#only a brief mention tho | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashytracktales · 3 months ago

Note

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it's meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

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𐙚 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I've ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit tho), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys, look. I know it's A LOT 🥴 I kinda let myself run with this one because I haven't posted anything in like a week or so. I still have 2 requests I'm working on, so don't give up on me yet 🤞🏻

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SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly — she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kiss against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his hand and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me have my way with you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

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dilf-docs · 7 days ago

Text

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal

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wheeboo · 1 month ago

Text

candy | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. After moving back into the city to be closer with friends and family, you start receiving letters from an unknown sender in your mail. When curiosity gets the better of you, you decide to respond, and what begins as a simple sweet-tasting exchange soon blossoms into something more with someone you’ve never met—or so you think. But as the snow continues to fall, you find yourself confronting the bitter-tasting feelings you thought were long buried back in your youth, as well as the person who’s been hiding in plain sight all along. Loosely inspired from vocal unit’s, Candy. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, penpal au, angst, exes to lovers, second chance romance WARNINGS. swearing, alcohol and food consumption, jeonghan and reader broke up on bad terms, low mental health mentions, constant push-pull dynamic between them that it's infuriating, brief one bed trope, terms of endearment, kissing WORD COUNT. 20.8k

notes: this is my fic for the @camandemstudios "winter with you" collab! thank you to @bananabubble @slytherinshua @etherealyoungk for either reading over this or dealing with me crashing out HAHA. tho i'm kind of unsatisfied and not entirely proud of how this fic turned out in the end, i hope you enjoy nonetheless. please make sure to check out the other fics in the collab as well! spread some love to all talented authors who worked so hard on their work <3

Hi. I hope this message gets to you well, and if this is random, or maybe even scary, well… I truly apologise, oops. I drank a little too much tonight, and was obnoxiously dared to send a holiday postcard to a random apartment in the building. Do people even still do that nowadays? Anyway, the holidays are coming up! Continue to stay warm, whoever you are. - 017

You stare at the letter for a minute or two, eyeing over the sloppy cursive penmanship. The ink of the letters are smudged and the uneven strokes hint at either too much wine or the kind of nervousness that makes hands unsteady. Or maybe both.

When you flip the letter over, it was pretty plain in of itself, other than the festive design of snowflakes scattered over the front. But you didn’t catch sight of any name behind the letter, just what you can only assume to be their door number, and an awful doodle of what you could decipher to be a snowman with a ridiculously long nose.

Based on the numbering they signed off with, they’d be on the bottom floor, probably somewhere in the west wing, the complete opposite part of where you’re staying. You’ve barely had time to familiarise yourself with the neighbours since moving in just about a week ago𑁋too many boxes to unpack and too little energy to make small talk𑁋but now you find yourself wondering who might live there.

Setting the letter down on your kitchen counter, you brush off some stray snowflakes that landed on your coat, shredding it off and tossing it off in another direction, quietly mulling over the handwritten words shining under the singular light above.

Your first instinct is to simply brush it off as some holiday prank or a fleeting moment of courage from the alcohol on their part. But there’s a small part of you𑁋a part that’s always leaned into curiosity more than you’d care to admit𑁋that lingers on the way they ended it. Continue to stay warm, whoever you are. There’s something… a bit nice about the way they wrote it, as if they truly meant it, and for some reason it’s enough to quirk up a small smile to your face.

You could respond, but then again, would that be strange? After all, you don’t even know this person. They could be anyone𑁋someone too bored or drunk to care about the implications of sending a random note. But then again, what would you even say? Thank you for your drunken holiday cheer? Do you be polite or try to be comical? The thought makes you laugh quietly to yourself.

You’ve always been a little too curious for your own good, and something about the letter feels harmless𑁋charming, even. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep it going. It isn’t like you had much to do tonight anyway other than wading in the thought of how empty your apartment feels right now.

Instead of discarding it, you choose to pin the letter on your refrigerator behind a cat magnet, before rushing to your room to shuffle through a drawer of office supplies. With a click of the pen, you press the tip to the smooth surface of this beige-coloured paper that was staring right back at you, and you immediately pause, because what the hell were you even going to say?

Still, the curious part of you doesn’t let go.

Hi, 017. I wasn’t expecting to receive a holiday postcard in my mail, let alone from a stranger, but here we are. First of all, love the snowman. Could rival Pinnochio or something, right? Sorry that was pretty lame to say write. Hopefully the hangover won’t be too bad. If it helps, drink a metric ton of water (not literally though, please), and make some nice, hot ramen. To answer your question, I have no idea if people still send postcards, but it’s nice that you did. It made me smile, to be honest. Anyway, I guess I’ll leave it at that. No need to drag this out. Stay warm on your end too, whoever you are. - 526

There’s no going back now, it seems.

A small snowball strikes your cold cheek.

“The hell, man?” You quip, lightly elbowing Soonyoung as he stumbles dramatically away.

“Come on, can’t a guy miss their best friend? You were gone for a whole ass three years and the only thing missing is the dramatic reunion we deserve,” Soonyoung pouts exaggeratingly, brushing snow off his gloves as he trails beside you on the sidewalk. “That was tame compared to the fireworks I have planned, you know. Oh, and the ski resort we’re going to for New Years. Mingyu and Seokmin have it all booked already.”

“Fireworks? A ski resort?” You crack a laugh at that. “Fireworks are getting more expensive than convenience store ramen, dude.”

“It’s a start!” Soonyoung counters, grinning widely that you swear never gets old. “You left us with nothing but a goodbye text, and now you’re back as if you didn’t ghost the group chat for ages. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d throw a bigger snowball next time.”

His words carry a teasing edge, but there’s something warm that hides underneath them, something comforting about having this kind of familiarity again after being gone for so long because of school and other opportunities. You’ve missed this𑁋missed them, missed everyone you’ve pretty much left behind in all the time you were gone.

“You guys really went all out for me, huh?”

“Yepper-doo.”

You cringe at that. “Please don’t say that ever again.” But Soonyoung just laughs.

As the two of you trail through the busy city, you realise that hardly anything has changed ever since you left. There’s familiar sightings of places you’ve shopped at and eaten back then, like the cinema down the street where you used to go on a marathon to watch all the Studio Ghibli films that would only play a few times a year. Or that arcade place where the pizza was always just a little too greasy and left you with an angry stomach ache at times.

“I’m sorry, I know I suck at keeping in touch,” You admit in a shameful manner, adjusting your scarf with a bit of apprehension. “But I’m here now, okay? Trying to fix things and whatnot.”

Soonyoung’s grin melts into something more genuine, and he playfully pats your snow-covered shoulder. “We know, dummy. And I’m glad you’re here. Just don’t think you can disappear on us like that again. I’ve got a whole arsenal of snowballs, and I’ll make Mingyu go full mom mode if he has to.”

His words wrap like a blanket around you, the guilt you’ve been carrying on your shoulders easing just a little. You’ve been worried about how your absence might have created a gap too wide to bridge across. But here’s Soonyoung, your best friend for the last decade, in all his chaotic, sunshine-like glory, meeting you halfway as if nothing’s changed.

You missed your life here… for the most part.

“Thanks,” You mutter, offering him a small, grateful smile.

“Don’t sweat it.” He wraps an arm around you. “Come on, the ol’ café is right around the corner.”

It’s almost as if your feet remember the exact path to the café he was talking about. It’s a place that has quite literally watched over your lives𑁋over the way you’ve all grown from pubescent, snobby teenagers to young adults struggling to navigate through adulthood. The café still stands in the exact spot as you remember, nestled between the local laundromat and a smoke shop that had been rebranded one too many times. Just seeing it again tugs at a memory, a bittersweet warmth spreading through your chest.

The scent of coffee beans and fresh pastries float through the air as you step inside right after Soonyoung. It's been years since you last walked in here, yet everything feels oddly familiar, nostalgic even. You see the chipped ceramic rugs lining some the shelves, the mismatched chairs and old wooden tables, the cozy corner booths where you and your friends spent countless hours talking about everything and nothing at all𑁋it’s all still here, like it’s stuck in time.

Soonyoung drags you right to the front by the sleeve of your coat, before forcing you to stand in place.

“Okay, order for me. I gotta piss!” he whisper-yells to you.

You blink. “Wait, what do you want𑁋”

But Soonyoung bolts away to the restroom before you could even ask what he wants, and you roll your eyes as you face back forward, letting your shoulders fall relaxingly. You tap your feet rhythmically on the floor below, scrolling aimlessly through your phone as you wait for your turn, your best friend seemingly taking an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom.

Soonyoung still isn’t back by the time it’s your time to order, and when you glance up from your phone, you nearly drop it to the floor.

He still looks the same. It’s not the kind of revelation that should have left you breathless and your heart hammering a bolt in your chest, but it does. He doesn’t look much different, besides the longer hair where the tips barely graze his shoulders had been dyed to a light blonde that complemented his warm, sleepy brown eyes. But it’s the way his presence fills the room, the way the familiarity of his smile still carries that same, natural calmness from before𑁋it’s as if nothing had changed. As if you hadn’t been gone for years. As if everything that happened between the two of you had never even happened.

He seems to suck in a breath of his own, too.

“Hello,” Jeonghan simply greets, and his voice makes you shift your weight uncomfortably between your two feet.

“Two hot chocolates, please,” You say all too quickly, already fishing your card out of your wallet and tapping it against the counter impatiently, nervously.

Jeonghan seems to notice your slight discomfort as he punches in your order, taking his precious time doing so, and it only wants to make you melt into the ground below just so you wouldn’t feel his eyes on you. Then he gives you that imperceptible, almost teasing smile, the one that used to make your insides twist when you were younger. It used to be one of comfort, but now it only brings a bitter taste to your mouth.

He opens his mouth to speak, “It’s been𑁋”

“The order is for Y/N. Thank you,” You respond almost irritatingly, already turning away on your heel and heading to the pick-up counter before he can finish his sentence. The last thing you want right now is to be stuck in a conversation that you’ve avoided for years. The bitterness in your mouth grows, but you try to push it down, focusing on the sensation of your fingers gripping your phone tightly.

You feel your thoughts bouncing painfully off the walls in your head𑁋what are the odds? What are the odds that the one café you’ve practically grown up in houses the one person you’ve tried to bury in your past?

“Did you order?!” Soonyoung’s voice pops back in as he’s shaking away his damp hands, a few drops of the water landing on your hot skin. “Sorry I took so long. There literally wasn’t any toilet paper left and I𑁋”

“When did he start working here?”

“What?” Soonyoung asks, blinking at you with a puzzled expression as he takes in your stiff posture. Then he follows to where you’re staring at𑁋at Jeonghan who was quietly preparing some drinks behind the counter𑁋and his jaw drops to the floor. “Oh. Well, I think he𑁋”

“Actually, just… Just forget about it,” You mutter, cutting Soonyoung off, eyes still watching Jeonghan’s movements, a certain casualness behind it that’s almost annoying.

Soonyoung glances over at Jeonghan, who is now wiping his hands on a towel, his gaze lifting briefly in your direction. The briefest moment of eye contact makes your stomach churn. Soonyoung notices it too, but instead of pushing, he shrugs it off.

“I know you two never really got the chance to𑁋”

“No,” You interrupt Soonyoung again, facing him with a sharp look. “I’m not interested, okay?”

That bitterness falls on your tongue again, like a taste of candy that’s been left out too long𑁋sweet at first but quickly souring in your mouth.

Before Soonyoung can say anything else, your name is called from the counter. You turn away, eager to get the drinks and just leave the café before things can spiral into anything more. However, it’s him that’s handing you the drinks as you approach the counter, and for a second, the tips of his fingers brush against your hand.

“Welcome home,” Jeonghan says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, and it hits you like a cold breeze. You shiver at that.

Dear 526, Hello. I wasn’t even sure if I’d write again after that postcard, but here we are. I think I owe you an apology for my first letter. I wasn’t expecting a reply at all. I figured you’d just laugh it off and forget about it. But you didn’t, and that somehow feels comforting. It’s nice to know I made someone, let alone you, smile. Anyway, about the snowman, I’m glad you liked it! It wasn’t even supposed to be Pinnochio, but art is subjective, right? The nose might be a bit exaggerated, but it felt fitting at the time, I guess. I did end up having a pretty nasty hangover. The ramen really did help, by the way, and I drank a shit ton of water too. Maybe not a metric ton, but close enough. Thank you for the advice though. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll end it here. No need to drag it out as you said, unless you’re fine with that. Hopefully your week has been going well. Life just got strange over here, to be honest. But anyway, continue to stay warm. - 017

To 017, Your snowman absolutely looked like Pinocchio. Don’t even try to deny it. Also, your cursive handwriting is pretty neat. I’m glad you survived your hangover. I don’t even drink that much myself, so I took to Google for advice. Perhaps you should thank them instead. Life getting strange, you say? Cryptic, much? I’m curious now. But you don’t have to elaborate. If anything, it’s also getting strange here as well. I’ve just recently moved back into the city, and I am not sure how I feel about it. Funny how life works like that. Familiar places seem to have a way of digging up memories you’d rather leave buried, you know? I guess life really likes throwing curveballs. But enough about that. Thanks for writing back. - 526 P.S. If life is strange on your end, write about it. I don’t mind long letters.

You don’t even hesitate in pinning 017’s letter on your refrigerator this time.

You don’t know why you’re standing in front of the café again.

It’s late, far later than you intended to be out. Bags of convenience store food are tightly gripped in your hands, snow crunching beneath your feet as you take another step towards the door of the cafe, before stepping back again.

You feel ridiculous standing there, like the answer lies right behind the door, and all you had to do was push it open. The glow of the lights inside spills through the frosted glass, casting warm hues on the snowy pavement. The temptation to just walk away gnaws at you.

What are you even hoping to accomplish here?

You sigh, your breath floating like wisps in the cold air, shaking your head dismissively. The bags in your hands crinkle as you shift your grip, trying to convince yourself that this is a bad idea. But then, as if on autopilot, your feet move forward, and as you are about to push through the door, it swings open by itself.

Jeonghan steps out, his coat slung loosely over his shoulders, his blonde hair catching the soft light. He freezes when he sees you, the surprise in his eyes giving way to something else𑁋something unreadable. And you could only stand there, like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, or minute, maybe even a whole damn hour, neither of you speak.

He’s the first to break the silence.

“Did you want to come in?” he asks.

“I𑁋no,” You stammer, gripping the bags in your hands even tighter. “I was just passing by.”

Jeonghan simply stares at you for a beat or two, his lips forming a thin line.

“You were never really a good liar, you know.”

You wince at the words, even though they aren't said harshly. It’s the fact that he still knows you so well, despite everything that’s passed between the two of you. It makes the sting go even deeper into your heart. The years apart have changed you, shaped you in ways that should’ve made him a stranger.

And yet, here he is, looking at you like nothing’s different.

“Okay, I was… I was thinking of getting some coffee before𑁋”

“Since when did you become a coffee person?”

The slight quirk you catch on his lips makes your stomach twist into an uneasy knot. You hate how he seems to still know you like the lines on the back of your hand, hate how he can still read you so easily, even after all this time.

You hate how you can’t fully hate him, even if you’ve convinced yourself enough times that you’re supposed to.

Jeonghan’s eyes flicker curiously over you once more, and there’s a slight shiver to your limbs that he catches sight of.

“Do you want to come inside? I could give you some coffee before I𑁋”

“No,” You cut him off sharply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m fine. I just... I don’t want anything from you.”

Jeonghan’s expression falters, the familiar trace of concern flickering behind his eyes. It makes you nearly want to give in, but you refuse to show that vulnerability, because you don’t want to feel that way again. You don’t want to be the person who needs him. You can’t let yourself fall back into his orbit, because does the sun really care if you burn yourself trying to get close to it again?

He doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing into something contemplative. His mouth opens, likely to say something, but then he just closes it again. His gaze still doesn’t leave you, studying the way you stand, as if trying to figure out what’s going on inside your head.

He doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing and softening into something contemplative. His gaze still doesn’t leave you, studying the way you stand, as if trying to figure out what’s going on inside your head. He brushes a stray lock of hair behind his ear and steps back up a fraction, letting his shoulders deflate in what may be defeat.

“It’s really been a while, hasn’t it?”

You swallow hard. You can’t deny that it’s been so long, but here he is, standing in front of you, almost the same, yet so different. Maybe it’s the more mature look in his eyes, but something about him feels less like the Jeonghan you once knew, and you can’t quite place your finger on why that makes you even more unsettled.

“Yeah. It has.”

Jeonghan shifts between his two feet and stuffs his hands inside the pockets of his coat. You remember how easily cold he would get back then, always wrapping himself in layers even when the air wasn’t particularly chilly or sneaking his hands into your pockets as an excuse to get close with you.

A part of you wishes he’d just leave. You wish you could escape to avoid this conversation. But you’re stuck here, frozen under his gaze, as if time has both stretched and shrunk all at once. The very thing you feared was happening𑁋you’re back where it all began.

“You look great,” he says, the words coming out mellow than you expected.

Your heart skips, and you curse at it mentally for betraying you. “Jeonghan, you can’t just𑁋”

“Can’t just what?” he interrupts gently, almost teasingly, and it makes the words die in your throat. His expression holds none of the coldness it used to. No. This is different.

You suck in a deep breath, shaking your head as if trying to clear the fog that’s settling over your mind. You want to tell him to stop looking at you like that, to stop making everything feel so complicated, to stop making your heart flutter yet hide itself away. But the words don’t come out right.

“I… I didn’t come here for you, you know,” You confess weakly, and you hate how easily your voice crumbles.

Jeonghan doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flicker down to the bags in your hands, and then back to you, studying the way you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. There’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah?” There’s a faint smirk to his features as he steps closer to you, but not enough to close the distance completely. “Then what are you doing here?”

The cold air nips achingly at the skin of your cheek, your lips pursing into a thin line to keep anything from spilling out.

“I don’t know.”

You’re met with an arch of a brow, an incredulous look plaguing his features. You hate it. You want him to stop looking at you like he has the answer to your thoughts, like he knows more about what you’re going through than you do. But you’ve already dug yourself in a hole𑁋you just lied in front of him, and he knows.

Jeonghan takes another step closer, the distance between the two of you shrinking by a fraction, as if testing the waters. He’s so close now. Too close. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body, the same warmth that once made you feel safe. The same warmth that you ran from when everything fell apart between you.

And you take that chance to run away again.

“I should go,” You let out nimbly, clutching the bags in your hands, turning your back toward him, not before muttering out a quiet, “I’ll… see you around.”

Jeonghan watches as you walk away, and you feel his eyes shoot lasers through you as the distance between the two of you grows.

When he brings his gaze down to the snow-covered pavement, he lightly chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as if he’s caught between a sigh and a laugh. It’s not mocking, though. There’s something softer in it, perhaps heavier, sadder. But of course, you don’t hear it. You’re too far away now.

You don’t dare look back. If you do, you know you’ll fall apart.

Dear 526, Hello. Sorry, it’s been a few days since I’ve opened my mail. Promise me you’ve been keeping warm, or else. Sending my thanks to Google as I write this, literally. Strange times continue, I’m afraid. Let’s just say someone walked back into my life unexpectedly, and now I’m trying to figure out if it’s a blessing or a curse. All the memories came back with them too. A blessing because I haven’t seen them in a long time; a curse because it was simply my fault for screwing up things with them in the first place. I don’t know. Does that make sense? Sorry, I’m rambling. You said you don’t mind long letters, though, so here’s me testing the waters. Anyway, how have you been settling in the city? I can imagine it must be quite daunting. Keep hanging in there, though. - 017

To 017, Funny that you mention memories. They’ve been on my mind a lot too. As for your question, I think I understand. Do you ever wonder why we hold onto certain memories so tightly? Even the painful ones? It’s like a part of you is afraid to let them go because you feel like you’d lose pieces of yourself along with them. It’s complicated. Maybe that’s a little too philosophical for this letter. I guess I’ve been in my head too much. Perhaps the past isn’t as easy to leave behind as we think. Other than that, I hope this person doesn’t cause you too much heartache. I’ll fight them if you need me to. I think I’ve been making peace with the city. Some days are good. Some days are bad. But maybe this is where I’ve always belonged. - 526

Mingyu and Soonyoung are staring at you, the two of them bent down at your level of where you sat at Mingyu’s table, hands laced in each other’s like little girls eagerly anticipating for the next Barbie doll to come out.

You raise an eyebrow at them, and you feel their eyes continue to watch as you raise your chopsticks to grab at the steaming noodles in your bowl. You bring the noodles up to your lips, blowing away the steam for a few moments, and your best friends are still staring at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

Then you huff out a loose breath. “It tastes good.”

The grins that explode on their faces and cheers of celebration that echo across Mingyu’s apartment nearly make you choke on your noodles. Mingyu fist-pumps the air, while Soonyoung jumps up as if he just scored an Olympic gold medal, nearly knocking over his chair in his excitement in the process.

“See, I knew you’d still like it!” Mingyu affirms with a cocky smirk to his face, showing off his little fangs.

“You act as if three years is enough to change my tastebuds,” You mutter as you swallow down another gulp of noodles, shaking your head amusedly at their antics. The warmth of the broth feels comforting against the chill of the evening, but the feeling of being surrounded by your closest friends warms you even more.

“Well, it could. You did live in a whole ass other country for three years,” Soonyoung chimes in, leaning forward with an exaggerated pout. “What if you picked up some weird noodle preferences over there? Like… I don’t know, adding pickles or something. People change, you know.”

Mingyu groans and playfully shoves Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Pickles in noodles? Really, hyung?”

“Hey, it could happen!” Soonyoung protests, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

You roll your eyes but laugh despite yourself. “Relax, you two. I didn’t trade my soul while I was away.”

Mingyu just ruffles your hair with his hand, making a few strands stick annoyingly to your lip, while Soonyoung races away to turn on the television in the living room. Ah, your best friends are still obnoxious as they always are, as they always have been, sticking to your skin like fleas. You have no idea how you’ve managed to deal with them for so long.

Later that evening, the three of you settled on watching for old time’s sake, not before sharing a few bottles or two. Soonyoung, as always, fell asleep somewhere in the middle, and you took it upon yourself to tuck him in a pile of blankets from Mingyu’s closet, as well as volunteering to call an Uber for him because you really don’t trust yourself carrying him home.

Once Soonyoung was tucked away and snoring on the couch, you flop back into the armchair, watching Mingyu as he drinks the last sip from his bottle. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the alcohol, but his eyes are sharp as he studies you.

A beat of silence passes.

“I ran into Jeonghan the other week.”

Mingyu nearly spits out his drink at that, coughing as he scrambles to set the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

“Jeonghan? As in Jeonghan? The Jeonghan that skipped your birthday three years ago?” he chokes out, eyes wide.

The memory hits you like a wave. Your birthday was supposed to be a big day for you, as it is for everyone else. A day where everything felt right. But the entire day leading up to that point felt wrong. You invited your family and your circle of friends, including your boyfriend, Jeonghan. However, even then, your relationship was anything but smooth during that time.

Mornings were met with silent tension and distance; evenings were where the cracks became too hard to ignore. You always tried to brush it all off𑁋the subtle signs that something wasn’t quite right, because you loved him. You hadn’t known how to let go back then, but eventually, you did. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

But Jeonghan never showed up, and it finally broke you. Not for the cake. Not for the family. Not for you. He just… vanished from the celebration you had carefully planned.

“Yeah,” You reply ponderingly, toying with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding Mingyu’s piercing gaze. “That Jeonghan. I can’t exactly avoid him that easy, you know? Seokmin and all of them are still good friends with him.”

Mingyu lifts up a suspicious brow. “So… what happened? Did you talk to him?”

You bite your bottom lip hesitant, giving a loose shrug. “We talked. Briefly. He was just there, you know? But he seems… different. And I’m still... well, me. He still knows me too well. I don’t know what to do with that.” You pause, remembering his eyes, the way he looked at you like no time had passed at all, and your heart tightens. “I don’t know what I expected. I don’t even know why I was there.”

Mingyu lets out a contemplative hum.

“Do you still care about him?”

Your brows crease together in thought, heat coursing through your system as Mingyu’s words float around your head like it was struggling to find a proper place to land. You weren’t expecting to face this again. You thought you were over it all, or at least enough to walk away without a second glance. The simple truth is there is an answer, but an answer that you aren’t sure you’re ready to confront.

“I… I don’t know,” You respond weakly, letting your gaze fall down to the floor. “I shouldn’t be.”

“But you do?”

The silence answers for you.

When the Uber arrives to pick up Soonyoung, you and Mingyu help drag him into the car and watch as the driver struggles to secure him into the back seat. Soonyoung mumbles something incoherent, his limbs flopping around like a ragdoll. Mingyu tips the driver a few extra bills, and you wave goodbye to a half-conscious Soonyoung as the car pulls away from the building.

“I’m gonna head back,” You tell him.

Mingyu just lightly jabs a finger at your forehead. You hardly realise the small headache that was beginning to take form. “Yeah, you go do that. You’re a hot mess.”

You roll your eyes at Mingyu, pushing his finger away, but you can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. He’s right, though. Maybe you are a little bit of a mess right now.

“Don’t do stupid things!” You hear him yell as you’ve walked about a block away from him, his voice carrying faintly through the night air. You wave back without turning around, a small chuckle escaping your lips. You don’t plan on doing anything stupid. You hope.

You walk past the café on your way home.

You were once convinced that you and Jeonghan had the perfect relationship.

Meeting through mutual friends, hanging out in secret, falling in love in ways that felt effortless and true. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic. It was easy. It felt right. So right. Like the kind of story you’d read about in a romance novel and think, ‘That’s what I want someday’. But someday had its limits, and reality didn’t care about perfect beginnings.

Back then, the café wasn’t just a cafe𑁋it was your café. The one Jeonghan had taken you to on your first real date. The one where he’d laughed at how you ordered hot chocolate instead of coffee, teasing you for your “childish” taste, only to steal a sip and admit he liked it too. The one where you spent countless evenings together, shoulders brushing as he flicked the tip of your nose with whipped cream and your hands interlocked under the table.

Every street corner, every park bench, every late-night convenience store run was marked by a memory you’d shared with him, memories exchanged with shameless promises that one day you’d conquer the world together. And somewhere in your distant mind, you can still hear his precious laughter.

But promises don’t hold when the people making them start to crumble.

Jeonghan lost his job, which worsened his financial struggles to be able to pay for school and the lifelong dreams he had told you during conversations in the middle of the night. Scholarships were dropped, he was having trouble between finding a steady income and taking care of his family, and he simply grew silent.

I just need space and you’re not giving me any, he would say. I’m just going through a ton of shit and need to figure it out on my own.

On the other hand, your life was slowly but surely moving forward. You got accepted into a few prominent graduate schools, some local and some abroad. You were excited about what the future was giving to you, ready to embark in this new chapter of your life, but how could you go forward with that when you didn’t want to leave him behind?

The break-up wasn't overnight. It wasn’t a moment of screaming and door-slamming; it was gradual. A missed text here, a cancelled date there, an unreturned call somewhere. You told yourself it was just a phase. People go through hard times, and this was his.

It was easier to blame yourself, even though deep down you knew it wasn’t just you. You weren’t perfect either; you knew there were times you pushed when you should’ve been patient, times you misunderstood when you should’ve listened. But still, the end of the knife pierced harsher than you anticipated. His absence on your birthday had been the breaking point𑁋not just because of the day itself, but because it confirmed what you’d feared all along: he wasn’t willing to fight for you, for this, anymore.

He needed space. He needed time to figure things out. And you foolishly gave it to him. Too much space, maybe. Too much time. Until he was no longer the same person who had looked at you with the kind of love that made everything else fade.

Maybe that was the problem all along. You never knew when to let go, and Jeonghan never really told you when he was ready to.

Dear 526, Don’t beat yourself up for being in your head too much. In fact, I think I’m starting to like what’s in your head if I haven’t written so already. Was that too forward? I hope it wasn’t. The past certainly isn’t easy to leave behind, especially a past that you regret. I believe that’s where my dilemma is now. I can’t help but wonder if I’m being selfish in wanting some piece of them in my life. Just as friends would be enough. Maybe it’s some form of twisted karma for my mistakes. I guess I’m asking for advice, if it’s not too much. Enough about me though, tell me something about yourself. I’d like to get to know you more. Happy to hear you’ve been making peace with the city. Make sure you’re smiling at least three times a day. Knowing you’re happy makes me happy. - 017

To 017, It wasn’t too forward at all. Reading that was probably my first smile of the day, to be honest. You’ve got a way with words, you know? Maybe this is why I look forward to your letters. As for your dilemma, I understand. It’s easy to believe that if things were just different, everything could go back to what it was. You’re not being selfish for wanting a piece of them, but you have to ask yourself if that piece is worth the heartache. But if you really want to try, make sure it’s for the right reasons. You can’t force someone to be in your life, but I think it’s okay to let them know, or show that you still care, without expecting anything in return. I’m not sure if that’s the best advice, but it’s the truth as I see it. Still, you know them better than me. I wouldn’t say I’m particularly interesting to get to know, but I’ll tell you this: I like to sleep with my fan on, even in the cold. I’m weird. Tell me something about you now. And I’ll be sure to smile three times a day, for you. Maybe I’ll even try for five, just to make sure I’m doing okay. - 526

Jeonghan’s number is still in your phone.

You found it the other night when you were doomscrolling through old messages, for no particular reason. You hadn’t thought about it for so long, not seriously at least, but here you were again, and it’s almost as if his contact had collected dust enough to catch in your eye and bring some heat there.

Back then gave you all the reason for you to block him, or even delete it entirely. But for some reason, you didn’t. You never did.

You don’t do anything𑁋you don’t initiate a text or a call, because that would be incredibly dumb of you to do. Instead, you close off your contacts app, and call it a night.

You’ve made it this far, right? You’re not going to let Jeonghan drag you back into the past. You’re not. But when you close your eyes, it’s almost like you can still feel his presence, the heat from his body, the softness in his words. It’s comforting in a way to think about him, but also painful; a soft ache that doesn’t quite go away.

Days later, you find yourself wandering out of the local bookstore, a place where you used to hide away when you were younger to seek shelter from the city’s noise and study for your high school final exams. A couple of books are sandwiched in between your arms, the cold air hitting your skin the second you step out into the city, making you pull your woven scarf tighter around your neck.

Your steps are slow as you head toward the bus stop, the books in your arms pressing against your chest like some kind of shield. You don’t realise how lost in thought you are until you hear a voice𑁋a cheerful one, in fact.

“Y/N!”

When you whip your head around, you’re met with a stream of familiar faces. There’s Seokmin, a mutual friend of yours that you had met through Soonyoung; there’s Joshua, another boy who you’ve seen mingle within your friend group, and you’ve shared nothing but sweet interactions with; and then… there’s… Jeonghan.

“Seokmin! Hey.” You sift out a gloved hand to wave in his direction.

“Hey! Heard you moved back into the city not that long ago. How’s that going for you?” Seokmin asks, and he still has that familiar cheery voice that could possibly cut through the clouds on a stormy day.

“It’s been good so far,” You reply, managing a polite smile. “Still settling in, but it’s nice to be back. It feels like I never really left.”

Seokmin grins. “That’s great to hear! We’ve missed having you around.”

Your eyes flicker to Joshua, who offers you a kind smile, and then to Jeonghan, who stands a step behind the group. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his coat, and his eyes meet yours for a split second before you force yourself to look away.

“We were just about to grab some warm drinks at the café,” Joshua chimes in, breaking the silence. “Care to join us? It’s freezing out here.”

You hesitate, glancing down at the books in your arms as if they could somehow provide an excuse. But before you can respond, Seokmin chimes in, “Come on, Y/N! It’ll be like old times. Well, kind of.”

You know you should probably decline. It’s the smarter thing to do. But something about the way Jeonghan is standing there, like he’s waiting for you to say something, keeps you rooted in place. Plus, it’s hard to say no to Seokmin.

“I guess I can take a small pit stop,” You say, a hint of reluctance to your voice as you adjust the books in your arms. “But just for a little while. I have some things to get done later.”

“Of course, of course. We won’t keep you for long, don’t worry.” Seokmin gestures for you to follow along, and you do.

Apparently, you’ve learned that Seokmin, Joshua, and Jeonghan all work at the café together, which is a bit of a wholesome fact to know. In Seokmin’s words, working there was a way to “stay close to the people you care about”, as he described it. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his idealistic perspective, even though you knew it was part of what made him Seokmin𑁋always seeing the bright side of things. It’s hard not to smile at how simple yet comforting his reasoning is.

Seokmin makes an immediate beeline towards the front counter with Joshua following right behind him, leaving you and Jeonghan standing together in a brief, lingering silence. It’s almost comical how the world seems to pause for just a second as you both stand there, unsure of how to move forward.

“Y/N.” Hearing him call your name sends a shiver down your spine, though you can’t tell if it’s because of the cold or the sound of his voice. “Your books are about to fall.”

You glance down at your arms, and surprisingly, he’s right𑁋one of the books tilted and threatening to fall down on the floor. However, before you could adjust them yourself, Jeonghan does it for you with ease, his hand brushing against yours as he steadies the books in your grasp. His touch lingers for a few moments longer, before pulling away, and your heart seems to trip on its own feet.

“You’re still a bookworm,” he mentions with a small, almost wistful smile as he watches you adjust the books back into place.

You stiffen at the mention of it, the familiar nickname carrying with it the weight of all the memories you'd tried to bury. Bookworm. My little bookworm. A nickname he would shower on you with such affection.

“Yeah,” You manage to say, the words feeling like a lie as soon as they escape past your lips, even if they aren’t. “I guess some things never change, right?”

Jeonghan hums lowly, crossing his arms together. “Right.”

The way his eyes soften when they meet yours is still the same, that tender look as if you’re the only person in the room, all before it all fell apart with broken promises and misunderstandings.

But you’ve been down this road before, haven’t you? You know how this story ends.

You force a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and step back slightly, creating a sliver of space between you and Jeonghan.

When Seokmin and Joshua retrieve a tray of drinks, you all trail towards the corner table of the café. And Jeonghan sits in the chair right beside you.

“Y/N! Did Soonyoung and Mingyu tell you about the ski resort?” Seokmin pipes up brightly before taking a sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“They did.” You give a small smile. “Something like a little thing to celebrate the new year? I haven’t skied in ages. There were barely any things to do during winter when I was abroad.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” Seokmin continues, clearly excited about the whole idea. “It’ll be a lot of fun! It’s just a little trip to unwind after the holidays. And it’s been way too long since we all hung out like that, so it’ll be fun catching up.”

You nod along, even though your mind isn’t fully there. Your attention is still on Jeonghan, whose quiet presence beside you is somehow louder than the conversation around the table. He’s just… there.

“You used to be pretty good at skiing, Y/N, if I remember right,” Joshua says, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

“But that was years ago. I’m practically rubbish now,” You input in with a chuckle, your nose wrinkling with a weak laugh. “I doubt I’ll make it down the slopes without falling on my ass.”

“Don’t worry! We’ll be there to catch you. Probably. No promises,” Seokmin adds with a teasing grin.

A faint laugh leaves you, the warmth of their banter making you feel a little less tense. It’s nice to be around familiar faces who were basically your entire life back then.

“I’ll consider it,” You tell Seokmin with a knowing look.

“Well, we’re taking it as a yes.” The pleased grin on Seokmin's face just widens even more. “You can’t back out now.”

As the evening flows by and conversation goes to more casual topics, you take the opportunity to dismiss yourself for the night. Seokmin and Joshua bid you goodbye with a couple of hugs. The chair squeaks as you push it in, shooting one last polite smile to the group before heading your way out of the café.

“Y/N?”

Instinctively, you clench the books in your arms even tighter. Your heart lurches in your chest. Slowly, you turn around, and Jeonghan’s gaze is intent on you.

“Yeah?” You ask, the word suddenly shrinking around the two of you.

Jeonghan steps up to you, his hands slipping out of his pockets as he gives you a hesitant smile. You freeze up as you watch his hands come up to the scarf around your neck, and before you can react, he gently adjusts it, ensuring it’s more securely wrapped around you. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him𑁋so long since you’ve felt his touch, the way his fingers lightly brushed against your neck, so casual yet intimate. Then he brushes away a stray strand of hair that had landed on it, before pulling back to study you.

“There,” he breathes out, the corners of his lip curling into a faint smirk. “Better.”

You lift a brow up. “What are you trying to do, Jeonghan?”

“Nothing,” he answers simply. “Just trying to make sure you don’t freeze to death, as your friend.”

“Friend?”

“As someone who cares about you.” Then he takes a pause, adding in, “As a friend.”

Friend. The word feels both oddly comforting and bittersweet.

You don’t respond immediately, unsure of what to say. His words feel like a subtle invitation to reopen a door you thought you’d closed long ago. But you resist, keeping the distance between you, even though your body betrays you with a sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

“Right. Friend.” You offer him a tight-lipped smile. “I should go. Have a good night, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan opens his mouth like he’s about to say something more, but then he gives you a nod.

“Take care, little bookworm.”

Dear 526, Now I’m imagining you smiling after reading my letters. I could certainly get used to that image in my head now. I followed your advice, and I’d consider it progress in a way, to keep it vaguely. I have a question though: Do you believe in second chances? And you are weird. You’re telling me you don’t freeze while sleeping? I’m an absolute abomination when I’m cold. I need to be covered in layers or else I’ll become a literal icicle. But you’re not weird in a bad way, perhaps in a pretty cute way. Something about me? I don’t like eating candy that much. Take that as you will. Yours truly, - 017

To 017, You don’t even know what I look like. How could you possibly even imagine me smiling? For all you know, my smile could be absolutely horrendous and you wouldn’t even know it. I’m glad you’re making progress. It sounds like you’re trying, and that’s more than a lot of people can say. Progress is progress, no matter how small, right? As for your question, I believe my answer would be… cautiously, yes. It’s tricky though. Second chances can be beautiful if people are willing to grow and learn from their mistakes. But other times, it can open the door to more hurt. It really depends on whether both sides are willing to meet in the middle. What about you? Do you believe in second chances? Not liking candy, though? That’s a red flag if I’ve ever heard one. What’s wrong with a little sugar now and then? You’re missing out, honestly. Chocolate, caramel, gummies? There has to be something, and I’ll get to the bottom of it. You’re stuck with me now. I guess we’re doing complimentary closings now, - 526

017’s hallway is standing right before you.

It’s odd, really𑁋knowing that this mysterious penpal you’ve been exchanging letters for the past month or so is quite literally right below your feet, in arm’s reach if you really consider it. Your heart buzzes at the thought, a faint smile quirking up at your lips as you walk away from the hallway and into the outside world.

You hope that 017 is having a good day, or feeling happy these days, and staying warm especially.

Little do you know, the second you step outside, 017’s door opens, and you’re too far away to notice it.

Visiting the holiday lights festival has always been a tradition within your friend group. The centre of the city is dressed up every year for the Christmas season, painting the snowfall with colourful lights that twinkle in the crisp winter air. It’s one of those moments where time seems to come to a standstill, a sight before the eyes like a scene straight out of those cheesy Hallmark movies.

This year, it’s especially meaningful. Everyone’s grown up, and while the group hasn’t always stayed as close as they used to be (or moreso, you were the one who chose to drift away), there’s a certain comfort in returning to old traditions, even if they’re not exactly the same anymore.

“Y/N, Y/N, look! They put up the giant Santa inflatable again!” Soonyoung exclaims, clutching at your arm and pointing up towards the sky, which stood perhaps a two-story tall Santa Claus standing proudly and illuminated in all its glory.

“That thing’s still here?” You tease playfully, eliciting a cheesy laugh. “Thought they would have retired the old man by now. He deserves a break.”

Soonyoung lightly shoves you in the arm. “You’re heartless.”

As the group meanders within the festival, you find yourself trailing alongside Soonyoung and Mingyu, with Joshua and Seokmin behind, and… Jeonghan there as well, as he always is, but not enough for you. He’s quick to catch your sneaking glances towards him, meeting you with a knowing look and faint smile, and you have to force yourself to look away, ignoring the way your stomach twists slightly.

The holidays are supposed to be a time for joys to be let loose, to celebrate the year ending while anticipating for the next one to come. You can’t help but remember the days as you galloped down the street, grins glowing brighter than the lights themselves as you held hands with the man who used to hold your heart so preciously, so sweetly, so tightly like he never wanted to let go before everything flipped upside down.

Laughter floats around you, the sound of the holiday lights flickering against the night sky, and yet it all feels almost distant𑁋like you’re observing your life from the outside.

The giant Christmas tree is always the grand sight of the festival. Families and couples all gather around it, admiring its dazzling display of lights and ornaments, and capturing the moment in photos. The scents of cinnamon and pine fill the atmosphere, pieces of fallen tinsel scattered around the icy ground, and for a brief moment, you close your eyes, allowing the night to surround you.

“Did you make a wish?”

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to see Jeonghan coming up beside you, snowflakes settled in his blonde hair. His hands are tucked into his coat pockets, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the Christmas lights. You hadn’t realised you closed your eyes that long, let alone make him wander away from the group to join you.

The truth is, you hadn’t made a wish. You hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t made any during Christmas when you were abroad. Wishes felt like something you used to believe in, back when things were simpler and life didn’t feel so heavy. Back when Jeonghan’s hand in yours felt like the only wish you’d ever need.

“I didn’t,” You reply nimbly. “Did you?”

Jeonghan smiles faintly, his breath visible in the cold air as he exhales. “I might have. But you’re not supposed to say it out loud, right? Otherwise, it won’t come true.”

You scoff a little at that. “Of course you’d say that.”

His smile grows wider, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, one you know all too well. It’s the kind of look that always meant he had something up his sleeve.

Jeonghan chuckles softly, taking another step toward you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Guess you’ll never know then.”

You both stand there for a moment, side by side, as the crowd flows freely around you. The world feels a little quieter in that bubble between the two of you. If you listened closely, perhaps, there’s words being said within the unsaid, lingering emotions simmering beneath the surface of the snow that paints the ground.

The cold air nips at your skin, and yet, you don’t move away from Jeonghan, even as the heaviness settles in your chest.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” You suddenly say, breaking the moment.

Jeonghan’s eyes flicker toward you, his expression softening slightly as if he wasn’t entirely sure what you meant. “Do what?”

You chew at your lip.

“Stand here with me,” You murmur, bringing your eyes down to your feet. “Pretend that everything’s okay. Pretend that this𑁋” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, your words faltering as you struggle to voice the truth you’ve been hiding. “𑁋is normal, when it’s not.”

The silence thickens around the two of you. He doesn’t immediately respond, his breaths coming out in mists in the cold air, and for a second, you regret saying it at all.

“I’m not pretending,” he says, his tone gentle. “I’m just here.”

“But you’re𑁋we’re𑁋” A lump forms in your throat. “This isn’t right.”

“So do you expect me to just walk away?”

“I expect you to understand that this𑁋us𑁋doesn’t just go back to how it was before. You can’t just show up and𑁋” You cut yourself off, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. “You can’t just act like you didn’t abandon me back then, like I didn’t give everything I had and you threw it all away.”

You watch the way his expression rapidly morphs into a million different conflicted shades𑁋surprise, regret, a flicker of pain, something else you can’t quite place𑁋but he doesn’t move away, lips parting as if he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t say anything at first. The sting in your chest feels as raw as it did the day everything fell apart, and the day you left your past behind you by boarding that plane.

“You’re right,” is all he says, quietly. “I hurt you. Back then, I… I thought I did the right thing by𑁋”

“By pushing me away?” You counter back harshly. “You didn’t do the right thing; you did what was easiest for you.”

Jeonghan winces at your words. “I never stopped𑁋”

“Don’t,” You interrupt sharply, shaking your head. “Don’t say you never stopped loving me. Don’t romanticise what you did, Jeonghan. You stopped when it mattered most. And now you’re here, acting like we can just pick up where we left off, as if nothing happened. That’s not fair to me. To you. To us.”

This time, Jeonghan chooses to stay silent, and you do too. The snow continues to fall around the two of you, making you bat your eyelashes rapidly, the heat in your eyes threatening to spill over. You force yourself to bite down on your lower lip to keep from breaking.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Then you look over at Jeonghan, really look at him, and for a split second, you wonder if you could ever forgive him. But right now, you’re tired. Tired of holding it all in, tired of pretending that time could undo the hurt, that this moment could be anything other than a reminder of what you both lost.

You’re a coward, Yoon Jeonghan.

“Hey, guys! Come on, we’re going to take pictures in front of the Christmas tree!” Soonyoung’s voice pops in and shatters the glass you and Jeonghan were standing on.

The two of you turn towards the group, who were all huddled in front of the giant Christmas tree, hands waving excitedly to both of you. There’s a part of you that wants to walk away, to escape from the bittersweetness the world is raining down on you right now, but you don’t have the heart to𑁋your friends deserve to feel happy today.

Jeonghan’s gaze shifts to Soonyoung, his expression unreadable for a moment before he turns back to you. His lips part like he’s going to say something else, but again, words fall short. Instead, he just gives you a quiet nod, and the two of you trail your way toward the group.

But even as you walk, a part of you knows it’s not over. It may never be.

To 017, I’m drunk right now, like can barely-walk-straight kind of shit. I guess I’m writing to you because you’re the one who’s been there. And I don’t know why, but I feel like you understand. Even though we’ve never met, it feels like you do. You ever wonder if you can really fix something that’s broken? Like, can you really put two pieces of glass together and pretend it wasn’t cracked? I don’t think you can. Not really. Even if it’s glued together, you can always see the line. I don’t know if I believe in second chances. I don’t know if I should. But I know that I still care. And that messes with my head. Maybe I’m just holding onto something because it was the best I ever had, even if it wasn’t perfect. Maybe I’m just afraid of being alone. I don’t know. Fuck, my brain hurts. Goodnight, - 526

A small package hits the tip of your toes the second you step out the door.

You stare down at it, mind still foggy, picking it up in your hands to inspect over it carefully. Taking it back inside your apartment, you set it on your kitchen counter, and your head is still pounding as painfully as ever, clearly not thinking straight when you tear it open without thinking that you’re ripping someone else’s package.

Inside, there’s a bag, the contents of it containing a tiny bottle of Ibuprofen, a plastic bowl of instant ramen, and a water bottle, along with a note that had fallen straight to the bottom.

Second chances don’t always look like what we expect. But maybe, sometimes, the cracks are what make something beautiful. Take these for your hangover and count your smiles today. And as always, stay warm. Carry this letter around to bring some luck to your week, if you wish. - 017 P.S. Credits to Google.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the piece of paper in your hands. Your heart pounds a little harder, the fog from your hangover lifting just a bit as the words sink in. The gift is simple, thoughtful, but it’s the note that really gets to you, and you find yourself smiling for the first time this morning.

017, just who exactly are you? You let out a sigh, neatly folding the piece of paper up. And how do you manage to get under my skin so easily?

“Yoon Jeonghan, you’ve been staring at the door like a truck is gonna crash in and kill us.”

Jeonghan chuckles, letting out a groan from how he’s been practically leaning over the counter for an eternity. He wipes his already-clean hands on his apron, clenching and unclenching them, a crack from his knuckles breaking the tenseness he only feels within the cozy walls of the café.

“I’m not staring,” Jeonghan mutters in reply.

“Yeah, and I’m the President of Korea,” Seokmin quips wittily, washing away a dirty mug in the sink. “No wonder you have back problems, hyung.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, straightening up and stretching his arms above his head. “My back’s fine, thanks for the concern.” He tilts his head toward Seokmin with a playful grin. “And for the record, if you were the President, this country would be in serious trouble.”

“Excuse me!” Seokmin exclaims, bringing a hand to his heart as if it was just absolutely crushed. “I’d make a fine President.”

“Ah, whatever you say, Master Lee,” Jeonghan jests teasingly, before returning his gaze towards the door.

Behind him, Joshua is busy stacking clean cups in the corner, before peering up at his fellow co-workers with a sly look.

“You still love them, don’t you?”

Jeonghan feels his body stiffen to the words, and the only thing he could do to cope with it is to simply chuckle, to simply pretend that the question didn’t blow a bullet through his chest, shrug it off like he hasn’t been thinking about you constantly for three fucking years. He’s been convinced that you won’t ever show up back in his life𑁋but here you are, and your presence is constantly punching at his throat.

There’s an almost dreamy lift to his lips as he stares at the door once again.

“Am I really that transparent?” he questions, but more to himself than to Joshua and Seokmin, his fingertips tapping rhythmically against the counter. “It’s childish, right? To desire something that you let slip right through your fingers?”

“Maybe not childish,” Joshua answers firmly. “You’re only human, after all.”

Jeonghan almost wants to laugh at that. When his gaze drifts back to the door, he can imagine you walking through it again, like you had so many times before, with your hand tightly clasped in his.

For three years, he’s been carrying around the guilt and regret of letting you go and pushing you away because he was so afraid of dragging you down with him, when all you’ve done was love him at his best and at his worst. For three years, he’s been wondering what could have been if he hadn’t made the choice to walk away.

For three years, he’s never stopped loving you.

The three of them begin to tend to their closing duties. The snow continues to fall outside, the night beginning its own routine lulling the world into a blanket of peace. Jeonghan continues to wipe down the tables and place the chairs in their proper positions on top of them, yet he keeps glancing at the door.

But he… knows better. He should know better. Things are different now.

“Hyung, you really need to stop doing that,” Seokmin calls out from the sink.

Jeonghan blinks, the weight of his thoughts snapping him back to the present. “What?”

“Staring at the door,” Seokmin continues, chuckling. “It’s not healthy.”

It’s easy for Seokmin to say that, of course. Easy for his friends to worry. He doesn’t have a history with you, doesn’t carry the weight of the unspoken words that still cling to Jeonghan’s chest like an unhealed scar. He doesn’t know how it feels to have everything slip through his fingers, to realise too late that he made the wrong choice.

Jeonghan lets out a sigh and throws away the dirty rag in a trash bin, gathering all the trash bags in one area to throw away later before they leave. Seokmin is preparing three cups of hot coffee to-go since he’s finished with his duties, and Joshua is finishing tidying up the counter.

Seokmin is the first to leave, snatching his coffee on the way out, then Joshua bids his goodbyes for the night. Jeonghan fixes on his thick coat and snatches his keys from his pocket, stepping out into the cold night, not before turning the lights off and locking the door to the café. The neon sign above the door flashes to darkness.

The snow crunches beneath his shoes as he steps back, taking a sip of hot coffee Seokmin had prepared and starting his way home.

“Jeonghan?”

His entire body freezes at that voice, the familiar tone cutting through the stillness of the night. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, but he does anyway. The cup of coffee in his hands suddenly feels colder than the night itself. And even in the falling snow, you still glow beautifully brighter than the streetlamps illuminating the icy roads.

“Y/N?” he calls out to you. “What… What are you doing here?”

You adjust the beanie on your head, wiping off the snow that stuck to it. “Uh, was just… passing by, you know.”

Jeonghan hums at that, faintly smiling at how you pull your coat tighter around yourself. “As always?”

“Yeah.”

You both stand there for a moment, the world around you paused in that quiet, snowy space, as if the universe itself is waiting for something, anything, to happen.

“Are you heading home?” You ask, nearly regretting randomly asking that the second it left your mouth. But Jeonghan only nods, still holding his coffee with both hands, his expression unreadable in the dim streetlight.

“Mhm,” he answers softly, gaze flickering from the cup to you. “It’s been a long day. You?”

“Doing the same.”

The awkwardness lingering in the air is suffocating, but neither of you choose to move𑁋don’t want to move, perhaps.

“Would…” Jeonghan starts, tightening his hold of the cup in his hand. “...you want to walk with me?”

There’s that hesitation again, the kind of feeling that questions whether this thread between the two of you will strengthen or break off like it did before, but there’s something warm in Jeonghan’s presence, like in the way his sleepy eyes are holding yours in that familiar gentleness, in the way he’s waiting for you to answer.

And you decide against the tug at your heartstrings to walk with him.

“Okay,” You breathe out. “Let’s walk.”

It’s natural in the way you both fall into rhythm together, with Jeonghan on the side closest to the street, just like back then where he’d insist to be on that side to follow those drama clichés, and you’d threaten to push him into traffic just to prove a point. And he’d counter you back with a cheesy kiss to the cheek and your hand tightly grasped in his. Now, there’s a bit of distance. But not too much.

The walk is simple, with the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet and your breath curling into the crisp cold. You both keep a steady pace, not saying much in between, but somehow feeling the years of separation fade, even just for a moment.

“You grew your hair out,” You comment, breaking the silence. “I… noticed when I first came back.”

Jeonghan chuckles softly, running a hand through his now longer, blonde hair. “Seems like I did. Didn’t realise it until I saw my reflection one day.” His voice comes out light. “I think it suits me, though.”

You smile, a small, bittersweet curve of your lips. “It does. It… looks nice.”

“Yeah?” he quips teasingly, the corners of his mouth upturning. “Say that again.”

“No.” You peer down at the ground, at the way your steps are in sync with each other. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

He laughs quietly, that familiar sound that once felt like home. “I’m not trying to get anywhere.”

“Just making conversation?” You question, glancing curiously up at him. His gaze softens, the kind of softness that feels like a warm ember in the cold night.

“Maybe,” he only replies.

This is strange𑁋this night, this moment. How you could go from pushing each other away to being pulled back like a magnet. It’s uncomfortable, but oddly not; worrisome at how natural you fall into rhythm with one another, yet different enough to make your chest tighten.

“Hmm, you haven’t changed,” Jeonghan says. “Still stubborn.”

You shoot him an almost-glare. “And you’re insufferably smug. Some things don’t change, huh?”

“Maybe not,” Jeonghan admits, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “But some things do.”

“Tell me then,” You add in pensively, tone shifting to something serious, almost fragile in the stillness of the night. “Tell me what’s changed and what hasn’t.”

Before Jeonghan could almost his mouth to answer, you feel something warm slip into the pocket of your coat and wrap around your hand, and your eyes nearly widen when you look ahead to realise you nearly walk into something, or someone. A man sidles past the two of you, footsteps careless and staggering as he brushes past you both, grumbling something under his breath that you can’t catch.

When you snap back to reality, your eyes dart to Jeonghan’s hand inside your pocket, and you feel his fingers wrapping gently around yours, your shoulder brushing against his as he pulls you closer to him. The heat from his hand seeps through your coat and spreads throughout your limbs. Your thoughts are telling you to pull away, and your heart is aching for something else entirely.

You listen to the latter.

Jeonghan doesn’t look at you immediately, his hand still enclosed around yours. You feel the way his fingers twitch as if he’s unsure whether to let go or to hold on tighter. He can feel something brush against his skin in your pocket𑁋a piece of paper, or something of the sorts. He doesn’t question it. His breath fogs in the air as he exhales, eyes on the ground for a moment before they finally meet yours, uncertainty flashing across his features.

It’s almost overwhelming, but there’s something in the way your fingers fit together, like they’re supposed to be there. Like they’ve always been meant to.

“Is your question answered?” Jeonghan asks softly, quietly.

And maybe your mind nearly goes haywire at that. Because you don’t want to see him, but you miss him; you’re supposed to hate him, but you long for him all at once. Like candy, sweet yet bitter, cloying yet addictive, something that sticks to your heart and makes you ache with desire and regret all at once.

You think your question is answered.

When you feel his hand release from yours, the piece of paper from your pocket flutters down to the ground. Jeonghan watches closely as you pick the paper up from the snow and shove back into your pocket. He doesn’t say anything about it.

As the two of you reach a particular building, you both stop together.

“This is my stop,” Jeonghan tells you.

You gaze up at the building, before casting your eyes back to Jeonghan. “You live here?”

“Mhm,” he hums in response. “Why?”

“I…” Your voice trails off as you hesitate, unsure how to finish the thought. “I… I live here too.”

Silence. Absolute silence at that. The thought that knowing Jeonghan could be living even just a singular door down from you sends your thoughts spiraling. Out of all the places in this city, out of every street and apartment complex, it has to be here?

A flicker of surprise runs past his features, his lips parting slightly before curving into a small, almost amused smile. And it nearly makes you give in too.

“Small world, huh?” Jeonghan murmurs, breaking the silence.

“Too small,” You reply, blinking at the building in disbelief and then back to him. A small laugh leaves you.

Jeonghan cocks his head to the side, still continuing to gaze at you. When you catch his eyes, there’s a softness there, like he’s trying to search through your face and rememorise every part of it again. You’re smiling, albeit faint𑁋the type of smile that doesn’t entirely reach your eyes yet still seems to light up your features. The more he thinks about it, it’s quite literally the first smile he’s seen of yours in… years.

“You’re smiling,” he points out.

You zip your mouth up. “No, I’m not. I’m just cold.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jeonghan muses. “To smile around me.”

When he steps a tad bit closer to you, you feel like you’ll nearly lose your balance as you step back, your heart hammering in your chest. Then Jeonghan stops in his place, letting out a long sigh, and turns his body towards the apartment building.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he demands lightly. “And stay warm. Smile more too. It looks good on you.”

For some reason, the familiarity of those words send shivers down your spine, but you brush it off quickly.

No, it’s not him, You think to yourself. Right?

You clear your throat. “Yeah… You too.” Then you face the building as well. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Dear 526, Merry Christmas! I hope you’re doing well and staying warm, and counting your smiles as well. Do you have any plans for the holidays? Perhaps attending a Christmas dinner or chilling by the window with a cup of hot chocolate? I don’t have that much, other than a gathering with friends which I’m not sure if I’m exactly looking forward to or not. You’ve mentioned in your last letter that you consider me as someone who understands. I’m very flattered you think of me that way, but I want you to know that I just don’t understand. I care about you. Maybe a bit more than I think. I care about how you’re doing, about the little things that make you happy, the things that make you sad. Sorry. It’s nearly two in the morning as I’m writing this, and I guess I’ve been reflecting on everything we’ve exchanged thus far. Memories, second chances, little details about each other… Let me just be brave and say this: I’ve grown pretty fond of all that. Of you also, too. Anyway, I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to send this out for you to read whenever you get the chance. I hope you’ve been smiling. Even if you don’t always feel like it, I hope you have something that makes you want to. Perhaps we’ll walk down the same hallway sometime? - 017

To 017, Merry Christmas to you as well. I’ve been staying quite warm these days thankfully, snuggled under my duvet as I’m writing this letter. I hope your plans with your friends go well if you go. I have similar plans with mine too. Funny coincidence, don’t you think? But honestly, a cup of hot chocolate by the window is quite irresistible. And about what you said… about being brave. I think you already are. Braver than you might think. You’ve shared parts of yourself with me; I’ve shared parts of myself with you. That takes courage. So here’s me trying to be brave too: Would you like to meet up? I know a good place. - 526

I want to know who you are, 017, You think to yourself as you drop the letter in their mailbox.

A hand planting on the door stops you from fully exiting your apartment building.

You glance up, and Jeonghan is right there𑁋breathing heavily and uneven, as if he had just run two whole miles trying to catch up to you.

“I…” You start, clearing your throat. “Good morning to you?”

A sheepish smile upturns his lips, and he pulls back from his iron grip on the door, fully standing himself right next to you.

“Good morning,” he repeats softly, his somewhat sleepy morning voice reminiscent of the groggy days you used to share together. “Heading somewhere?”

“I was,” You retort back calmly. “Until you stopped me from doing so. You?”

“Opening shift at the dear old café.” Jeonghan chuckles out tiredly, like he’s stayed up until three in the morning tossing and turning in his bed. “Not sure if I want to deal with the world’s caffeine needs at the moment.”

“Yeah. You look horrendous.”

“I didn’t come here to be personally attacked,” Jeonghan says with a mock offense, though his smile is playful, eyes still a little sleepy but soft nonetheless.

The two of you stand there for a few long moments, letting the silence simply stretch between you both. You find yourself glancing at him more than you probably should, tracing the way his blonde hair falls messily over his forehead and sticks up in all sorts of directions, the way his hands are dangling to the sides as if he’s unsure what to do with them.

This time, Jeonghan is the one to clear his throat.

“You could stop by for a quick coffee before you go… wherever you’re going, if you’d like, or anytime today,” he offers, his voice coming out almost timid, hesitant.

Your chest tightens to the invitation, and you divert your eyes away from Jeonghan. You know he’s not pressuring you, not forcing anything. It’s just a suggestion, a simple offer. Even though the two of you are floating between this vast space of being friends and what you once were, you know where it could lead. Your mind races to hold onto the distance, to remind yourself that you’re not quite there yet. Not with him. Not at this moment.

“I… I have plans today. With someone,” You respond lowly, a pang of guilt hitting your chest when the words leave your mouth. It’s almost a half-lie and a half-truth. You are meeting someone today𑁋017.

The decipherable expression on Jeonghan's face shifts into a slow nod of realisation.

“Ah,” he breathes out. The disappointment isn’t difficult to miss. His shoulders sag to the ground. “I see.”

A knot ties itself in your stomach when you see his features falter.

“Jeonghan, I didn’t mean to𑁋” You begin, but Jeonghan interrupts you, the soft smile on his lips still there, though now it looks a little sad.

“No, it’s fine,” he says quietly, running a hand through his hair, his posture slumping a little. “I get it. Another time, then?”

You could only blink, pursing your lips in a thin line. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” Jeonghan nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, he dismisses himself out of the building, and you just find yourself standing there, floating. But you can’t stop thinking about Jeonghan. And you can’t stop thinking about 017 either.

Boo’s Sandwiches is the place you recommended to meet up at.

It’s a locally owned place located in the heart of the city. You’ve gone a few times with your friend group because Soonyoung is friends with the owner’s son, and you always considered it as another one of your little hideaways when life got too hectic.

You arrive earlier than expected, nerves twisting in your stomach as you gather up a menu and sit down at a table at the very-most corner of the place. The warm scent of toasted breads fills up your nostrils, the hum of conversation taking place around you as you nervously scan over the menu.

“Hey, Y/N! I heard you were back in the city,” a loud voice rings to your ears, and you pick your head up to see Boo Seungkwan dashing over to you. He leans an arm against the table as you adjust yourself. “Heard you lived abroad for a bit. Like… three years or something?”

“Yeah. Three years,” You reply with a chuckle. “But I moved back just a few months ago actually. Guess the city was really my calling.”

You’ve gotten to know Boo Seungkwan a bit over the years. Captain of the badminton team in college, a brief side hustle of his own podcast on Spotify at some point where he gave way too honest ratings about different music tracks, and a resident gossiper who seems to know what’s happening to everyone and everything. He mingled in and out of your friend group over time, but you like to think you’ve become well-acquainted with him. He has the type of personality that’s easy to be around.

You catch up with him a bit before he bids you an energetic goodbye and has to race back to work. The time passes by rather swiftly as you shoot the occasional glance towards the door, hoping to see the one person who has been hiding behind their veil of anonymity. But even as the snowfall outside blankets the ground and strangers file inside, you don’t catch any sight of who 017 could be.

They could be anyone𑁋from the man standing in line with his dark hair and long coat to the woman in a red scarf sitting at the window unwrapping her sandwich. Anyone could be the individual you’ve been exchanging these letters with, and yet, none of those options seem to align at all.

Your shoulders fully deflate when the time on your phone strikes the next hour.

Somehow you were dumb enough to not ask for 017’s number before agreeing to meet up, only agreeing to the time they wrote to you yesterday in their letter. Now you’re sitting here, feeling like a fool for thinking everything would fall into place.

A cup of hot tea sits barely touched on your table, steam curling lazily into the air. You try to distract yourself from the disappointment, staring at the menu and pretending to care about the choices on the laminated paper in front of you. But your thoughts keep drifting back to the empty seat across from you. Maybe something came up. Maybe 017 didn’t want to show up after all. You don’t know.

There’s a second of hesitation before you finally give in with a defeated sigh and stand up, leaving a tip on the table right next to your cup of tea. You say a rushed farewell to Seungkwan who scrambles with a tray in his hands when you’re already out the door.

And just as you’re more than halfway across the street, your back turned toward the scene behind you, the door to the sandwich shop chimes open.

Seungkwan lifts his head to greet the customer, but when he catches sight of the figure, all he can do is give an unpleasant roll of his eyes when he puts the puzzle pieces together.

“You’re late, mystery boy,” he says to the figure, who appears breathless from running.

Jeonghan swallows a lump in his throat, immediately shooting his eyes around the place and outside the windows. 526 had already left.

“Fuck,” he curses to himself, before hurrying out the door once more.

You find yourself jerking awake when Soonyoung’s head lands on your shoulder, his body almost crushing yours against the passenger door. When the car hits a random bump on the road, Soonyoung jumps up with an annoyed whine.

“Can you be any more reckless?” Soonyoung groans rubbing his eyes and adjusting his seatbelt as he glares at Mingyu through the rear-view mirror. “If we die, it’s all because of you.”

Mingyu just chuckles, not even to take his eyes off the road. “Relax, hyung. I’d be rich for the amount of times I’ve driven your ass everywhere.”

Soonyoung pouts dramatically and lays his head back down on your shoulder. You definitely cannot fall back to sleep now.

As the ski resort begins to come into view, you gaze out the window, catching sight of the snow-covered trees and the scenic mountainous view. The ski resort is still a little way off, but it’s big enough that you can already spot a few bright buildings in the distance. Mingyu turns the wheel smoothly, leading you all into the parking lot.

You see people carrying their own ski and snowboarding gear as they head inside the resort. When Mingyu parks the car, all three of you crawl out to retrieve your belongings from the trunk.

“Seokmin and them should be coming, right?” Soonyoung asks while heaving a large duffle bag over his shoulder, eyes scanning the area as he stretches his arms out to shake off the sleep.

“Yeah, they said they’re about twenty minutes behind us,” Mingyu responds, tossing a backpack over one shoulder and adjusting his gloves. “We can check in first and meet them at the lodge later.”

You tug your scarf tighter around yourself, your breath misting up in the cold winter air. It’s been years since you’ve had a proper trip like this, and seeing all the families and people around you hits with a shot of nostalgia. You really aren’t sure about your skiing skills after so long, but it wouldn’t hurt to try at all.

The three of you enter into the lobby, a large, fancy-looking chandelier illuminating the vast space warmly. You shake off the snow that had been caught on your clothes and glance around the reception area. The resort has a cozy yet elegant charm, with its wood-paneled walls, plush armchairs, and the faint smell of hot cocoa wafting through the air. Guests are scattered across the lobby𑁋some checking in at the front desk, others lounging near the fireplace, sipping drinks and chatting quietly.

“Let’s get our room keys!” Soonyoung grins, already making a beeline toward the front desk like he’s on a mission. “Shotgun the bed closest to the heater!”

“Unfair,” Mingyu huffs, rolling his eyes as he trails after him, leaving you to smile softly at their antics.

You find out that the rooms you’re staying in require two people, and it already seems like Mingyu and Soonyoung have already chosen to stay in the same one together…

Seokmin, Joshua, and Jeonghan arrive about half an hour later, the cold air ushering them in as they clamber into the lobby with bags all in their grasp. Joshua greets everyone with a warm smile, his hands tucked deep into his pockets, while Seokmin immediately bounds over to Soonyoung with an enthusiastic hug that nearly sends them both toppling over onto the ground.

You don’t miss the way Jeonghan’s eyes flicker toward you for just a second longer than they probably should when he approaches.

“So, two people per room. Joshua and Seokmin, are you guys rooming together?” Mingyu asks.

“Yeah. We are.” Seokmin says brightly, lounging an arm around Joshua’s shoulders.

“Okay. So that just leaves…”

Jeonghan steps up next to you, his arms crossed together. “Guess we’re rooming together.”

Your head snaps up to look at him, surprise written all over your face. “Wait, what?”

“They paired us up,” Jeonghan shrugs, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Seokmin and Joshua are together, and someone has to deal with Soonyoung. That leaves us.”

There’s a twist to your gut at his words𑁋you and Jeonghan… in the same room? The last time you shared a room with him was when you were both still together, and all those memories of being tangled up in the same bed with him comes rushing to your head. You feel yourself hesitate for a moment, shooting daggers at your friends in protest, but none of them seem fazed at all.

“Okay,” You finally mutter under your breath. “Let’s go then.”

The room itself is quite cozy. There’s a large window that overlooks the snowy view outside, and a wooden stand where a medium-sized TV stood. The warmth from the heater settles around you as you drop your bags, and your jaw drops straight through the floor.

There’s only one bed.

“You can take the side by the heater,” Jeonghan tells you as he plants his bags right next to yours.

You shake your head at that. “No, you can take it. You get cold easily.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at you, then a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, because of course you still remember everything about him. He brushes past you and sits down at the edge of the bed with the heater next to him, stretching out his legs with a contented sigh. You swallow the lump forming in your throat as you start unpacking your things.

It’s frustrating how easy it is for him to just breathe and slip under your skin, how his presence fills the room so naturally and effortlessly.

“Y/N,” Jeonghan calls out from the bed. “You don’t have to avoid me, you know.”

“I’m not,” You mutter flatly. After all, this trip was only for a couple of nights, you’ve dealt with much worse. “Let’s just make it through this weekend.”

When the two of you finish unpacking, a knock at your door startles. Soonyoung pokes his head through the crack and peers at the two of you.

“We’re about to get dinner downstairs,” he announces to the both of you. “Y’all wanna come?”

You shift your eyes towards Jeonghan, who only gives a nonchalant shrug, already standing up from the bed. Then you turn your head back to Soonyoung.

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

There’s a lot of people at the slopes by the time the group gathers near the rentals. Soonyoung is the first to retrieve a pair and quickly put on his gear, a skip in his step as he waits for the rest of you to finish.

“Guys, hurry up! Anyone want to hit the black diamond with me?”

Soonyoung is met with ten eyes glaring back at him, all shaking their heads in unison.

“I… I think I’d rather save my head, thank you,” Mingyu proses while stuffing his hands in a pair of gloves.

After putting on some protective gear for the cold weather, you place your head into a helmet, making sure the straps are snug at your chin, but you struggle a bit with tightening it. The cold bites at your cheeks, but the layers of your jacket and scarf do their job keeping the rest of you warm. Your fingers fumble a little as you secure your gloves, and when you glance up for a moment, you notice Jeonghan coming right up to you.

Then he comes down to your level, reaching out to adjust the straps on your helmet. His gloved hands briefly brush softly against your jawline, the momentary touch sending a jump to your stomach.

You huff out a breath. “Jeonghan𑁋”

“Shh,” he shushes you reassuringly. “Just… let me.”

Concentration is etched into his features as he adjusts the strap, then a click echoes in your ears.

Jeonghan steps back from you, his eyes still not leaving yours. The space between the two of you seems smaller than it should be.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” You murmur quietly, hands twitching within your thick gloves. “Thanks.”

The fresh scent of nature fills your lungs as you lunge up the mountain with your gear in hand. You take a moment to adjust to the surroundings, feeling the nerves creep in again. It’s been so long since you’ve skied, and while the equipment feels familiar, you can’t shake the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

The group makes their way toward the beginner slopes first. However, it doesn’t take more than a second for Soonyoung to practically leap off the edge, hollering on the way down. Seokmin follows after him, not as confident but equally enthusiastic. Mingyu stays back, offering a steadying hand to Joshua, who wobbles precariously as he tries to stand upright on his skis.

You’re still standing at the very top, an iron grip on the poles in your hands as you gaze down the mountain. It wasn’t very far down, the pistes itself were wide and not that steep, but your heart still races as though you’re about to dive off a cliff.

“You’re nervous,” Jeonghan’s voice pops in and interrupts your anxious thoughts.

“I’m not,” You lie flatly.

Jeonghan doesn’t buy it. He steps closer, his skis gliding effortlessly on the snow until he’s right beside you.

“Bend your knees a little more,” he instructs you gently. “Make sure your weight is distributed evenly. Relax your body.”

You nearly want to roll your eyes at his unsolicited advice, but the encouraging tone in his voice keeps you from snapping back. Instead, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. Jeonghan leans slightly forward on his own skis, demonstrating the posture he’s suggesting. His form looks easy and natural, as though skiing is second nature to him.

“Come on,” he coaxes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

You groan at his tone as you replicate his position, bending your knees slightly and loosening your grip on the ski poles. Leaning forward a bit more, you shoot a glance at Jeonghan, who was only watching you with amusement.

“Now, do what your heart desires right now,” Jeonghan continues. “The path is clear. Trust yourself, and just fly.”

You swallow thickly at that, feeling the cold air fill your lungs. Do what your heart desires.

When you gaze down the slope, it hits you for the first time today that you don’t feel out of place𑁋that you can just let go.

“Jeonghan?”

He faces towards you. “Hmm?”

“I…” Stop messing with my goddamn head. “If I fall, you better not laugh at me.”

Jeonghan just chuckles, slowly trudging his way right to the edge of the slope. And without a second thought, he pushes off first, the last thing you see is a grin splitting his face. You watch as he glides through down the slope effortlessly, carving graceful lines in the snow as he speeds away.

Letting out one last exhale, you push yourself off after him, and your heart races as you struggle to find balance. At first, it’s not perfect𑁋you wobble slightly, and your skis cross for a second𑁋but you manage to regain yourself, nothing but thrill blooming through your chest.

The wind brushes against your face as you begin to pick up speed, wanting to catch up with Jeonghan𑁋to be beside him, to be with him. Whatever tension within your body had begun to disappear; whatever lingering thoughts of unease you’ve had about the past months melt away with the sounds of your skis shooting through the snow; whatever thoughts about Jeonghan that you don’t have the guts to confront are replaced by sheer joy.

Because for the first time in a while, you feel like you can finally breathe. You’re not worried about falling anymore. You’re just following Jeonghan, feeling the distance between you both narrow. The past feels far away now.

You push yourself harder, determined to reach him, your skis carving deeper into the snow with each turn.

When Jeonghan looks over his shoulder and catches sight of you coming up to him, you could only meet his eyes back with a smile. A warm one. The first one in a very long time.

The bottom of the slope starts coming into view and the speed picks up as you race down the final stretch. The excitement pulses through you, the wind whistling past your ears as you find yourself skiing right beside Jeonghan.

But just as you’re nearing the very end, a sudden shift in your balance catches you by surprise. Your skis scrape harshly against the snow, possibly hitting some kind of bump hidden in the ground, and your body starts to tumble forward. The world tilts sharply as you lose grip on one of your poles, and then wham! your body falls forward into the soft snow.

A surprised laugh bursts out from your lips as you lie sprawled out on the ground, blinking up at the blue sky above you, snow falling down around you like confetti. You’re mostly laughing at yourself, the adrenaline still coursing through your body. Snow sticks to your clothes and body as you struggle to sit yourself back up, groaning lightly from the fall.

A minute later, Jeonghan halts to a smooth stop right next to you, peering down at you with a breathless grin.

“You okay?” he asks, extending a gloved hand towards you.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” You murmur out, hesitating for a second at his open hand waiting for you.

You take the leap and grab his hand, letting him pull you up, but the moment you get yourself to stand, your knees cave in beneath you. The world tilts once more as your body falls on top of Jeonghan, the two of you collapsing in the snow together with a soft thud. The chill from the snow seeps even more through your clothes, but there’s also Jeonghan’s warmth too attempting to break in. Neither of you seem to mind.

His arms are wrapped around your waist firmly, your chest pressed awkwardly against his and your limbs tangled together. Even when you attempt to push yourself off him a little so that you aren’t crushing him, he still holds you, and you let him.

Your eyes lock together as you gaze down at him, over his flushed cheeks and strands of hair that have fallen loose from his helmet. Your breaths are unsteady as you both simply just lie together, faces just mere inches away from each other.

Jeonghan’s lips curl up, his eyes briefly falling to a close. His grip around your waist refuses to loosen.

“I’ve missed this.”

His voice is almost too soft for you to hear, yet it’s the only thing you could hear. The world had muted itself just for this moment.

For a moment, everything feels like it used to𑁋like you’re not exes, not two people who let the silence break you apart, but just the two of you again. The two of you who laughed, who loved, who knew each other in a way no one else did.

Your breath hitches at his words, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it all dies on your tongue when he opens his eyes back up to look at you. It all becomes overwhelming, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being tugged in two different directions𑁋towards him, and away from him.

Reluctance plagues your movements as you finally push yourself off him, his arms falling to his sides as he watches you brush the snow off your clothes.

“I…” Your voice breaks in an instant, and when you lift your head up to gaze forward, you let out a sigh. “Come on… The others are waiting for us.”

All Jeonghan can do is give a nod, standing back up with you. The two of you head back towards the rest of the group.

Dear 526, I’m so sorry. I really am. We were supposed to meet but the entire day had just gone absolutely wrong, and I ended up being late. I know that it’s a very lame excuse to make, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away or at all. But just know that everything I’ve written to you has been nothing but the truth. I’ve grown fond of you. I care about you. I always have. And I think I know who you are, 526. And no, I’m not just guessing. I think I’ve known for a while now. It’s like the feeling you get when you hear a song you haven’t listened to in years and it takes you right back to the exact moment you first heard it, or when you walk into a room that feels so familiar and you realise: this is home. I can hear your voice in my mind when I read your letters, and see your smiles in the words you choose. We never really had a proper goodbye, did we? Maybe we’re writing these letters to make sense of the past we left behind. I think you’ve always known too, haven’t you? Maybe I’m wrong. In some way I hope I am. Maybe I’m overthinking this and reading too much into everything. But I can’t help it. And I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t at least try again. However… if you don’t want that, I’ll respect it too. I miss you. I miss us. I’m willing to wait for you. Love, - 017

To 017, I don’t know what to say to you. Or any of this, to be honest. But I think that’s the truth, isn’t it? We never really had a proper goodbye. And maybe we should have. Maybe we needed too. There’s a part of me that hates you. Resents you in a way that makes it hard to breathe sometimes. I hate the way we couldn’t fix it, the way we just let it fall apart. And then there’s another part of me that remembers how we used to be, how easy it was to be together. It’s the part that still thinks about you. You’re right; we never had a real goodbye, and maybe that’s part of the reason why we’re still stuck in this space between what we were and what we’ve become. And now, all I can wonder is𑁋

The sound of the door unlocking makes you scramble to put everything away. The pen in your hand falls onto the table, and you nearly rip the paper you were writing on as you ball the letter into your hands.

“Y/N?” Jeonghan’s voice rings out throughout the room. “I brought some hot cocoa.”

You bite your lip as you watch Jeonghan stroll across the room to place a mug on the nightstand next to your bed, the steam curling up into the thick air. After having most of the day deplete you of your energy, the two of you decided to head back to your rooms while the others were still outside.

Even then, despite the tiredness, you feel something akin to frustration boiling up within your body, because right now, he’s just so himself𑁋so casual about it all, like the years that separated you both don’t matter.

You stare at the cup for a second, then glance up at him. His face is soft, open, like nothing’s wrong, like you’re not two exes with history so messy it makes you want to scream.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s like all the hurt, all the confusion, all the love that’s been suffocating inside you explodes out in an instant.

Jeonghan freezes in place from your words, his body tensing as you rise from your seat, the crumpled letter still clutched in your hand. Your pulse races faster, heart hammering as everything you’ve held back comes rushing to the surface.

“And… and these damn letters, finding out that it was you all along. Finding out that this stranger I’ve almost entrusted my entire life into is you…” You’re almost yelling now, your fists balled at your sides, nails digging into your skin.

When Jeonghan opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off immediately.

“I’m trying so hard to hate you. To hate everything about you. But dammit, Jeonghan, I can’t!” The hot sting of tears builds in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “Every time you look at me like that, it’s like I forget why I’m supposed to... And I fall for it again. I fall for you again, and it-it’s killing me.”

Your body seems to lose its trust in the tears in your eyelids, and they spill over your walls, streaming down your cheeks like a raging river. Your breathing comes out shaky and uneven, your hands and legs trembling weakly, feeling like the floor below you may collapse at any second. You're not holding anything back anymore. Every word, every feeling, is coming out, and you can’t stop it now.

“I hate you,” You mutter quietly this time, and then take a deep breath, the faintest hint of a curl at your lips despite the tears staining your face. “But God dammit, I still love you.”

Jeonghan remains silent, way longer than you think you can handle. Then when he takes the smallest step towards you, the lights in the room flicker sharply. And before either of you could do anything, the entire resort is plunged into darkness.

You don’t know what to do other than just stand there, with the tears on your face drying against your skin, the silence feeling even heavier than before. Even Jeonghan himself doesn’t move𑁋you don’t hear any sounds of footsteps, or anything𑁋just his own breathing fighting to match with yours.

With the power being out, the air around starts to feel more colder now, and you feel the temperature drop significantly within a few moments. The snow outside seems to be coming down stronger now. Of course this kind of situation had to happen right now.

Then there’s a knock at the door and the sounds of footsteps shuffling. Jeonghan is moving.

“Hey, you guys okay in there?” You hear the familiar sound of Mingyu’s voice from behind the door. “Stupid snow storm knocked out the power in the entire resort. Do you guys need a hot pack? We have one left. And a candle for some light.”

Jeonghan and Mingyu exchange some other words you can hardly hear, before the door closes again. The light from the small candle illuminates Jeonghan’s face as he’s walking back towards you, his footsteps becoming louder and heavier as he approaches.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs after placing the candle down on the nightstand. “Here.”

Before you can protest, something hot is placed in between your cold hands. The warmth of the hot pack spreads immediately through your fingers, but it doesn't quite reach the cold that’s buried deep within your chest and heart𑁋the cold that only Jeonghan could thaw.

You tighten a grip around the hot pack instinctively, drawing its heat into you. But there’s something else that seems to cover your own hands, aching for the same warmth.

Jeonghan’s fingertips cling to the edges of the hot pack, his grip tightening even more around your hands. You can’t help but stiffen, unable to move away. The silence continues to stretch on in the space between the two of you.

“It… It’s cold, and we shouldn’t stand here.” You feel him inch away, dragging you along with him. “Come on. Get on the bed.”

You don’t have it in you to refuse as Jeonghan gently guides you to the bed, your hands still clutching the hot pack, and the warmth from it seems to be the only thing holding you together right now. Once you sit down at the edge, Jeonghan doesn’t immediately place himself down right next to you, hesitating for a moment. Then the bed dips down with his weight, and the room itself seems to be holding its breath.

Then you feel something drape around your shoulders𑁋the blanket from the bed𑁋and you watch as Jeonghan pulls it around both of you, the heat from his body seeping into yours, just like the warmth from the hot pack.

None of you speak. You don’t need to. The candle on the nightstand flickers softly in the frigid air, casting shadows on the walls of the room. Even with him right beside you, the space still lingers. Every time you shift on your spot, your hand brushes against his, and it’s enough to send your heart into a frenzy of leaps.

“Do… you remember our first winter together?” Jeonghan asks suddenly. You flit your eyes up to him, and he chuckles. “You stuffed like a dozen hot packs in my coat. It was so ridiculous, but you were so worried that I’d get cold.” His voice holds a warmth, a tenderness that almost breaks your heart.

You smile faintly at the memory, remembering that day very well. “Yeah, I do.” You shift slightly, squeezing the hot pack. “I like taking care of you.”

Jeonghan leans his body more towards you, ensuring the blanket is still wrapped around you both. His shoulder brushes against yours. You can’t seem to take your eyes off his face𑁋the softness in his features that are just so uniquely his. In your eyes, you see the man you love, the man you lost, the man who held such a soft heart in his chest. In his eyes, he only sees the person he once adored, the person he still loves, the one he failed to protect.

“I really didn’t deserve you back then, did I?” He laughs dryly at that, and you feel his grip start to loosen slightly around yours.

But you pull him back.

“You did,” You say quietly, before lowering your voice even more. “You still do.”

You see the way your words make him freeze, like he’s trying to search for the real truth in what you just said. His lips part for a moment, as if he was about to say something, but nothing comes out.

“But back then, Jeonghan, you left, and you didn’t even give me the chance to fight for us. Do you… do you know how much that broke me?”

Jeonghan’s head dips slightly, his brows furrowing as he looks down at his lap. The flickering candlelight dances across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the way his lips press together tightly. He lets out a sigh.

“I couldn’t even be the person for myself back then, let alone be the person you needed. So I… pushed myself away.” His eyes drift past you and out towards the window, where it was still dark outside but still snowing heavily. “I didn’t realise how much I needed you until after you left the country.”

You shake your head, the frustration bubbling over again. “You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to choose what I can handle or what I can’t. I loved you, Jeonghan. I still love you. And it kills me that you didn’t trust me enough to let me help you.”

“I didn’t trust myself back then.”

“And… and now?”

“I got help.” He fixes his posture. “I trust myself enough that I know what I want for the rest of my life.”

There’s an ache to your heart at that, an ache that nearly makes you give in right then and there𑁋but you can’t. Not yet, at least.

You gaze at him, and for the first time in a long time, you really see him. Not the man who had hurt you, not the ex who had left you behind without a word, but the Jeonghan who used to hold you in his arms, the one who used to smile at you like you were everything.

“And the letters?” You question. “The letters we sent each other… Did you know that it was me?”

He shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t at first.” A warm smile starts to creep upon his face. “But then we just kept writing to each other, and I felt like I already knew you. Somewhere along the way, I started to hear you in the words. I thought more about it, but I didn’t want to believe it, even if I knew in some stupid fateful way that it was you. So… I just kept writing. Hoping that maybe, you’d feel the same way.”

There’s a low, broken laugh that escapes you, the taste of bittersweet candy hanging at the edge of your tongue. It’s ironic how the two of you could say so much on paper than to each other on paper.

“I hardly thought about how easy it was to open up to a stranger like that. How I could just… pour everything out without that fear of being judged, write all the things I couldn’t say…” You admit softly as you stare at the ground, still clinging to the warmth of the hot pack. “It’s like... I couldn’t face the truth that I missed you so much. But somehow, in those letters, I could. It felt safer to be vulnerable with someone who wasn’t physically there, someone who didn’t know all the messy history between us. It felt easier to pretend you were just a stranger, even if you weren’t one in the end.”

You take a deep breath, picking your eyes up from the floor to look at him again.

“But it was always you, wasn’t it?”

Jeonghan nods slowly, an imperceptible, dreamy look dawning upon his features even in the extremely dim lighting.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. It’s like the final piece to the most complex puzzle in history. “It was always me. 017.”

“I mean, out of all the apartments in the building, your drunk ass just had to send one to me? I wasn’t even properly moved in yet.”

Jeonghan lets out a hearty breath at the memory, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you share a laugh about the absurdity that brought you both back together. A stupid, tiny damn letter.

“Well, you didn’t have to respond, you know,” he comments.

“Okay, well, my bad that curiosity killed the cat,” You retort back teasingly, and the tension in the room starts to ease just a little bit.

Jeonghan shifts beside you, his fingers lightly brushing against yours again, and this time, there's nothing in your head or heart telling you to pull away, to push him away. You can hardly tell if he’s trying to keep his hand warm with the hot pack, or with you instead.

Then the room grows silent again, like all the love and hurt that spilled over had been tangled together, making it difficult to distinguish where one ends and the other begins. And amidst that silence and the whistling of the wind outside, the longing you’ve both buried for so long flickers back to life like the candle on the nightstand.

“I missed you,” Jeonghan whispers, his voice breaking against the quiet. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

Jeonghan knows in his heart that I’m sorry doesn’t solve your problems, hell even the world’s problems. But right now, it’s all you need to hear, and your chest tightens when those words fall from his lips.

And he seriously doesn’t know how your face ended up so close to his in a matter of milliseconds, so close he could possibly simply move forward an inch and kiss you, so close he can feel the warmth of your breath on his lips, catch sight of the faintest smile to your𑁋

Your mouth falls on his before either of you can think, and it burns with the heat of everything you’ve been holding back for so long𑁋anger, love, regret, and yearning𑁋as if you’ve never been apart, and yet, it’s painfully clear how much time has passed. Your hands immediately fall limp on the hot pack as it lands right on your lap, forgotten between you both.

Jeonghan’s hand comes up to gently cradle your neck, his cold thumb brushing against your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. His lips move hesitantly yet tenderly against yours, as if he’s unsure whether he should let himself have this piece of you again. But the doubt clawing at his chest dissipates when he feels you pull him closer to you, kissing him back almost desperately. It’s like a promise, confession, and apology rolled into one.

You let out a small, shaky breath against his lips, and it’s like oxygen for him𑁋the first real breath he’s taken in years. When he pulls away from you slightly, his warmth still remains.

Among the dimness in the room, Jeonghan innocently smiles at you.

“What?” You ask breathlessly.

Jeonghan just tilts his head, glancing down at your lips and back up to your eyes. You feel the hot pack disappear from your lap.

“Your lips are cold,” he remarks playfully, his voice carrying that all-too familiar tease that makes your heart flutter.

But before you can protest further, the warmth of the hot pack suddenly makes contact with your mouth, causing your eyebrows to shoot up and a muffled gasp to escape from you. You swat at Jeonghan’s arm half-heartedly, but he holds it in place on your lips, your words coming out nothing but a mumble. The corners of his own lips quirk up into his signature, smug grin.

“Stay still,” he teases, attempting to keep your face steady. “Your lips were turning blue. Don’t want you catching frostbite.”

When you finally shove his hand away, the hot pack tumbles back into your lap, your cheeks flushing. Your faces are still mere inches from each other, and you gulp down the lump in your throat.

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek.

“I hate you,” You huff quietly, but the words don’t hold any weight, no bitterness between the letters.

“I know,” is all he replies with.

Then you kiss him again, and the rest of the world fades away like the snap of a finger. There’s no stupid snowstorm, no power outage, no more walking around on eggshells, no tension in the room.

“I love you,” You confess against his lips. It’s never felt so freeing to breathe right now.

At that moment, Jeonghan swears to himself that he will never let you go again.

“I know.” His response causes you to disconnect away from him for a moment, and he just chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you too.”

A beam of red briefly flashes in your eyes.

You squeeze your closed eyes shut even more, a raspy groan escaping your lips as you slowly but surely float back into consciousness. The morning sun trickles faintly through the curtains, causing you to stir in your place. However, nothing but warmth quickly envelops like a cocoon around you, and when you blink your eyes open, the first thing you see is Jeonghan’s face.

His arm is draped lazily across your waist; his lips parted sleepily in slumber; his chest rising and falling peacefully. The golden morning light shining into the room makes his hair look brighter, makes him look brighter, like an angel that has descended through the clouds. You can’t help but simply admire the sight of him.

Even as you attempt to wriggle from his grasp, his arm tightens instinctively around you, pulling you back into his chest. His lips move faintly, murmuring something incomprehensible in his sleep, his eyebrows knitting together in a fit of confusion. When his eyes slowly start to flutter open, you could only softly laugh.

“You’re still here,” he mumbles groggily, voice still thick with sleep.

Your heart aches in the best way at that.

“Of course I am.” Where else would I be?

Jeonghan blinks a few more times, adjusting to the world around him. The second his vision clears and he’s greeted with nothing but your presence, a drowsy smile curves upon his lips, and he presses himself even closer to you.

“You’re warm,” he mutters, breath tickling against the skin of your neck. A shiver runs up and down your spine. “Feels nice…”

You stay still for a minute or two, simply basking in the comfortable silence that fills the room. It’s a quiet kind of bliss, the kind you thought you might never feel again. The kind that comes after years of hurt, after so much uncertainty, yet here you are. With him. In his arms. Safe.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes shoot back open dazedly at Jeonghan’s voice. “Hm…?”

“Do you regret it?”

His words linger in the air, making you pause. The only thing you can hear is his breathing, and the pensive look that plagues his features, as if he’s waiting for an answer that might define everything𑁋everything that has led up to this exact moment.

You adjust yourself to face him fully. “Regret what?”

“Letting me back in.”

The room suddenly feels suspended in time, like the world has stopped spinning itself. A knot ties itself in your chest, and the weight of all the hurt, the healing wraps around the two of you. But as you take in the vulnerability in his eyes, the softness in the way he’s here, you realise the truth. Your love has always been his.

“No,” You answer back quietly. “because I never let you go in the first place.”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretches on. He exhales slowly, his hands running up your back gently, his eyes falling to a close once again. This is real, is all he can think about, all that he continues reassuring himself. You’re real. We’re real.

You’re here.

His lips ghost over your skin as a faint smile tugs at his lips, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You know,” he begins. “I dreamt about this.”

“About what?”

“This.” His arm tightens around your waist as if to emphasise the point, his grin widening even more. “Waking up next to you. Holding you in my arms where you’ve always belonged.”

You could only roll your eyes, but your heart betrays you. You know that Jeonghan can feel it. “Don’t push it.”

“Too late, angel.”

His laughter sends ripples of love travelling up and down your body, his touch making sparks explode right at his fingertips. The past doesn’t hurt as much, not in this quiet space where you both exist, where the world outside could be burning, and it wouldn’t matter. What matters now are the tomorrows waiting for the two of you, the love that never quite left, and the healing you’ve begun.

Jeonghan presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, right at the spot beneath your ear, and you let out a contented sigh. He continues to lazily trace his promises on the fabric of your sweater.

“Dear 526,” he mumbles languidly against your skin. “It was always you.”

It's such a simple thing to say, and yet it feels like everything you’ve both been avoiding and yearning for has been said in that one sentence. It was always you. There’s no longer doubt or the ghosts of your pasts coming back to haunt you, but rather with the quiet promise of a future that you never thought you'd have together again.

“To 017,” You start. “It was always you, too.”

fic taglist ʚɞ @fragmentof-indifference @mrsjohnnysuh @woncheecks @marrblee5 @alonelystarfish

@filmnings @nshitae

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

@lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @ryuwonieebae @wonwooz1

@planetkiimchi @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23

@phenomenalgirl9 @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit

@bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @starshuas

@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @gigification @ahuiahoe

@svtficsarchive @lllucere @reiofsuns2001 @imujings

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milliumizoomi · 8 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐇𝐄...

☆彡SUMMARY.; Things I believe he would do in a relationship that you’d (us.. all of us..😭) would find attractive

☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO ARETAS x READER

☆彡TROPE.; Established Relationship

☆彡FORMAT.; HEADCANON

☆彡GENRE.; FLUFF + SUGGESTION + A TINY BIT OF ANGST

☆彡WARNINGS.; mature language, mature actions, a lil bit of Armando’s toxicity shining thru, brief mentions of choking (not in like he’s gonna kill u type of way😭) brief mentions of violence, a little bit of spoilers ahead.

☆彡NOTES.; heyyyy thank u guys SAURRRR much for the love on the last Armando work I posted, I’m glad so many of yall liked it and I will continue to post and write about him 🫶🏽. (And yeah I took that picture on the middle so be free to save.. cause whew lord..). I hope you guys enjoy this one😛💕.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED🫶🏽.

[IN PUBLIC]

✬ Armando would keep an eye on you, especially since he’s not a very trusting person to most

✬ He’s like very aware of the space you’re both in so he’d keep you at least within arms reach of him if it’s just a regular kind of day

✬ And he’d also do that thing where if he wants you to move, he’ll grab your waist and either shift you to where he wants you to do, or he’ll do that just to pass behind you

✬ And he a quiet person so instead of using many words, he just stares and expects you to know what he’s thinking

✬ If a situation arises where you’re doing something that he thinks you shouldn’t be doing, he’ll simply clear his throat and stare and he knows you should know what he’s thinking

✬ also this man has no filter whatsoever, so if you’re talking, it doesn’t even have to be to him, you could be taking to his dad or something and he’ll just blurt out some of the most insane stuff in either Spanish or English

✬ (like he did to that girl when he called her fine)

✬ like if you say “im so hot” on a day when it’s scorching outside he’d def say stuff like “I definitely agree” or some shit like that just to embarrass you

✬ He’d also stare at your lips while you’re talking to him, especially if you’re mad at him

✬ and openly stare at your body too

[ON CASES || MISSIONS]

✬ you don’t even have to be in a relationship for this one but just watching him fight

✬ Each movement of his is so effortless and he just looks good each and every time

✬ He’d also probably see you staring and raise an eyebrow at you and tell you to pay attention

✬ would tease you on missions definitely

✬ especially if it’s a mission together

✬ only a bit tho cause he’s very focused on missions

✬ makes you be his backpack on his motorcycle

✬ he’d adjust your hand to where he wants it when riding the motorcycle

✬ drives it with one hand and occasionally taps at your leg with the other

✬ and if he has time, he’ll teach you to fight like he does

[IN PRIVATE]

✬ in private he’s definitely an attitude fixer

✬ if you do something to piss him off he’ll probably just stop talking all together until you apologize

✬ when that happens tho he furrows and raises his eyebrows a lot while clenching his jaw as a way to not get too annoyed with you

✬ curses in Spanish a lottttt

✬ and when you’re being bratty or rude to him, he’ll literally grab you by the neck and bring you real close to his face then say in your ear “arregla tu actitud antes de que yo la arregle por ti..” (fix your attitude before i fix it for you..)

✬ ofc he’d do that in public too

✬ I feel like he’d be a bit clingy when alone because he doesn’t like pda, so he waits until it’s private and will literally grab all over you

✬ he cooks shirtless (idc it’s true and yes he can cook🤚🏽)

✬ has told you the most mundane every day things in the sexiest voice ever

✬whistles when you walk in a room

✬ and slaps your butt regularly (sue me ik he does🤚🏽)

✬if you’re sleeping in the same bed there’s only two places he’ll sleep, on your butt or on your stomach (no in between 🤷🏽‍♀️)

✬ uses that same condescending voice on you to tell you what to do, when you’re wrong, or to stop acting up

eugh I love him sm🥹

#🪸 :: 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 #armando aretas #armando armas #jacob scipio #bad boys ride or die #bad boys for life #armando x reader #armando aretas x reader #armando armas x reader

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hyuniemyunie · 1 month ago

Note

ok so..PLEASE hear me out on this..Hyun-ji hc…with size kink only if ur comfortable with it tho!!🤧

Size difference with cho hyun-ju

hcs are gn reader, the scenario is afab reader!

sfw and nsfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): size difference, brief mention of a belly bulge, A LITTLE bit of cum eating, top dom Hyun-ju, her genitalia are refered with anatomical terms, soft sex;3

hiii ofc im comfortable!! i wasnt sure if u wanted smaller partner or taller:( if you want taller, tell me! i can write that too. ik you said hcs but i got a little carried away..😞😞

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

ᯓ★ Hyun-ju has a strong protective streak, and having a smaller partner amplifies this tenfold. she always keeps an arm around you in public, shielding you from crowds or potential danger.

ᯓ★ She’s hyper-aware of your surroundings, constantly ensuring you're safe and comfortable, even if it means stepping in front of you during tense moments, girl is PROTECTIVE

ᯓ★ Is incredibly gentle with you. She cups your face with care, as though afraid she might accidentally hurt you.

ᯓ★ Loves resting her chin on your head, using your height difference as an excuse to pull you closer whenever possible, might get a little sassy about the difference.

ᯓ★ Can’t resist teasing you about your size, often smirking as she reaches for things you can’t quite get to.

ᯓ★ “Need help, sweet thing?” she’ll say with a mischievous grin, only to grab the item and hold it above her head, making you jump for it, or give her a kiss if you reaaally want it.

ᯓ★ She has no problem scooping you up, whether it's to carry you over puddles, give you a piggyback ride, or just because she wants to.

ᯓ★ Her oversized clothes practically swallow you whole, and she secretly loves seeing you in them. She often hands you her jackets, claiming, “You’ll catch a cold otherwise.” (That's a big fat lie, she just likes seeing you in her clothes.)

ᯓ★ She loves calling you stuff Tiny” or “Pocket-Sized,” but if anyone else dares to mock your height, her protective side kicks in immediately.

ᯓ★ Hyun-ju adores resting her hand on your head or shoulders, finding it comforting to have you close in such a tangible way.

ᯓ★ She’ll often lift you onto counters or higher surfaces to make conversations more “equal,” though she secretly loves looking down at you.

ᯓ★ If you feel insecure about your size, she makes a point of reminding you how much she loves it. “You’re perfect the way you are,” she’ll say, her voice soft and sincere.

ᯓ★ In private, she’s surprisingly clingy, loving how easily she can wrap herself around you. She’ll pull you onto her lap or into her arms, drag you to the couch or bed to cuddle, hug you from behind when you're making a meal..

ᯓ★ She compares hand size differences quietly. She holds your hand in hers, aligning them together before spreading her fingers open, quietly marveling at your smaller hand, making her feel all warm n fuzzy inside.

ᯓ★ Her hugs are all-encompassing, wrapping you in her arms so completely that you practically disappear.

ᯓ★ She loves how your head rests perfectly against her chest when you hug, and she’ll hold you a little longer than necessary just to enjoy the moment.

ᯓ★After you two get to the point where you're both comfortable, she teases you about how you’re her “pocket-sized partner” and pretends to look for you in crowds by glancing down dramatically.

ᯓ★ “I need to get you one of those flags on a stick so I don’t lose you,” she teases, laughing at your playful glare.

ᯓ★ On the more nsfw side..she absolutely adores how your little tummy bulges whenever she fucks you. She puts a hand over the bulge, pressing down on it, making you gasp and squirm under her touch.

ᯓ★ During sex, she's ultra careful, not wanting to hurt you. If you insist on let's say, eating her out or giving her a bj, she'll be super nervous at first. you'll have to reassure her that everythings okay, before getting smothered with her larger body.

ᯓ★ Girl is big in all the right places. she'll secretly enjoy watching you choke and gag around her, your throat not being able to handle the size.

ᯓ★ Runs her fingers thru your hair while you have her in your mouth. she softly praises you, cooing about how "Such a good girl..you're doing so well, my love."

ᯓ★ LOVES loves loves picking you up and pinning you against the wall, making you wrap your legs around her waist and just feel how much she needs you. she'll always use her height to her advantage, not that you mind, of course..

ᯓ★ Pins your wrists above your head, grinding her clothed bulge against your crotch as she looks down at you, making you feel so, so small compared to her.

ᯓ★ If you..well, actually tell her how much you like the size difference..

after..a few hours of making out and groping each other, hyun-ju swept you up into her strong arms, cradling you against her chest as she carried you to the bedroom. She kicked open the door, not bothering to close it behind them as she laid you down on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight.

she stood back for a moment, drinking in the sight of you spread out before her, her chest heaving with anticipation. Then, she stepped forward, pinning you down softly, covering your smaller body with her own larger frame.

She captured your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as she ground her hips against your, letting you feel the thick, hard length of her cock straining against her pants. Hyun-ju could feel the heat of your pussy, feeling just how ready you were for her.

"so wet already.." Hyun-ju murmured, her hips rocking against yours as she put her hands on the hem of your shirt, softly helping you take it off, putting it away on a nightstand next to the bed.

Her hands slid around to your breasts, palming the soft mounds as she lowered her head to take a hardened nipple into her mouth. She sucked hard, grazing the sensitive bud with her teeth as her hand slid down your stomach, delving between your thighs.

hyun-ju pushed her pants down just enough to free her aching cock, the thick, heavy shaft slapping against your belly as it sprang free. She didn't bother with further preparation, knowing that you were already dripping and ready for her, still wet from her fingering you a few hours ago.

"It's okay, my love," Hyun-ju murmured, her voice softening as she cupped your cheek gently. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you, I promise."

She brushed a tender kiss against your lips, pouring all of her love and affection into the simple gesture. Her grip on your wrists gentled, her fingers intertwining with yours as she brought their joined hands down to rest on the pillow beside her head.

"Let's take this slow, sweetheart," Hyun-ju whispered, her hips still nestled between your thighs but no longer grinding urgently against her. "I want to make this good for you, okay?"

She trailed soft, gentle kisses down the column of your throat, feeling you shiver beneath her touch. Hyun-ju took her time, savoring the taste of your skin, the way your pulse fluttered beneath her lips.

As she kissed, her hands roamed over your body, caressing and stroking, learning every dip and curve. She cupped your breasts, thumbing your now wet nipples until they pebbled beneath her touch once more. Her fingers skimmed down your stomach, teasing along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before brushing lightly over your dripping slit.

She brought her slick fingers to her lips, sucking them clean of your essence, moaning at the taste. Then, with a tender smile, she positioned the head of her cock at your entrance, feeling the heat and wetness beckoning her inside.

"Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? I never want to hurt you," Hyun-ju murmured, holding her gaze with unwavering intensity as she began to push forward, slowly, gently, inch by thick inch, until he was seated fully inside you, your hips pressed flush together.

With a soft huff, she began to move, her hips rocking against yours in a slow rhythm.

"Oh, love.." Hyun-ju breathed out "You feel so good.." She rolled her hips in a deep, circular motion, grinding against that sweet spot deep inside that made you see stars.

Her thrusts remained slow and steady, each one a deliberate, purposeful slide of hard flesh against soft silk. Hyun-ju wanted to savor every moment, to commit every gasp, every sigh, every flutter of your eyelashes to memory.

She leaned down to capture your lips in another kiss. Her tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, coaxing you to respond, to meet her thrust for thrust.

One hand slid up to tangle in your hair, gently tugging your head back to deepen the kiss. The other hand skimmed down your side, over the curve of your hip, to grip your your thigh, caress your waist..she couldnt get enough of you.

The room filled with the soft, obscene sounds of their lovemaking - the creaking of the bed, the slick slide of skin against skin, and the breathy, needy noises spilling from your lips.

Her hips began to move a little faster, her thrusts growing a bit harder, a bit deeper. The head of her cock kissed that sweet spot inside you with each drive forward, making her gasp and shudder.

"That's it, my love," Hyun-ju praised, her voice a low, approving rumble. "You're doing so well, taking me so perfectly."

She could feel the heat building between them, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly. Hyun-ju knew she was getting close, could feel the telltale tightening of her balls, the way her thrusts were growing more erratic.

But even as she lost herself in the throes of pleasure, she would not forget, would not risk bringing a child into this unpredictable world without careful thought and planning.

So with a herculean effort, Hyun-ju gritted her teeth, forcing herself to hold back, to delay her own release. She focused on you.

Hyun-ju's eyes widened as she witnessed the unmistakable bulge of her cock stretching your belly. The sight of her lover's body yielding to her, accepting and accommodating her size, made her even more turned on, if that was possible, her hand skimmed over the curve, marveling at the way her fingers sank into the supple flesh.

She could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering and clenching around her thickness. Hyun-ju knew she was close, could sense the impending crest of her own release barreling down on her. But she remained focused on you, determined to bring you to that peak before allowing herself to let go, so she doubled her efforts, pounding into her with deep, powerful thrusts that shook the bed and left you breathless. she slipped a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, her fingers seeking out the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex.

Hyun-ju began to rub firm, tight circles around your clit, feeling it swell and throb against her touch. She timed the strokes with her thrusts, pushing deep inside you just as she flicked your clit.

finally, she could feel you coming beneath her, your pussy clamping down around her cock like a vice as you hit her peak. The sensation was almost too intense to bear, and Hyun-ju had to grit her teeth, calling upon every ounce of her self-control not to let go and spill herself deep inside you.

At the last possible second, Hyun-ju wrenched her hips back, tearing her aching cock from the velvet heat of your pussy. her hand flew to her shaft, stroking furiously as thick ropes of seed erupted from the swollen head, painting streaks of pearly white across your belly and breasts.

"Fuck.." Hyun-ju breathed out, her voice shaky.

she collapsed against you, careful not to crush you with her larger frame, her heart slamming against her ribs as she struggled to catch her breath. Hyun-ju tangled her fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands up to press against her heart as she rolled them to the side, cradling you against her chest.

"you did amazing, sweet thing, so good for me.." Hyun-ju murmured, once she had regained a modicum of composure. she brushed a tender kiss against your damp forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Rest now, i got you.."

#squid game 2 #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #gn!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #cho hyun ju #cho hyunju #hyun ju x female reader #female reader #fem!reader #hyun ju #squid game season 2

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7ndipity · 9 months ago

Text

Dating A Foreign Partner

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How the members would handle being in a relationship with a foreign S/o.

Warnings: brief mentions of racial/cultural discrimination,

A/N: Thank you to @bethanysnow for requesting this, I hope you like it!😘💜 I tried to keep these a bit lighter, but if there’s something more specific that any of you would like to see, lmk!

Masterlist

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Jin:

Sounds cliche, but I think he would really enjoy trying foods from where you're from, especially some of the more ‘unusual’ ones(I literally found out the other day that pb&j sandwiches are considered weird in Korea??)

I think you two would accidentally confuse each other with lesser known cultural differences, like when he first asks you to be official after only like two dates(which is normal in korean culture, but not so much in western dating)

Would become very aware of the prejudices and discrimination that foreign couples deal with in both your countries. Like, obviously he was aware it was an issue before, but dealing with it first hand made him realize just how much of an issue it was.

It would make his heart soo happy to see you learning how to speak Korean or embracing different parts of his culture.

(Secretly studies your native language to surprise you for your birthday or anniversary)

Yoongi:

I might be projecting a lil bit, but I can honestly see him having a foreign partner. Idk, I just see him not really paying much mind to things like race/nationality, he likes who he likes and that’s it.

Might be a little shy about how much more comfortable you are with things like casual skinship tho, but he also kinda secretly loves it.

He would really love that you’re so direct sometimes, rather than trying to ask for things in a more roundabout ‘polite’ way that is considered proper in Korean culture. He would love that you’re to the point, like him.

Would be so flattered if you made the effort to learn Korean, grinning so big the first time he hears you use even something little like “Hajima” correctly.

He’d do the same with your language too. Learning about your culture would be really important to him, he wants you to know that he appreciates you and where you came from.

Hobi:

Tbh, I totally see him with a foreign partner, he would love the variety and unique energy that you bring to each other's lives.

I think he would tend to forget some of the differences in how you both grew up until you mention something more drastic like school safety drills and he has to do a double take like “wtf?!”

I think he would love how open and expressive you are about your home and culture, and loves learning about where you came from. You’re his favorite person, he wants to know as much as possible about you!

Would have soo much fun teaching you about all the different holidays and traditions in Korea that differ from where you’re from.

Would be soo surprised if you learned to speak Korean, even if it’s just a few phrases at first. He just gets so happy and giggly hearing you speak.

Namjoon:

I think most people consider him the most likely out of the group to have a foreign partner, and tbh I kinda agree.

He would make a serious effort to learn as much about your country/culture as he could, possibly even wanting to visit there sometime with you.

Despite being pretty well versed in a lot of other cultures, he would definitely still have little moments of culture shock over random things like educational systems. Like I can imagine his surprise/confusion over the more lax approach in some schools or someone being homeschooled(hi).

Would be super impressed if you already knew some korean when you met, but if not, he’s more than happy to help you learn.

Lowkey quite protective over you, bc he knows how harsh Korean media can be towards celebrities having foreign partners.

Jimin:

Thinks your Korean is super cute! He finds it absolutely adorable the way you say certain words, and he loves the way you speak slowly and softly when you’re focused on pronouncing certain phrases correctly.

If you’re new to living in Korea, he would do his best to help you settle in and adjust to the differences in day to day life, as well as comforting you on the days when you feel homesick.

Loves learning about your culture, tho I think he would prefer learning from you than on his, just so he can watch how excited you get talking about your home.

Would be soo excited if he finds any similarities between your cultures, whether it’s how you celebrate certain holidays, or a similar dish. He loves finding those little connections.

Another who would be rather protective over you, especially if he knows you have anxieties about certain things due to public safety issues where you’re from. He just wants to make sure you to feel safe

Taehyung:

I know a lot of people see him as rather traditional when it comes to things like dating/relationships, but I could very much see him with a foreign partner, especially since he talked about wanting to live abroad at some point in the future.

I think he would find your different perspectives really refreshing, you really help broaden each other's horizons.

I honestly think he would be another who would sometimes forget the differences in how you both grew up until he brings up something and you’re like “We never did that??”

Lowkey brags about you every chance he gets like “Oh ,Y/n’s from (country name), and they were teaching me about-”

He never treats it as if you’re some sort of novelty tho, he just really loves you and wants to show you that he supports you and shares your pride for who you are and where you’re from.

Jungkook:

I think he would have a lot of fun with a foreign partner, learning about each other's cultures and sharing stories about your upbringings.

Might take him a while to adjust to things like your relationships/dynamics with other guys, just bc that’s not quite as common in Korea, but I could see him actually really enjoying it if you fit into his friend group bc of that.

Another that would feel rather protective over you for similar reasons as Joon. If anyone so much as looks at you weird, he’s gonna shut them down soo fast.

He loves hearing you speak in your native language, there’s something about it that’s just so soothing and melodic about it to him. But it’s only when you're speaking, it’s not the same with anyone else.

Would ask you to teach him so that he can hear you speak it more(study dates where you help each other would be super cute and cozy)

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0o0o0ooo @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months ago

Note

hey, i really enjoyed reading your angst drabbles and i was thinking if you could write something like Viktor neglecting reader and all her attempts to be close to him again, and when she decides to give up on him, she almost die in the council room explosion, after he stood her up again, leaving her in some state of coma. then he regret everything, after all she should’ve been with him…

sorry if i made some mistakes, english is not my first language but im trying my best! 🫶🏻

Ah yes, more angst *laughs maniacally in several cups of coffee and severe need to make ppl cry* also your English is perfect, no need to apologise sweetie. Also! This is extremely long cuz I got carried away. Hope you enjoy tho! 🫶🫶

You adored Viktor greatly, for to you there was not a man who could match his brilliance and his resilience, his determination to see everything that he’s put his whole heart and soul into this hextech project through. Everything about him was enticing to you from his dream to better the lives of others, the twinkle in his amber eyes when he had made a scientific breakthrough, not to mention the way he became more animated and eager to talk as he spoke about it; he sounded more alive then ever before which you loved for him.

However what once brought you happiness would eventually become your downfall for as of recent memories as tensions between Piltover and Zaun heightened to a dangerous degree, Viktor had more or less had secluded himself to the lab from the early hours of the morning, rarely to come out for anything or anyone. Gone were the days where you’d see him in the hallways of the academy, blessing you with his beautiful smile as his amber eyes only seemed to glow within your presence in familiarity, offering a short greeting in passing but the recognition of your existence by him was more then a full length conversation with him would have given you.

He left your peripheral vision with nothing to remind you of moment, nothing but a flutter within your chest that’s warm and suffocating as the same time. Now you were left disappointed to ever think that you could recapture that moment again, such like a love sick individual who was detached from all forms of reality that didn’t have him in it. Times were changing and not for the better, for everyone was on edge with what was to come and the tension was so thick you could cut into it with a knife and anticipation hung heavy over everyone, dreadfully awaiting an attack with baited breath and clenched fists in an attempt of bravery in the face of adversity.

Gone were the brief glimpses you’d get of him from the corner of your eyes, leaving you to believe whether or not you did in fact see him or just someone who wore similar clothing. You’d sometimes catch him in the act of waving at you when he was in a hurry or -when he had time to spare- even making himself welcome to the unoccupied seat besides you in the library, looking over your mountain of books with a raised brow and sarcasm upon his lips.

‘You planning to read them all in one go or?’ He’d say, making you scoff as a smile blossomed across your face as you looked into his eyes, finding that they were already on you.

‘Yeah because that’s a completely plausible thing for a person with a simple mind could accomplish.’ You replied with your own form of sarcasm as your smile widens at the sound of his laugh, gladly to have made such a heavenly sound emerge from his mouth. You two would remain in those same seats until it was time to part ways once again, bidding each other farewells as the days drew to a close and you’d leave for home when Viktor would stay overtime in his lab.

Now you don’t see him at all. Your head would perk up at the sound your mind has made you believe was the soft love tap of a cane against wooded floor, only to have your heart clench and mind belittling you when it wasn’t anywhere near Viktor coming into the library but someone else entirely. You were left with a table littered with books and an empty seat besides you, now cold and devoid of the man who’d always sit there and let his thoughts flow freely and bluntly out of his mouth, and yet you’d much prefer that over the deafening silence that greeted you for the past months as the realisation of how cold and miserable you were without Viktor to make your day complete.

You use to frequent the lab more so then your own office just to see Viktor in the past. So much so that Viktor had left a spare chair by his workbench for you to sit on, letting you linger as he worked and never uttering a single word as you were too entranced by the ways his fingers moved and how his facial expressions fluidly moved from one another, it almost like they were telling a silent story of his emotions of his successes and failures within the project. From the highs and lows, the triumphs of learning something new, to the challenges that left dark bags under his eyes from all the late nighters he’s been pulling to at least achieve something in the midst of all the chaos.

Now the warmth that once filled you as you entered the lab felt cold, like you were intruding on something you shouldn’t have. Your once place of refuge had become a place you didn’t recognise as you immediately noticed the lack of the chair you once sat on, it’s location wasn’t a concern of yours more so than the ache within your heart at the seemingly small act. However for such an act as small as removing a spare chair from a workbench you felt as though this was a sign that your presence was no longer a welcomed one; you had become a distraction and in the worse kind to Viktor, and thus your chair had been taken away, signifying that those warm days of human connection had long since overstayed it’s welcome.

‘Viktor?’ You called out but not once did he show signs of recognition towards your voice nor bothered to look up from his work that meant so much to him nowadays. You didn’t know which hurt more, the lack of response or the idea that you were nowhere as dear to his heart as he was to yours at all, however you still smiled through the ache within your chest in hopes that it was just a delayed response on his part.

Nothing. Viktor didn’t even make an attempt to speak to you and just continued being hunched over his workbench with no intention on stopping, acting as though you were merely just a breeze that passed him by and not a human being he was once close to, begging him to acknowledge you and acknowledge the history between the two of you.

‘How long have you been cooped up in here like a little hermit.’ You tried to attempt a joke that only felt awkward and painful when the Viktor didn’t make a sarcastic quip back towards you. He left you in silence once again as you felt your hope slowly start to die within your chest and your smile began to fade from your lips as your resolve began to waver. You swallows thickly as you tired not to let this get to you and instead believe that he couldn’t hear you, and so you walked closer to him until you rested a hand upon his shoulder, making him stop working for a moment before going back to what he was doing soon after.

‘How long has it been since you slept, eaten anything, or just get some fresh air?’ You asked with concern towards his health and how it seemed that he was driving himself down into the ground for academic validation for his work. ‘Why don’t you take a break and take some time away from-‘

‘Not everyone has the luxury of time on their hands.’ Viktor cuts you off but not in the way you’d hope. His words cut through you, making you flinch away from him from the bitter tone that came from him as though he burnt you. ‘They need help now and I won’t allow any further distractions to hinder me from doing so.’ He adds and it obviously felt very pointed towards you as if you were the problem he now faced and you couldn’t help but get a little upset over this.

‘And kill yourself in the process? Who’s going to help them when you’re dead Viktor because it’s sure as hell not me!’ You bit back as you moved back towards the door, finding no point in standing by his side if he was so willing to discard you like you were nothing in the pursuits of science. ‘I’m not going to stand here and watch you lose yourself to your work, I won’t do it.’ You add with certainty but it’s Viktor’s next words that really hurt you despite the softness of his voice, now was sharp as ice and just as piercing.

‘Then don’t bother darkening my door any longer than you already have.’

You stiffened up at this as you felt your heart tore itself in half at the unnecessary hostility thrown towards you as the rift between the two of you had finally made itself known in this moment. The closeness you once shared with Viktor was now an illusion you fell for so willingly, all with the hopes that something more would come from it one day, much like the hopeless romantic that you truly were. However in this moment it was revealed that none of that mattered to him, not as much as it did to you and just as you were about to leave the lab, you looked over at his back and said;

‘Goodbye Viktor. I promise to never be an inconvenience to you ever again since that’s what you wish for.’ And without needing to hear him, you walked out of the lab, shutting the door behind you as you walked down the hall as silent tears fell from your cheeks as you kissed goodbye the one good thing you had left to keep your head above water; however without it you could feel yourself slipping beneath the waves that had threatened to crash over you for a long, long time as you had lost your anchor and you have the angry to care what happens to you.

…

Everything that happened in a matter of seconds. Too fast for anyone to notice what was going on before it was too late and a wave of pain greeted you as you blacked out.

The council was attacked and all signs pointed towards Zaun as the perpetrators.

Viktor was lucky enough to have somehow miraculously survive with the help of the hexcore but you on the other hand were left in a coma from the explosion. All Viktor knew when he came through in his new body was the news that you had could’ve died had you been just a tiny bit closer to bear the brunt of the unforeseen attack. The doctors were overlooking your possibilities of awaking from the coma, they claim that chances of that happening were slim but they believed that you were strong enough to pull through it, not that any of this mattered to Viktor as for all he was aware was that even if you did awake he’d be the last person you wanted to ever see.

He was told that upon being rescued from the rubble you looked like you had already died with the amounts of deep gashes that littered across your face, he got told that you didn’t even look like you were breathing at all, but you looked oddly at peace with the outcome of such a tragedy; as though you were silently suffering inside your own head for a long time and this was you gladly accepting the fate bestowed upon you.

Viktor didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that you could’ve died, or the idea that you were more then willing to have died in the attack then wake in a reality where he had all but pushed you aside. He couldn’t blame you for not wanting anything to do with him anymore, not after trying so hard to get through to him in the past, only for him to retaliate with words that you didn’t deserve. You had every right to never allow him into your life ever again, Viktor didn’t feel he was deserving of a second chance with you, especially not after something as traumatic as almost dying.

Now upon retrospect it would’ve been morbidly poetic had he did die in the attack, his hand reaching towards your own but never truly touching, a reminder that he had severed that connection with you the moment more was demanded of him and of hextech; A once beloved and respected connection that’ll never mend for the damage was already done due to his own hubris.

You deserved more then him and Viktor knew this painfully well enough to continue to drive the wedge between the two of you, all in hopes that you too would see that you were better off in search of something new with someone else, and yet he couldn’t help but cling onto you for himself so selfishly as though he wasn’t the one who caused you pain in favour of staying within the lab to his own devices. Viktor knew he was being ridiculous and he would only be hurting you in the process with his indecision of whether to keep you close by his side, or as far away from him as possible.

Yet everything within him told him to at least visit you, just to be certain that you would be strong enough to emerge from the coma, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that despite how much he wished to see you recover much like you had been bedside for him when his health declined sharply. Viktor remembered the day clear as day as the concern within your eyes shone, and the grip you had on his hand tightened every so often with every inhale and exhale, you didn’t say a single word but you didn’t half to as viktor has taught himself to read you better then most. It was clear that you were afraid but didn’t have the heart to speak up on it, and now he was face with a similar situation.

You were the ache in his heart that he couldn’t be rid of, no matter how much change his body went through, not that he wanted to either and Viktor knew he was the ache within your heart. You two pained each other with your absences, comforted each other’s overthinking minds and gave each other the company you so needed. You needed each other but didn’t at the same time, it was a never ending game with yourself and Viktor as you didn’t know whether to get close to one another or keep the distance between you and pretend that you’re both not hurting when you were.

However Viktor may regret the words he had spoken to you, it doesn’t change fate in the slightest, he was with his commune in the Undercity and you were still in that coma you should’ve awoken from weeks ago. Yet now and then Viktor would find himself looking to his side where he would normally feel you, only to see nothing but thin air and close his eyes as he took a deep breath to compose himself. He regrets everything he said to you but they wouldn’t change the hurt you were both suffering from, Viktor wanted you by his side in that moment but knew he’s better off wishing for that in another life, a life where he chose you.

Now he’ll get to know how sweet that life would be like and the ache within the remains of his heart hurt just that little more, for you, the ache within his him that he couldn’t get rid of but needed all the same to remind himself that he was still the Viktor you once loved.

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane imagines #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor imagines #viktor angst #viktor imagine #viktor x reader

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lightseoul · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 4 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.0k (can you see the trend)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), still a lot of cussing, some mature themes (no smut, sorry), we're finally in the headquarters!, the story moves significantly along here (i think)

a/n. this one took a second to get out, but i hope the wait was worth it! we're going knee-deep into the storyline, so brace yourselves for the nitty gritty. the dialogue here was too fun to write tho lol

links. masterlist, ao3

Neither of you says anything about what happened.

After you used your quirk on Masaki and the rest of his crew, eventually convincing them to let you take off the bugs and censor the cameras in the evenings, you and Bakugou were briefed about a few more details before you went your separate ways, returning home to pack up your things and spend your last night alone for the foreseeable future.

The trek back to the subway station was quiet, with Bakugou leading the way and you trailing a few feet behind. The silence that enveloped the both of you bordered on tense more than awkward, and you itched to confront him about unceremoniously jumping you, but restrained yourself at the looming thought of the trackers planted firmly against your chest.

As much as it pained you to think about it, from this point on, you have to work double time on biting your tongue and watching your words. Just your words and location—if you’re lucky—but your facial expressions and movements, too, when there are cameras around.

Fortunately, there weren’t any when Bakugou didn’t step out of the carriage just as the automated voice announced his stop, nor when he wordlessly got out of the train beside you at yours. Your face contorted in evident confusion in those two instances, to which he only tossed you silencing looks. It didn’t take long for you to realize it’d be suspicious if Bakugou didn’t see you home—his alleged girlfriend—this late into the night.

And so you rolled with it.

You even went ahead and thanked him with the sweetest possible voice you can muster when you reached your front door, as well as wished him a safe trip back home. You think you caught him off guard, but he was able to quickly gather himself and mutter back a few words of gratitude before telling you to get a good night’s rest.

You couldn’t.

Aside from the paranoia that came with knowing someone or some people were listening to your very breathing, the anxiety about this whole mess that you’ve walked into was too palpable for you just to ignore. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours—brain buzzing with a hundred what-ifs and hypothetical scenarios—before you eventually knocked out at around 3 AM.

You promptly woke up at 7 AM a few hours later, albeit begrudgingly and all thanks to your bothersome alarm tone. You had to show up at work, despite it being a Saturday, to file an indefinite leave as soon as possible. Annoyance shot through you as you remembered Kouki’s dismissive remark about your job in contrast to Bakugou’s.

You shook it off.

There were more important things to deal with, such as the guilt that bloomed in your gut as you turned in the paperwork to Yuzuki, your school’s HR personnel, who, at the sight of them, visibly deflated.

“You’re going on a leave?” she asked that cool morning, incredulous and tone somewhat begging you to say no.

“Yeah…” you replied, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly.

“But why?” she pressed, sitting up behind her desk that’s riddled with knickknacks and picture frames of her and her toddler. “You never take off from work. And,” she enunciated, “…the kids need you, Y/N.”

Your polite smile faltered at the mention of the kids.

“Yeah, well…” you started, unsure of what to say next. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a temp, what with the recent licensure exam results. The kids won’t even notice I’m gone, I promise.”

She cocked her head to the side, frowning. “I highly doubt that.”

It didn’t matter if she had her doubts, though, because this was happening. You braced yourself to tell Yuzuki just that, but to your relief, she didn’t push further after that exchange, opting to half-heartedly process your request instead.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, you were already cleared by her department and now officially on a short indefinite leave without pay.

In an attempt to take your mind off of potentially losing your job, you stopped by the grocery store on your way home and picked up a few items, such as toiletries and other things you may need for your stay in the headquarters. There was no telling when you’d get to shop for your necessities again, so you went full ham and spent the money you usually budgeted meticulously to the nearest cent. Besides, if you succeeded in this mission, you wouldn’t have to worry about finances for the next year, at the very least.

You were about to head to the check-out counter when your eyes caught the display of…house slippers in the back aisle.

You paused at the sight of them.

If you were going to be under house arrest, you might as well be cozy while doing so.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed a beige pair for yourself, and a black pair for Bakugou. You had no idea what his feet size was, but those were the largest they carried, and so that’d have to do. Plus, you doubted quirk supremacists were mindful enough to provide their hostages with comfortable footwear.

It was already around 4 PM when you arrived home with your arm-numbing groceries and takeout dinner in tow. Setting them aside by your kitchen counter, you quickly got started on gathering your necessities. You blasted your favorite album as you packed your suitcase partly to make the arduous process more bearable, but mostly to drown out the voices that fought to take the reins in your head. You were nervous—very much so—but there was no going back from this.

And so with a heavy heart and a churning stomach, you swiftly got to work, and by dinner time, you were already packed up and ready to go. After going through your checklist one more time and confirming that everything was accounted for, you got changed into fresh, more appealing clothes and scarfed down the meal you purchased to-go after shopping.

You sat in your living room with all your things stacked beside you on the couch, waiting, though it didn’t take long for Kouki to materialize by the kitchen with that irritatingly haughty expression on his face.

You tried to ignore the disgust that sprung as you watched him step on your freshly washed rug with his booted feet, choosing to shift your attention upwards instead. You observed him as he eyed your belongings with mild disinterest, before shifting to regard you.

“Ready?” he asked, holding up one hand for you to take, while the other moved to touch the pile of stuff.

You didn’t bother to verbalize your consent, resorting to just nodding as you gingerly took his hand. Your surroundings instantly morphed the moment that you did, and you found yourself going through the now-familiar motions, emerging smack dab in the middle of your floor’s hallway a few seconds later.

Kouki was gone just as quickly as he arrived, apparently way above helping you move your things to the space at the end of the hall. The same goes for the twins, who only watched you as you lugged your baggage into the room.

You locked eyes with the female guard, and for a second, you debated engaging her in conversation.

You already knew what to say. You’d ask her if they were sure about you staying in, when Kouki can just teleport you to your respective apartments at the end of each day if they’re so worried about you getting spotted.

Besides, you thought as she glared at you with seemingly unfounded hate, that means we’ll be out of your hair.

But as tempting as it was to bring up that alternative at the moment, you ultimately thought better against it.

You already used your luck to convince them to turn off the trackers at night—something they probably wouldn’t do if you and Bakugou lived outside due to the lack of backup surveillance. It simply wouldn’t be smart and cautious of them if they did. You also didn’t want to undo that already tall order of a bargain when what you needed the most was the privacy in which you could discuss the mission and steps moving forward.

Besides, you bet your money it’s not just that. The teleportation quirk of that old geezer has to have a limitation somehow…

You let all these simmer in your head as you settled in for the night. To your chagrin—you wanted at least one night where you get to sleep on the decent-looking bed—Bakugou showed up not an hour later with his own luggage.

You didn’t say anything to each other aside from brief ‘Hey’s’ as he entered the room and unpacked his belongings, as well as when he disappeared into the small comfort room and showered.

You decided then and there that you both had to work on your conversing skills if you wanted a shot at making this ruse believable for the sake of the mission.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, decked out in lounge clothes and haphazardly drying his ash-blonde hair with a towel, it was already 8 PM sharp—your agreed-upon time to retreat for the night and consequently, remove your trackers.

And so you wordlessly filed out of your room, only to see the twins already at your front door, waiting. You doubted they ever left their post ever since you arrived.

You eyed the male twin as he sashayed into your room before his sister called you to attention. Other than that, the exchange was nothing but silent and perhaps a little bit hostile as the woman roughly stuck her hand up Bakugou’s shirt then yours, similar to last time, and removed the devices. You fought back a wince just as she ripped it from your skin, leaving a stinging feeling in its wake.

You could tell she was resisting the urge to shove you back to your room when the deed was done. You didn’t want to risk being her punching bag, so with a curt nod, you promptly turned back and once again entered the room, with Bakugou following you just as the other twin exited and closed the door behind him. Looking up, you immediately registered how the cameras were now facing down—covered—and the red, flickering lights were nowhere to be seen.

An instantaneous wave of relief flooded through you.

Bakugou must’ve noticed, because he whipped to face you, and the disturbed expression on his face was enough to shut you up.

He tilted his head, perhaps gesturing to the rest of the room, and it took you a second, but you eventually managed to make out what he was trying to say.

Shut your trap, his icy stare told you. Check the room for bugs.

And so with a nod of understanding, you tossed him a look right back before quite literally turning the room upside down. It probably took you at least 10 minutes to uncover and check every surface, nook, and cranny, but by the time you both were pretty sure you were safe, you were already stifling a yawn.

And having a hawk eye must come with the job description, because that didn’t go unmissed by the pro-hero, who wordlessly took one of the two pillows from the bed, as well as the throw blanket on top of the actual duvet cover, before tossing both on the brown couch.

You were just about to thank him for preparing your ‘bed’ for you, but you didn’t get to, because you were very much robbed of all words when he plopped himself down on the couch, wrapping himself with the quilt.

“What are you—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut you off, his commanding tone comically juxtaposing how snug he looked with his head barely peeking out of the cloth. You’d laugh at the way his large feet were poking out at the end of it if you weren’t in a contentious mood.

You frowned. “You’re the guest of honor. I should be the one sleeping on the couch.”

“If it bothers you that much—” Bakugou piped from where he laid comfortably on the (p)leather furniture, “—we can take turns. Tomorrow, I get to sleep on the bed, and so on.”

“But—”

“Conversation’s over. ‘Night.”

With that, Bakugou flipped on his side, turning his back against you, effectively shooting the conversation down in its entirety.

You stood there for what felt like a couple more minutes, keen on shaking him awake, maybe even yanking him off the couch and planting yourself on it before he could wrap his head around what was happening, but you ultimately decided to let it go, at least for now.

You wished him a good night as you turned off the lights and snuck into the queen-sized bed a few moments later, although you bet he was already fast asleep based on the lack of a reply.

Which was good for him, because he needed the rest for what was about to crash into you the next day.

Apparently, Masaki wasn’t kidding when he said groups like theirs needed the space to conduct their activities, because they sure handle a lot.

At 8 AM, you were roused awake by a violent knocking on your door, and you could tell Bakugou was awoken by the very same thing, because he shot up in alarm just as you did. You quickly got up and padded to the entryway, trying to ignore the silly embarrassment of being seen in your threadbare pajamas in broad daylight, before whipping to look at the man. You didn’t have to say it, though—Bakugou was already grabbing his pillow and blanket and plopped into the bed, lying down as if he was there the entire night. Only when he was fully settled did you turn the knob open, only to see the female twin scowling at you. Her hand was held up, on top of which were two trackers.

“It’s breakfast time,” she spat out—literally, some of her saliva landing on you. She looked over your shoulder to glare at Bakugou. “Hurry up and get ready. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.”

Behind you, a distinct grumble sounded out across the room, and you glanced back to see Bakugou getting up from the mattress and folding his blanket, a deep frown etched on his sharp features.

Looks like someone’s a morning person, you thought to yourself.

Not wanting to aggravate her even further, you wasted no time in getting dressed and presentable enough. You debated on whether or not to spend five minutes putting on makeup, ultimately deciding to do so, with you ending up patting on just enough product to look eye-catching before you and Bakugou went down to the mess hall to eat breakfast.

Immediately upon entering the space, you found yourself thankful for that extra five minutes because all eyes were on you. Well, maybe more on Bakugou, but they inevitably drifted to you, the person who walked next to him side by side. You could hear the people whisper to themselves as you moved to sit at the table near the back, before it hit you and you froze.

“What?” asked Bakugou from across you, who followed suit and paused, butt hanging mid-air.

“Come and sit next to me,” you blurted out, and before he could react in a way that would incriminate you both: “I want to sit beside you, babe.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened ever so minutely at the pet name, his face then sobering up as if he just realized what you were trying to do.

You wished you could spell it out for him, that couples tend to sit next to each other rather than across, and…you needed to seem like one who is head over heels for each other around these people as well. Thankfully, you didn’t have to, because Bakugou merely nodded without question, before rounding the table and seating himself right next to you.

You did your best to tune out the looks and murmuring throughout the entire meal, after which you got swept to one of the halls for an introductory talk for the new members. There were eleven of you in total, including you and Bakugou, the rest of whom you didn’t recognize. They didn’t even hide their surprise and awe when the two of you walked in and sat yourselves at the farthest row beside each other. You tried to radiate an aura of friendliness, smiling at the others when they looked at you, and then beaming at Bakugou whenever you caught him looking your way.

You could tell he was having a hard time playing the part, his smile strained whenever he attempted to return the motion. It was probably after the third time of trying to get a reaction from him when you mustered the courage to bring a hand to his shoulder, kneading the muscle as a form of an affectionate gesture, but mainly to get him to relax. He initially tensed at the contact, but eventually loosened up as you continued the action.

Soon enough, the talk commenced, with someone you didn’t know presenting himself as Kazuma, one of the officers of the organization. He went on to formally introduce the association, named The Quirk Coalition, as a group of like-minded individuals who aim for a future where quirks are nurtured and fostered to their fullest potential in a democratic society that puts a primacy on said powers. You noted how they conveniently left out the part where they detest the weak and the quirkless, although you did not comment on it. You only glanced at Bakugou one time, who looked onto the stage with tight lips.

Kazuma also went through the hierarchy of the organization, starting with Masaki at the top just as you suspected, then Sayaka and Kouki, followed by Hiroto and Omiru—the two who you recognized as the twins, looking like they just got their mugshot taken in the photos. Kazuma sat there at the lower tier alongside several other officers, under which were the regular members, totaling about 70—some of whom live in the headquarters and most going in and out, having normal jobs during the day and families to tend to.

You don’t know how they got it, but at the bottom row of the chart was a picture of you, right beside Bakugou dressed in his full hero gear.

You let the reality sink in as Kazuma droned on about the group’s beliefs, how they equally valued their ideals and the people who carried out these ideals. You made a mental note of this piece of information, before accidentally zoning out for the rest of the lecture.

The next seven days went on roughly the same way, with either of the twins serving as your unfriendly alarm to demonstrating PDA in the mess hall during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with talks, history classes, support group sessions, and even quirk training nestled in between mealtimes.

You and Bakugou went through every single thing together, from sitting out the ‘classes’ where the teachers essentially waxed poetic about rewritten history with a strong bias against the quirkless, to attending what felt like group therapy where you each took turns sharing your ambitions and goals as members of the organization. Bakugou even partook in one of the quirk training sessions, wherein he practiced shooting precise targets while propelling himself in the air.

You couldn’t decide if he was trying to act all serious for the mission or was just showing off—could’ve been both, really, but regardless, his efforts were enough to catch the eyes of the fellow members working on their respective quirks. You, on the other hand, sat to the side and watched the pro-hero do his thing, not being able to ‘practice’ anything without a partner to ‘boost’—or really, manipulate.

Needless to say, you’ve both been busting your ass pretending to be eager, dedicated members, but aside from the information readily provided in the forums, you haven’t had much luck extracting details that could prove to be useful for the mission, a fact that you’re now planning to bring up with Bakugou, a full week into moving into the headquarters…

…After you finish checking the bedroom for bugs.

It’s become some sort of an unspoken nightly routine for the both of you. The second the door shuts behind you after the trackers have been taken off and you’ve checked that the cameras are pointed downwards, capped, and are not blinking anymore, you go to your respective halves of the room and thoroughly check each inch for a wiretap. Neither of you dare to say anything compromising until you’ve completed the survey, and even then you’ve telepathically agreed to watch your choice of words.

Still, you can’t deny the familiar sense of reprieve whenever this time of the day comes along, and you’ve since associated these moments with Bakugou with comfort.

Which is probably why you have the audacity to joke around.

“Are they comfy?” you ask just as you plaster your butt down into the couch. You’ve had your fun yesterday, sleeping easily in the soft bed. You watch Bakugou as he eyes you warily, sitting on the edge of the mattress, facing you.

He huffs, crossing his legs. “Are what comfy?”

You point to his feet with your lips. “The slippers. They were buy one take one, you know.”

At that, he smirks. You can’t help but feel your own smile growing.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be bragging about, princess.”

Flying right past the tail end of that sentence for your sanity, you force a frown on your face. “Why not? It was a great deal. And, I’m sure yours are comfy. Mine are.”

He leans back on his hands that are firmly planted at his sides. He’s still smirking. “So why bother asking me in the first place if you already knew the answer to the question?”

You open your mouth to retort a witty comment, but come up short. Bakugou’s smirk morphs into a grin when you do. You wrinkle your nose in disdain, “I was just trying to make small talk. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The pro-hero only chuckles at that, before sitting up and bringing his hands forward, one holding and wringing the other arm’s wrist.

You study him for a beat, and then the cameras, which are still turned down and capped with a lens cover.

And when he only continues the rotating motion, you finally speak up.

“…What are we gonna do now?”

Bakugou’s eyes shift upward from his wrist to look at you, the softness that was just in his gaze a second ago now replaced by his trademark caution. You try not to focus on the disappointment of having caused that, as well as the misplaced longing for what was once there.

It takes him a while to reply, his features contorted into a look of deep thought. But when he does so, he straightens his back. “We—”

A barrage of heavy knocks resounds from the door, startling both of you and cutting Bakugou off. It’s immediately followed by a gruff voice, which you can now easily recognize as Hiroto’s.

“You’re not making any noise,” comes his bite, although it’s slightly muffled. “You better think twice about planning something behind our backs, you two.”

You roll your eyes. You understand any hostility coming from the members, as you and Bakugou come with risks that can potentially harm the organization that they hold dearly. But even you can say that the twins are taking it a bit too far with the harsh treatment.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think their being extra hard on you has something to do with Masaki agreeing with the off-surveillance.

“Fucking relax,” Bakugou seethes in their direction. “Just because we’re not audibly having sex doesn’t mean we’re talking shit.”

You snort. Bakugou whips to look at you, the corners of his lips upturned.

That seems to put a plug on Hiroto, because the man doesn’t say anything after that. Once again, you’re met with silence, with you and Bakugou sitting on your respective furniture, looking at anything but each other.

It’s him, though, who finally breaks it a few minutes later with a clear of his throat.

“We keep at it—” Bakugou starts carefully, “—is what I was trying to say earlier. They’re gonna discuss the plans with us sooner than later.”

…Patience, huh?

You can do that.

Nodding, you adjust your position on your seat. You don’t dare to ask him to expound or add your own thoughts on the matter. Better to be safe than sorry, even though you’re pretty sure your room is free of bugs.

So instead, you finally give in and steer the conversation to something that’s been plaguing your mind ever since the commission kidnapped you a little over a week ago.

“Bakugou,” you begin, and he looks at you expectantly. You gulp. “Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Depends on the question.”

“…So might as well shoot your shot,” he finishes when you don’t say anything.

Well, then.

You blurt it out before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Don’t get me wrong, alright? I know you’re strong and all that. But…” you trail off, fixing your eyes on him, “Why did they specifically want you of all heroes?”

Almost instantly, Bakugou’s smug expression is wiped off his face just as it falls.

You scramble to backtrack.

“Sorry if that’s too invas—”

“Are you sure we were batchmates?” he cuts you off, a brow raised in question. “Back in UA?”

You stare at him. Where is he going with this?

“Yeah?” you reply, not at all willing to try and jog his memory with the only prominent exchange between the two of you. So instead, you toss the query back at him: “Why?”

“Because if we were, you would’ve heard about the rumors about me, unless they weren’t as widespread as I thought.”

You feel your brows furrow. “Rumors?”

He peers at you for what feels like an eternity, before shaking his head in what you think is resignation. His body language has changed drastically, you note—the distinct confidence from earlier now long gone, having been replaced with…shame?

He heaves a deep breath.

“I was a bully,” he finally declares, meeting your gaze. “I bullied someone for being quirkless. I guess you could say I had a…” he hesitates, as if he’s trying to filter his words,” …certain mindset up until late into our first year.”

He shakes his head again, which is now bowed down toward the floor. “I did some pretty…awful stuff, to say the least.”

And before you can say anything, he beats you to it. “And don’t ask me about what I did.”

“I wasn’t going to,” comes your speedy response. That causes him to look up again and at you, a surprised look written on his face.

“Well, that’s a first.”

“I don’t have to know,” you reason, schooling your features into a neutral, even sincere expression. “Besides, I can clearly see there’s remorse. There’s no need to reopen that can of worms, especially if you’ve tried to make amends.”

You pause, eyeing him. “Have you?”

He tosses you a look of offense, as if you just accused him of being a serial killer. “Of course. And he’s forgiven me. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who feels remorse—” you chuckle, “—just like I said.”

He shoots you a glare, although it’s playful and has no bite to it. “Smartass.”

You grin at him. “I am smart, aren’t I?”

Bakugou doesn’t verbalize his agreement, but he doesn’t deny it either. Instead, he turns the table on you.

“You’re a guidance counselor, aren’t you? You use your quirk on your clients?”

You gasp, insulted. That grants you a smirk from him. “No! Of course, not. What do you take me for?”

He shrugs, “What? It makes sense to me.”

“So should this thing called ethics, which I follow and is very important, especially for people like me who work in the mental health field.”

That doesn’t seem to convince him. “Why’re you in this field, then? If not for its compatibility with your quirk?”

You think about it for a beat.

“I guess you can say my quirk did play a part in all of this, but not as my crutch,” you eventually explain. “Using it made me realize how much I like making people feel and do better, which is something that I now do with evidence-based techniques as a counselor. Plus, my job trains me in identifying emotions, which, you know…”

—helps with maximizing your quirk.

But you don’t say it out loud for fear of getting exposed, and it seems like that’d be unnecessary, because understanding flashes across Bakugou’s eyes. He nods, and that’s all you need to know he gets what you’re leaving unsaid.

“That’s a pretty noble cause,” he offers, although it comes out a bit awkward.

Still, you flash him a genuine smile. He looks away.

…Right at the wall clock, which now reads a little too late o’clock.

“You should get some sleep,” says Bakugou just as you are about to tell him the very same thing.

And when you don’t respond: “Are you sure you wanna sleep on the couch?”

‘What, are you proposing we share the bed?’

…Is what you would say if you were a fucking lunatic, which you’re glad you aren’t, because you don’t know how you’d survive this hell of a mission if you were.

Instead, you nod, shooting him a grateful look as you move to lay back and drape the blanket over your body. “Bask in the luxury of a proper mattress, your highness.”

You don’t get to see his reaction anymore in your new position, but you bet your cheap but surprisingly ergonomic slippers that he’s grinning with the way he snorts loudly.

“Stupid.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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#anyone remember the cover photo for this series 👀#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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freshbakedbreadstick · 3 months ago

Text

The Physicalities of Grief - Season 2 Arcane Viktor x F!Reader

Season 2 Arcane Viktor x F!Reader

Summary (SPOILERS): It's hard to grieve someone when their not really gone.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. HEAVY SPOILERS OF SEASON 2 ACT 1 OF ARCANE!! BE WARNED! Reader is described as having a vagina and uses she/her pronouns. Reader’s backstory is kept vague but is mentioned to be from Zaun (the Undercity), worked with Jayce and Viktor, and was childhood friends with Viktor. Mentions of masturbation, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, heavy grief, angst (not a breadstick fanfic if there isn’t angst), bad coping with grief and emotions, grief horniness LMAO, spoilers, brief fear that someone broke into your place, slightly improper use of his powers (not really use tho more like hinting at it), brief mention of vomiting but not in detail (!!), this is basically shameless PWLP (porn with little plot) that i'm using to cope ok?

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Unfortunately i am using Arcane Season 2 as a form of escapism bc i am not ok (context , i live in the US and i am a woman of color , , , , enough said ) anyways i am a Viktor stan and i love him SO SO SO much anyways AS PROMISE HERE IT IS ! LMAO i can't wait for act 2 to come out ! ! ! ! ENJOY ! (awhhh doesnt he look so normal in season 1 ?)

It feels like all you have ever known was this feeling.

This feeling of… swelling and crashing waves of anger and sadness. Of overwhelming crying screams, of bubbling tears that blind you, of aching emptiness that makes your joints feel sore and body retch after every meal.

Mel had to remind you that you were grieving, but you could see the way Jayce looked at her, shaking his head softly when she spoke.

“He isn’t dead,” he would whisper once Mel would leave, but you could only weakly utter “Then why does it feel like he is?”

He never knew what to say to that, just stepping back, face falling.

It was ridiculous at this point, the way he looked at you with… almost pity. You were sick of it. Everytime he came to you, updating you on the latest findings while you laid in bed, pathetically. Feeling like a waste as he went from spending hours in the lab, working beside his friend’s body encased in who knows what, to desperately fighting you to get you to eat something, anything.

You felt like a burden, like a waste of a mind and body that was once so ambitious and passionate, moving around the lab to help with whatever you could get your hands on.

“I’m useless,” you would whisper to yourself in the cover of dark, chest empty and eyes red and dry.

But his words… his words hurt the most.

“Please eat something, anything!” He cried, trying to ever so gently pin your arms down as he lifted a small cup of soup to your face.

“No Jayce, no! Stop it!” You cried, barely able to flail against him.

“I need you to eat something, please! You can't keep going on like this!” His voice cracked.

You pushed his hands away, successfully hitting the cup and making it clatter and crash to the floor.

Both of you flinched, pausing mid movement to hear the sound of the porcelain shattering into millions of pieces.

Stillness for a few seconds. Peace from him for a few seconds.

Until his voice brought you back.

“...Viktor would've wanted you to eat… to keep going…”

It made your eyes burn, chest tightening, throat closing. It made your heart race, limbs suddenly energized for the first time in days, feeling ready to run marathons.

Did Viktor feel this way the first time he touched the hexcore?

You shoved him away with surprising strength, making Jayce yell and fall to the ground, his arm moving up to shield himself.

Leaping from bed, you yanked the sheets around yourself, heavy and dark fabric covering the weakness of your flesh from sight.

“You have no idea what he would've wanted!” Your throat burned as you screamed, lips twisted into a sneer as you glared at him on the floor.

He couldn't even bear to look at you. Coward.

Paled hands moved to claw at your bedside table, yanking the drawers open. You yanked things out, throwing them to find it. Where is it?

Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

Then you felt it. Soft beneath your fingertips, the embroidered ‘V' he asked you to add onto it scratching your skin ever so slightly. It made you pause, mind rushing and mouth rushing even faster.

“Better yet, you knew what he wanted and still went against him!” Your voice quivered as you yelled at Jayce.

Jayce gasped softly, head jerking back.

“W-what friend you are,” You stuttered, tears rushing back into your eyes and making your voice sound watery. You felt stupid.

Jayce’s breath hitched, his mouth opened to respond but you were too quick. You grasped the red fabric into your hands and rushed off, snatching your shoes on before you ran out the door with a choked sob, Jayce yelling out your name as you did so.

Your body ached as you ran, running into corners and slamming into walls you didn’t sense as you rounded hallways. Your body feverish, only shivered when you stepped out into the chill of the quiet darkness of the supposed city of progress.

Your lungs ached as you ran, panting and gasping between cries. You ran and ran, stumbling and nearly collapsing as you made your descent.

Down, down, down… to the city you knew too well.

Back home.

You tucked the blanket closer as you rounded corners with ease, effortless as you hopped over piles of trash and twisted into darkened alleys, avoiding the sounds of twisted laughs and growls.

You nearly ran into the door of your little old home, scratching at your neck to yank the necklace into the light of the partially broken street lamps. A trembling hand shoved the key into the lock, tugging yourself to press your cheek against the cold door with a hiss.

It was hard to tell what you were doing in the darkness of the studio, staggering as you closed the door and moved around, getting bruises as you ran into old furniture and beat up tables. You cried out, howling in pain as you made your way toward your bed, hidden in the back of the room.

One hand reached out, feeling the end of the furniture with heavy pants, eyes wide and barely able to make it out. But it was there, sturdy and reliable, the scent of comfort, of home, reaching your nose as you collapsed onto it, bursting out in wails.

The bed creaked as your body shook, the utter power of your lament echoing in the darkness of the room, red fabric clutched to your chest.

You could smell him, smell the mixture of coffee, toast, and the unmistakable scent of the lab.

You cried louder, rattling the windows with each sound as you held the fabric he used to tie his tie, nose buried into it. But it did nothing to muffle you, nothing to withhold the sounds of your cries.

It felt like days passed before you passed out, falling unconscious without a second thought.

But when you finally woke, it was dark again.

Body aching, you sat up in with a heaved breath, wincing at the pain that echoed throughout your being. It was hardly bearable, making you sigh as you realized that you finally did it, you pushed yourself too much and rendered yourself alone, sleeping the day away.

You felt like a ghost skirting around your home, blanket clutched around your form and hand clutching the red fabric to your chest with paled knuckles. Feet made soft sounds as you stomped, using all your strength to collapse onto the sink, holding onto the ledge as you stretched, one hand opening the tap and lips greedily sucking in the water that came down.

You knew that you would probably regret this later, Zaun’s tap water was not meant to be drunk without extra precautions made to ensure it was clean. Afterall, this wasn’t Piltover, where you could drink fresh water from the tap without worry.

You remembered the way your mother would have to boil it over the fire as a child, wincing as you drank the warm water after running circles around your childhood best friend, who would laugh and watch with a sad glint in his eyes as you did so. All you wanted was fresh, cold water after sweating, throat scratchy and knees scraped with a wonder only a child could possess.

It made you want to cry again, as your familiar scratchy throat was soothed by the cool water, if only temporarily.

Your hand barely had the strength to push the faucet shut, slipping onto your knees soon after.

The fabric pressed against your nose, darkening under the tears that slipped and hit it on its way down your cheeks. Burnt toast… coffee… metal. Burnt toast, coffee, metal. Burnt toast, coffee, metal, Jayce. Burnt toast, coffee, metal, Jayce, you.

You crawled back into bed, grunting and groaning as your limbs screamed, desperate for you to stop and give up. ‘Forget it, you're alone now’ they said, desperate for a break.

“Just… let me get to the bed… please,” you heard your gravely voice whisper out, begging yourself.

“...I’ll quit once I get to bed… please…”

‘Fine,’ you told yourself.

Crumpled there on the sheets, you encased yourself with the blanket like a body laid to rest among the flowers, eyes closed and breathing getting slower. You could hear chatter from just beyond the walls, the sound of people chattering before rushing off, the occasional argument either followed by commotion or silence. It soothed you like a lullaby, as it soothed all children of the undercity.

But as a fight breaks out nearby, harsh voices echoing the sounds of punches, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried desperately to think of something else.

Like the day he convinced you to go with him to Piltover.

“Come with me,” he whispered, hand extended out to you, amber eyes glinting with hope for what this opportunity would bring.

“Oh Viktor,” you whispered aloud, voice breaking just like in the memory.

“Please,” he said, brows creasing.

“But will I fit in? Will they accept me?” you murmured, holding your own hand, looking between his hand to his eyes.

“They accept me,” he breathed.

“That’s because you are a scientist.”

He scoffed, “Do not reduce yourself to utility, regardless of where you come from, you deserve to live amongst them.”

“But they will stare at me like… like I'm trash.”

“Nothing we aren’t used to already… besides… I need you there.”

Your breath hitched.

“You do?” you whispered to yourself, hand clutched to the fabric rising to press it against your nose again.

Eyelids softened as you thought of the way he smiled, chuckling softly at your bewildered face, smooth voice like melody that made goosebumps spread across your skin as he said, “Of course I need you…”

You didn’t even realize your free hand had inched its way down your torso until your fingertips hit the waistband of your bottoms, making you freeze up, eyes snapping open to stare into the inky darkness.

You panted, chest rising and falling.

“No…” you whispered, “N-no, no I… I can't.”

“Of course you can,” his voice echoed in your brain, smooth as a ray of sunlight, “Whatever it is you're worried about, I'll help you.”

Finally, your hand fell into his. He pulled you close, so close, that his eyes flickering onto yours felt like it had replaced the sun and the moon, “Come with me.”

Trembling, your hand pushed under the waistband and under your undergarments, fingers tracing over your mound before dipping down to the unabashed wetness of your core.

You gasped, chest tightening.

“No,” you whispered into the fabric.

Burnt toast, coffee, metal.

Your fingers glided down, hips rising and legs spreading, skin so so hot under your touch. With a smooth swipe, the wetness gathered itself on your fingertip, moving to ever so gently press against your throbbing clit.

It made you whine, voice muffled by the fabric held tight against your hand.

“No please…” you whispered once more, your resolve slipping as you thought of those amber eyes and how they glistened when he spoke about his work.

“C-can’t…” you just couldn’t bear it.

This was your childhood friend you were imagining, your friend who cared so deeply about you that he was willing to take you with him when he got a new opportunity in Piltover. Your friend who sacrificed his health for the sake of finding new tech to help people like you, who weren’t given a fair chance in the undercity. Your friend whose gaze would transfix on you as he explained what he was doing, voice tinged with an eagerness that made him whine when he thought your mind was straying from his words.

“Darling, are you listening to me?” he would say as you played with some geared models he set out for you to see.

“Yes Viktor, I swear!”

He would always chuckle and nod, either continuing to explain or instead staying silent, moving to stand behind you.

Your knees and mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut.

Burnt toast, coffee, metal.

Heavy pants filled the silence of the room.

You could almost feel the way his hand would slide over yours as you played with the model, long nimble fingers gliding over your skin.

You would gasp, hand stilling until he began to move it, guiding it with his own.“Here, let me show you… This is how you use it,” he would murmur, warm breath hitting your skin. It was so hard to suppress the shiver he gave you, no longer able to focus on the way he would turn the model the other way, guiding your fingers to press against a gear, turning it in a slow circle to get it working.

Your breathing hitched, hand moving in the way he showed you how.

His hand would speed up, moving away to let you try it. The gears then began to move on their own, prompting you to move your own hand away, watching the model with an excited smile.

The swelling pleasure in your belly grew, making the smooth movements of your hand become erratic, unable to keep a steady pace.

“V-Viktor,” you breathed, hips bucking into the air.

You could imagine it, the way he spoke so smoothly to you, an air of calm to it as if he was speaking to a frightened animal, “Yes, my darling?”

“L-like this?” you croaked, fingers dipping to press against your sopping hole, feeling it drool onto your fingers.

“Yes, exactly like that… you're doing so good…”

Your breaths grew more and more ragged, shivering as you chased your climax. It was so close, making your head fall back onto the sheets, fabric clutched to your nose, using it to run it up and down your body.

Burnt toast, coffee, metal.

“S-so… close…” you whispered.

Then you heard it.

A whisper.

You stilled, eyes snapping open and wide in terror.

You didn’t breathe, you didn’t move.

‘Go to her’, it whispered once more, a feminine voice you couldn’t make out, too low for you to distinguish.

But you could hear staggered steps, moving.

You knew you were hidden from view, allowing you an advantage, but this person was moving toward you, slowly but steadily.

You were frozen in place.

Did they come to rob you? Had you even locked your front door when you came in?

But you had no time to think, you were sitting here unarmed and vulnerable.

Gathering yourself, you sat up in bed, careful to avoid making noise as you peaked above the furniture that hid you, seeing a cloaked figure moving in the dark. You saw nothing, just them staggering. They didn’t seem to be here to steal, brushing past your things without a second glance.

You prayed to anyone who could hear you that it was just some weary soul needing to rest.

But right before you looked away, you saw it.

You saw the glow.

A faint blue-purple glow of footsteps that led toward you.

You swallowed, curling back and into yourself as your eyes trailed the faint humming glow of these footsteps, the way they led right to the foot of your bed.

The cloaked and hooded figure approached, moving around what hid you to stand at the edge of your bed, looking right at you.

Then you smelled it.

Burnt toast, coffee, metal, and… something… more.

Your breath hitched as a bony hand reached up and out, moving toward your face.

You flinched, squeezing your eyes shut as it moved. You didn't see the way it hesitated, pausing right before the warmth of your cheek.

“My darling…” They whispered, voice rumbling in a way that made your eyes snap open and body instantly and unconsciously sag, “Am i that scary?”

You gasped, shaking as you made out the iridescent eyes that traced over your sunken cheeks and eyes with dark bags underneath.

“Oh my darling…” he murmured, fingertips finally pressing against your cheeks.

He was cold, but somehow warmth thrummed through him like… machinery.

His thumb traced underneath your eye, gently, “Have you been suffering because… of me?”

You said nothing, pinned to the spot underneath his gaze.

You tried to say something, but nothing came out. Your mouth only opened and closed, silence emitting from it instead.

His gaze swept over you, making a shiver go down your spine as you sat there. His gaze stilled, eyes widening ever so slightly as he followed your hands. He paused and, after a beat of silence, he spoke up.

“Here… let me show you.”

Burnt toast, coffee, metal, and something indescribable.

The hand cupping your cheeks trailed down to your jaw, tilting it upward to look at him as he shifted to sit in front of you, the overwhelming scent of Him invading your senses.

His other hand moved, gently wrapping itself around your wrist, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath his own. He then slid in, over and down underneath the waistband of your clothes and to your soaked fingers.

You could only stare into the pools of opal that peered into your soul.

A gasp wormed its way out of your mouth as his fingers pressed against you, index tracing around your throbbing clit to your clenching hole. He moved in circles, teasing you by pressing his longest finger just against your entrance before pulling back, moving to press a tiny bit deeper with every movement.

You felt yourself instantly relax, unable to help yourself as the familiar face of Viktor stared at you, eyes softening as he saw the panic melt away.

“V-Viktor i…” you breathed, “You… d-”

“I'm supposed to be dead… I know…” he whispered.

His finger pressed in, making you groan softly as it moved against your warm walls, carefully pressing to find that spongy bit inside of you. He was always so calculated, even now as his gaze focused on your face, tracking every miniscule movement like the way your pupils dilated when you saw him, the way your breathing picked up when his thumb brushed against your clit, and the way your lips parted when his fingers curled.

“But I'm here now, my darling… you don't have to worry anymore… I just want you to come back with me.”

His voice made your eyes struggle to keep open, soft moans filling the once empty room. You were drunk off him, drunk off the way his fingers moved so deliciously deliberate, stimulating you in multiple ways and making you melt.

“Viktor…?” you sighed, barely registering what he said.

“Yes?” Viktor whispered, leaning to press his forehead against your own.

It sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, tingling with a purple glow over your skin.

“I…” gasping for air was all you could do, the overwhelming sensation flowing through your veins as his thumb pressed against your clit, fingers curling in and out of you. You were so close again.

“More?” He murmured, voice soft.

Your eyes could barely hold his gaze, “N-need you…”

“Like I always needed you?”

You moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you shook, the pleasure reaching its peak.

“Cum for me… come with me.” he murmured, lips brushing against your own.

He swallowed your moans as you cried out his name, body shaking. His hand on your jaw held you in place, continuing to move his fingers in you and on your clit, your hand wrapped around his wrist as he did so, the other still clutched onto his red tie.

Pure, white, hot, pleasure stole your vision and voice, making you see visions of a future where you and your people would never have to suffer anymore, not with someone like Viktor to lead them.

As you came down, body heaving and shaking, he carefully moved his hand off your core before wrapping your weak body with his lapis blue cloak, pressing you against him. Your head lolled, slotting against his neck, smelling the scent of burnt toast, coffee, metal, and something… something otherworldly.

“Come with me.” He whispered, “I need you.”

“I will.” You whispered, this time not hesitating.

#arcane #viktor x reader arcane #viktor x reader #arcane season 2 #arcane league of legends #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #arcane viktor #arcane s2 #arcane season two

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yunhoszn · 11 months ago

Text

save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside.

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence.

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life.

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story.

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes.

And then your grandparents decided to retire.

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time.

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. “He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres.

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later.

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind.

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty.

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh.

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked.

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable.

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave.

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention.

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear.

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops.

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself.

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives.

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope.

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again.

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby.

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years?

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good.

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate.

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache.

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog.

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought.

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now.

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore.

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other.

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency.

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening.

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else.

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance.

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet.

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath.

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.”

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…”

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague.

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong.

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects.

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage.

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine.

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air.

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own.

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own.

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have.

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric.

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse.

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain.

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal.

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen.

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself.

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple.

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there.

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide.

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool.

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now.

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?”

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?”

“‘You turn me on.’”

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad.

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?”

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs.

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it.

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him.

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release.

I saw the way he was looking at you.

I saw how you were looking at him, too.

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho.

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it.

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place.

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work.

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to.

And then you came here.

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same.

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role.

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go.

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?”

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches.

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?”

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters.

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away.

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else.

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different.

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you.

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you.

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop.

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry.

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top.

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him.

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief.

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special.

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there.

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets.

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it.

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure.

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now.

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own.

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more.

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat.

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second.

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again.

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way.

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt.

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand.

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble.

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams.

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core.

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips.

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off.

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force.

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider.

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth.

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies.

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts.

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.”

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below.

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him.

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created.

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter.

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day.

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

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