent eyes "what do you think?"

Remus sucked the air in. You felt him slightly shake in anticipation. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, his dick sprung free, bouncing on his stomach. Your mouth watered at the sigh. He was already hard, his tip red and leaking with precum. You smiled "oh, look at that, one kiss and you're already a mess" Remus bit his lip, his eyes growing darker.

You wrapped your hand around his base, pumping it on his length a couple of times, spreading the slick. Remus whimpered. You smiled at him, and you looked at him as you licked his tip, the salty taste of him on your tongue. "Oh god" he whined "oh god baby wait" "what's wrong?"

He shook his head "I don't- I never-" you stood up "shhh" you reassured him, kissing his lips "just breath, it's gonna be okay" Remus nodded, trying to breath, his hands shaky around your waist "can I continue?" you asked him, brushing his hair away from his forehead, you wanted to see him, he nodded slowly "okay" he whispered, breath shaky.

You sank back to your knees. You looked at him in search of signs of uncertainness, but he nodded again, biting his lips. You licked a stripe up the side of his cock, your eyes locked on his face, Remus whined "baby please stop teasing" his voice was shaky, you smiled "so desperate for me".

You sucked gently at his tip, and then you bobbed your head sinking deeper on his cock. Remus moaned. You tried to adjust and then you finally took his length in. It was big, thick, and you couldn't take it in completely, so you wrapped your hand around his base. Remus whined "oh my fucking christ" you started going up and down slowly, trying to adjust to his size.

Remus hands were gripping the sink counter, his knuckles white from the force of the grip. His eyes were closed shut, his teeth sinking deep in his bottom lip. He bucked slightly into you. As you finally adjusted to his length you started picking up your pace, bobbing your head faster.

Remus whined loudly, throwing his head back in pleasure. You continued taking him in sloppily, saliva dripping from the side of your mouth, your tongue swirling around his cock, your soft warm mouth wrapping around him. You tried sinking deeper, his tip touching the back of your throat, you gagged on it, sending Remus over the edge.

He looked at you, you were teary eyed and your hair were getting in the way. Remus brushed them out gently, with shaky hands "oh my god baby you're so fucking hot like this" he mumbled. You sucked him slowly, before getting faster again. Remus threw his head back again.

Whines and whimpers started slipping from his lips, his hands locked in your hair. Remus hissed "f-f-fuck baby" he whined "I ca-I can't" he whimpered. You fastened your pace, your mouth going up and down sloppily, and as you watched Remus face contort in pleasure you could feel the arousal pool in your panties, you squirmed your legs together.

"Baby please" he whined in a desperate voice, his shaky hands covering his flustered face. You didn't stop, even if you were starting to feel like chocking, and tears were streaming down your cheeks. Someone started knocking on the door "It's occupied!" Remus shouted, before throwing his head back and crying out a loud moan.

"Baby I-I'm-" he moaned "I'm gonna cum" you got impossibly sloppier, Remus closed his eyes shut, biting his lip "oh my god I'm gonna cum" he repeated "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum" his voice was shaky. He looked at you "baby I'm gonna cum in your mouth" he said, you nodded giving him the permission, his hips began to twitch.

You pulled back a little, to welcome his arousal. He finally snapped, bucking his hips. "Oh fuck, oh fuck baby, fuck" he panted, as thick spurts of cum went down your throat "Jesus fucking christ" he cried out, his mouth open in a silent moan, his brows furrowed in a contort expression, his entire body tensing in pleasure.

You swallowed what you could, the rest dripping down the side of your mouth and chin, and then you pulled away slowly, a string of saliva still connecting your lips with his tip, you cleaned your lips, all sticky in his cum. You looked at Remus, he was a shaky mess, barely able to stand up.

You stood up, your knees were numb from the cold hard floor. Remus lifted up his boxers and jeans, buckling his belt with shaky fingers. He then looked at you with half lidded eyes, he dried the tears from your eyes with his thumbs.

His hair were a complete mess, his locks tangled in sweat. You brushed them away from his forehead. His skin was burning and sweaty, his cheeks were red. "Oh my god baby, that was the best thing I ever felt in my life" he mumbled on your lips, before kissing you.

You pulled away of him, smiling "I'm glad" he tugged at your shirt, pulling you back in "where are you going? I didn't even start with you" he grinned kissing the side of your lip. You whimpered, but then you pulled away again.

You wanted to leave him with that memory for the night, and you also wanted him to feel your absence, and to miss you. "Maybe next time" Remus scoffed "what?" you grinned, your lips brushing his ear "maybe next time you won't flirt with girls" you whispered, before nipping his earlobe lightly.

Remus grinned "you're gonna regret this" he mumbled, you kissed him on the cheek before unlocking the door, leaving him behind you. Your heart was pounding in your ears and your panties were soaking wet but you felt invincible, as you left him there all dizzy and messy, leaning on the sink, looking at you with wide eyes and his mouth agape.