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hyuckiefluff · 14 days ago

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casual pt 2 | mark lee

pairing: idol! mark lee x fem.reader genre: fluff, smut, angst wc: 9.6k summary: you fell for mark lee through blurry facetime calls and late-night voice notes, but when the distance starts causing a strain in the relationship, you board a plane to seoul with nothing but a suitcase and a heart that won’t stop beating for him. content warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content, phone-sex, oral (fem. receiving), protected sex, explicit language, long-distance relationship stress, idol pressures, light alcohol consumption, mentions of food & brief mention of disordered eating habits (skipping meals due to stress), tooth rotting domestic fluff. a/n: here it is finally!! i cannot believe i told myself this would take less time than my hogwarts fics and it ended up taking me LONGER 😭 and it’s not even that long so i was 100% just procrastinating. BUT GUYS. i freaking love mark in this because i literally wrote it the way i imagine a relationship with him would be and like… fawk. i want this life so bad. mark give me one chance juseyoooo. anyways, hope u enjoy <3 also! tiny author suggestion: listen to turning page by sleeping at last during the final scene if you wanna fully immerse yourself.

ps: divider by kodaswrld

Another practice room light flickered out down the hallway, and with it the building finally emptied out. Mark was the last one there again.

He peeled off his in-ears, let them dangle around his neck, and flopped backward onto the studio floor. Sweat slicked the vinyl under his shoulder blades. His hoodie had been abandoned somewhere near the mirrors, but he was still running hot, humming with the choreo that refused to leave his muscles even after twelve straight run-throughs.

His manager would murder him if he was late to call time tomorrow, but his brain was nowhere near sleep. It was too busy spinning in the familiar orbit it had fallen into every night for months: you.

Mark fished his phone out of his joggers and opened the last message he had sent hours ago.

on my way to rehearsal. i think you’re gonna love our new song :)

No reply.

He exhaled through his nose. You were probably not awake yet. The quiet between messages always managed to feel personal after a tiring day like this. He scrolled up anyway, re-reading pieces of your conversation. There was a blurry photo of your family’s cat sitting on a stack of Murakami paperbacks. His own late-night voice memo humming a chorus that didn’t have lyrics yet.

The memory of your laugh shoved its way in, uninvited and perfect. Mark shut his eyes. For a second it was easy to pretend the fluorescent hum overhead was your apartment’s old fridge, that the scuffed practice floor was the couch where you’d sit while you argued about pineapple on pizza during video calls.

Mark opened his eyes before the fantasy got too good, pushed up onto his elbows, and grabbed the half-empty water bottle beside him. As he drank, a few texts from his manager pinged through. Mostly schedule changes, wardrobe notes, and a reminder to ice his knee. He swiped them away and pulled up the blank chat bubble with your name again.

Type something, Mark. Anything.

The rehearsal room clock read 01:39 a.m. That was—what, mid-morning for you? You would probably be getting up, maybe grabbing coffee before heading out to work. He pictured you in that oversized cardigan you loved, eyes squinting at your phone because you’d forgotten to put on your contact lenses again.

The thought kicked his pulse into a sprint.

Before he could think, he started typing.

hey, i can’t sleep. just finished practice.random question: if you could teleport for exactly 10 minutes, where would you go?

Mark stared at the message. Too weird? He was about to unsend it when the typing indicator popped up on your side. His chest cinched.

jiwon says i should pick somewhere romantic so i don’t waste the free trip lol. maybe the han river at sunset? i’ve never been.why, where would you go?

He pictured you on the couch, eyes bright, seriously discussing such a silly question with Jiwon the way he probably would have done with Haechan.

His fingers moved before he could overthink.

wherever you are. ten minutes is enough to steal a hug right?

A second passed, and then the dots appeared again.

bold, lee. i like it.also i’d tackle-hug you so it might be nine minutes of us laughing on the floor, hope that’s okay

Mark’s face broke into an idiotic grin. Sleep was officially lost.

He pushed up, snagged his hoodie, and headed for the door, phone still glowing in his hand while your next bubble popped up.

anyway, go shower before you catch a cold. text me when you’re safe in bed

He stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

deal. goodnight for now ;) p.s. you just gave me lyric ideas. hope you don’t mind being a muse

Mark pocketed the phone, heart drumming a new beat that had nothing to do with choreography, and jogged toward the dorms, already humming the melody you had just sparked to life.

He stepped into the night, sweat chilling under his hoodie, headphones pulled over his ears as the city noise swallowed him up. Seoul at two in the morning felt almost peaceful, all the rush muted, and he could finally hear his own thoughts again which was dangerous territory, but better than silence.

There was a bounce in his step he couldn’t explain, even with his knee twinging and his bones begging for a hot shower. All he could think about was your messages, how you always managed to make him feel like a regular guy, not the name thousands of people screamed at concerts.

By the time he was back at the dorm, the lights were low, but Haechan’s voice filtered down the hall—arguing with Johnny about leftovers or LoL or something equally stupid. He slipped off his shoes, tiptoed past the noise, and ducked into the bathroom before anyone could spot him.

Steam billowed as Mark stood under the shower, letting it pound against tired muscles. He replayed your conversation again, grinning at nothing, mouthing the words he had typed, imagining them as lyrics already.

wherever you are. ten minutes is enough to steal a hug right?

He said it again, quieter, letting the steam swallow the edges. Would he actually do it—show up to your door, wrap you up, laugh until his sides hurt and the world faded out? God, he would.

He toweled off, tossed on some sweatpants, and flopped onto his bed. His phone buzzed just as his head hit the pillow.

i hope you’re actually resting and not writing a sad song about me being halfway across the planet

Mark smirked, typing back.

not sad i promise. i’ll probably finish it tonight #insomnia

Your reply hit after a few seconds.

:( insomnia is beating my ass too.i’m sure it’s gonna be cute tho. i wanna listen

He couldn’t help it when a laugh came out, soft and breathless, afraid to wake the others. He wished he could call you, but you were probably heading to work now.

Still, he opened his voice notes and hummed the chorus that had been haunting him. The words fit better now that you’d given him the missing piece. He knew it was corny, but he didn’t care. This was the part they didn’t see, the part that made him want to risk all the rules, just for a few more minutes like this.

He’d been working on a song for weeks now—sometimes he called it “loser,” sometimes he sang it like “lose her.” It started as a joke lyric, a throwaway, but it kept coming back. The words were different every night, but the chorus always landed on you.

i don’t wanna loseri don’t wanna lose her

He hit send without thinking.

for you. don’t laugh if it sucks.

Seconds passed while Mark stared at the phone. The little read indicator popped up almost immediately.

…i love it(and i’m definitely saving this in my secret folder)

He buried his face in his pillow, his pulse racing.

Johnny’s voice floated in from the hallway, half-annoyed. “Mark! You sleeping or composing another heartbreak song in there?”

He shouted back, “Go to bed, hyung!”

Johnny laughed, the door creaking as he walked away. “Don’t blame me when you’re a zombie tomorrow.”

Mark grinned, pulling the blanket over his head and letting his mind drift back to you. He pictured your smile, the shy way you looked away when you were flustered, that little laugh he wanted to hear in person, not just through a phone speaker.

For the first time in days, Mark actually felt sleepy—in a good way. He let the tiredness take him, already counting down the hours until he could text you again.

Soon enough, both of you fell back into your natural rhythm. With calls coming more often, you were back to sharing every little moment of your day.

Practice had ended hours ago, but the thrum of bass still vibrated in Mark’s bones as he padded into the dorm kitchen for a bottle of water. He thumbed his phone, opened your chat, and hovered over the call button. It was late, but the lingering jet lag plus rehearsals meant he didn’t have a normal sleep cycle anyway. He just wanted to hear your voice for thirty seconds, maybe a minute.

He tapped FaceTime before he could talk himself out of it.

The tone rang twice, three times, then connected.

Steam clouded the camera lens first, followed by a startled gasp. You stood in your bathroom, hair dripping, wrapped in nothing but a white towel knotted above your chest. Water beaded across your collarbones, and you were half-laughing, half-mortified as you fumbled with the phone.

“Mark! Give me a sec—”

His throat closed. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t think—I’ll call later—”

“You’re fine, just—” You shifted, the towel slipping a centimeter lower.

Mark’s brain short-circuited. “S—sorry! Talk later!” He hit End so fast his thumb stung, then flopped onto his mattress with a hammering heart.

For a full minute, he stared at the ceiling, willing himself to breathe normally. It didn’t help. The image was branded behind his eyelids: your damp hair, flushed cheeks, a single droplet tracking down the slope of your chest.

Great. Now his pulse was pounding in the wrong place.

He rolled onto his side, pillow over his face, trying to think of choreography counts to distract his brain from sending all the blood to his groin. Instead, all he could hear was the soft gasp you made, all he could see was the towel sliding down—

A frustrated groan slipped out. Fine.

Hand sliding under the waistband of his sweatpants, he let the fantasy take over: you standing there for him, towel loosening under his fingertips, your breath catching the way it did when you laughed too hard. The tension coiled fast—months of late-night calls, that night you spent together, everything he hadn’t been able to touch.

When his hand wrapped around his cock, he imagined it was your lips instead. How warm and soft they’d feel. Your wide eyes looking at him so innocently even as your mouth sucked him off so perfectly. His orgasm came quick, feeling nothing like what he really wanted, but it still ripped a low moan from his throat. He bit the edge of the pillow to muffle it, hips stuttering once then stilling as relief flooded every aching limb.

Breathing hard, Mark wiped a hand across his jaw, suddenly self-conscious. He grabbed tissues, cleaned up, and collapsed on his back, guilt and heat mingling in his chest.

He finally glanced at his phone, about to text an apology, when he noticed the screen was still glowing.

The little green bar at the top still said Call In Progress.

His stomach dropped through the floor.

You were standing frozen in your bathroom, towel clutched under your arms, the phone face-up on your counter where you’d set it in a panic. Mark’s voice echoed from the tiny speaker, followed by a sudden shuffle and a muffled curse. You reached for the screen, intending to end the call, but then you heard it.

The breathy, almost desperate sound of his voice, low and strained, your name a broken whisper under his breath. You went still, barely breathing, cheeks burning as the realization dawned. Oh.

Oh.

You should have ended the call. But you didn’t.

Too enthralled by the idea of sweet, careful, too-polite Mark falling apart on the other end of the line.

You heard a ragged breath, then another.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered.

His voice was low and rough, the kind of tone you’d never heard from him. Needy. Then your name again, this time broken in the middle of a moan.

Your hand flew to your mouth. Oh my god.

He kept going, panting harder now. The way his hips were probably stuttering into his fist, the bed creaking under him—it all played in high-def through your speaker.

“Wanna touch you so bad,” he groaned.

Your entire body was on fire.

When the line finally went quiet, you waited, heart racing. Then, Mark’s face appeared, looking absolutely horrified, eyes wide as he finally realized.

“Oh my god—wait—were you—”

You couldn’t help it as you burst out into nervous laughter, cheeks burning. “Yeah, I…heard all of it.”

His face went so red it was almost purple, both hands flying to cover his eyes. “I’m—I swear I thought I hung up—”

“Don’t worry,” you reassured him with a little smile. “I liked it.”

And with that, you hung up, letting a mortified Mark lose his mind on the other side of the world.

You didn’t directly address that night again, but there was a clear shift in your late night video calls.

They always started the same way: Mark sprawled on his bed, pretending to focus on the story you were telling about work or your idiot neighbor who kept parking in your spot. The truth was that he hadn’t caught a single detail in minutes.

Why? Because you were wearing a tank top that looked like it was designed for a doll, legs pulled up so your shorts barely counted as shorts at all, and every time you stretched, the hem inched just a little higher.

Mark tried. God, he tried to play it cool with a sweet smile, eyes glued to your face like a good boy, but it was a lost cause because your skin was glowing, your hair damp from a late shower. You shifted on the bed, moving closer to the camera. Did you have any idea he was fighting for his life?

“So, anyway, I told my boss that if he wanted to schedule me a third weekend in a row, he’d have to cover my therapy bill.”

Mark blinked, realizing you were waiting for a reply.

“Uh, yeah, absolutely. You should… definitely… do that.”

You grinned. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

Busted.

Mark coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I—uh, got distracted.”

You leaned in. “By what?”

His cheeks flushed, eyes darting lower, and you just laughed that soft laugh that always made his stomach flip. You knew exactly the effect you had on him and you loved it.

“Nothing. Just… thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“Just stuff.”

“Hmm. Must be important stuff.” You stretched again, and Mark’s ears turned red to the tips.

“Do you ever think about what you’d do if you were here?” you asked suddenly, your voice syrup sweet, teasing but vulnerable too.

Mark’s eyes darkened. He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, all the time.”

“Show me.”

His breath stuttered. “What?”

“Show me what you’d do.”

You bit your lip, letting the camera slip lower so he could see the line of your thigh, your fingers tracing soft circles at your hip.

“Uhm…” he started shakily, “I’d kiss you first,” he murmured quietly, voice strained, words tumbling free before he could reconsider. “Your neck, then your shoulders. Kiss down your chest.”

Your breath caught audibly. Mark could almost see your pulse jumping at your throat.

“And then?” you whispered.

He swallowed, his throat thick with desire. “Then I’d pull that shirt off. Nice and slow.”

You held his gaze, your fingers sliding up to the thin strap of your camisole. “Like this?” you whispered.

You slipped it off your shoulder, the silk gliding down your arm, teasing every inch of skin. Then the other strap. You pulled the shirt up, exposing more of your breasts, your belly, the delicate curve of your waist. Your bare skin glowed in the blue light of the room.

Mark’s breath hitched. He was transfixed, speechless.

“You said you’d kiss down my neck,” you murmured, your own hand tracing lightly from your throat down between your breasts, mimicking where his lips would be, eyes fluttering at your own touch. “Then lower. Every inch, right?”

Mark nodded, helpless. “Yeah. I’d take my time. Make you feel good.”

You shifted, propping the phone so the angle caught your entire body, head to toe, stretched out over the messy sheets. Your hand glided over your chest, circling your breasts, teasing your nipples until they hardened under your fingers. Mark’s breath came harder, every movement mirrored in his gaze.

That was when he realized he could just tell you his fantasies and you’d follow without question. So he did exactly that.

“Slowly,” he told you, his voice dropping. “Play with your nipples, just like that.”

Your fingers obeyed, pinching and rolling, your hips shifting in response, breathy moans slipping out that went straight to his cock. Mark palmed himself, focused only on you.

“That’s it, baby. Keep going. Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” you gasped, arching into your own hand, your eyes fluttering as pleasure sparked across your skin slowly.

“Take off your panties. I want to watch you tease yourself.”

You did, trembling a little as your fingers pulled down the thin fabric, your legs parting for him, breath stuttering as you touched yourself just how he’d want.

“Tell me what you feel,” he urged, his voice ragged. “Let me hear you.”

“I’m… wet. So wet, Mark. All for you.” Your hips rocked gently against your hand, every touch performed for him.

He groaned, unable to help it, his own hand working himself inside his sweats. “Good girl. Circle your clit, slowly, just with the tips of your fingers.”

You moaned, your head falling back, thighs tensing under the new sensation. The camera shook, a little unsteady, but still angled perfectly so he could see you spread out, open, desperate for more.

“Go a little faster, baby,” he murmured. “Make yourself feel good for me. Let me see you fall apart.”

You obeyed, your movements turning needy, hips bucking as your pleasure built. “Mark, I—I need you so bad,” you whined, your voice barely holding together.

“You have me,” he promised, rough and loving. “I’m right here. Rub your clit harder. That’s it. Now slide a finger in. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You gasped, doing exactly as he said, your body shuddering. “Oh my god—Mark—”

“Yeah, baby, just like that. Another finger. Stretch yourself for me. God, you look so fucking pretty like this, you have no idea.”

You were a mess now, hips rising off the bed, your hand pumping in and out as your thumb circled your clit, the camera catching everything. Your flushed cheeks, the desperate look in your eyes, the sounds you were making for him.

Mark matched your rhythm, his hand squeezing his cock tighter, his breath coming short. “Don’t stop. I wanna see you cum. I want you to scream my name.”

You were almost there. He could see it in the way your toes curled, your thighs shook, your free hand clutched the sheets. Your eyes found his on the screen, wide and wild.

“Mark—I’m—I’m so close, please—!”

“Let go,” he commanded, his voice rough, eyes burning. “Cum for me. Right now.”

Your body bowed, your mouth falling open in a cry that sounded like his name. He watched you fall apart, every second seared into his memory. It was enough to push him over, his own orgasm crashing through him as he bit back a groan, never looking away from you.

When it was over, you both lay there, spent and shaky, smiling like fools at your screens, still hungry for more.

You broke the silence first, your voice low, sweet, and wrecked. “Same time tomorrow?”

He laughed, warm and breathless, feeling the ache already. “I’ll be there.”

Mark couldn’t stop staring at the coffee in his hands. It wasn’t even the right order—too much sugar, no oat milk—but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, blank-faced in the middle of the rehearsal room, music still thudding from the speakers while everyone else reset for the next take.

“Hyung.” Haechan clapped him on the back. “You good?”

Mark blinked, coming back to himself. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

“You forgot the second count again,” Doyoung muttered, not unkindly, but with that sharp edge he got when he was worried. “You’ve never messed that part up before.”

“I’m fine,” Mark said automatically. “Just tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either.

He was exhausted, but not from practice. It was from the way every night ended with his phone overheating from video calls, his body tight and unsatisfied, his head spinning with flashes of your voice, your fingers, the way you looked when you whispered, “Do you want me to take this off too?”

He had seen everything. He had heard you moan his name, made you come with his voice alone. But he hadn’t felt you. And it was driving him insane.

He couldn’t smell your shampoo, couldn’t taste your skin, couldn’t bury his face in your neck and fall asleep with your heart beating under his hand. He could only imagine it. And imagining wasn’t enough anymore.

“Mark, focus!” Their manager snapped from across the room, already irritated. “We’ve got a full day ahead and you’re drifting.”

Mark nodded tightly. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”

But it would happen again. It kept happening. On stage, during shoots, during meetings—his attention kept slipping. He was caught texting you behind a prop during a promo shoot. He zoned out completely during wardrobe fitting, didn’t even notice when they tried to put him in Johnny’s too big clothes. Taeyong was the first to pull him aside for real.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly in the hallway, concern furrowed between his brows.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, eyes heavy. “Just… dealing with stuff.”

The leader didn’t press, but his next words were too knowing. “Maybe it’s time you saw her.”

Mark’s breath caught.

He hadn’t said anything about what was troubling him, but Taeyong knew. They all knew. His members had heard the late-night calls through thin hotel walls, seen the way he locked himself away after soundcheck, carrying tension in every muscle. It wasn’t subtle anymore.

Later that night, you received a message from a number you didn’t know.

Hello. I’m from Neo Center at SM Entertainment. I hope it’s okay to reach out. It’s about Mark. He’s not doing great.

You sank onto your bed, adrenaline flooding every limb, heart racing so hard it actually hurt. You were used to texting Mark at ungodly hours, but you had never been contacted by his manager before.

is he… okay?what happened?

The reply was almost instant.

He’s been distracted, keeps zoning out during schedules. He seems exhausted too, but it’s different from his regular self. According to the members, he’s been missing meals as well. Management is worried, the members are worried. Honestly, we were hoping you’d have some advice, or…Is there any chance you could see him soon?

You read that twice, your pulse thudding. The fact that Mark was going through a harsh time and you were too far away to do anything was pushing hard against your heart. But going across the world? It didn’t feel real. Just last month, flying across the ocean for a boy would have sounded insane. But right now, with your own chest feeling hollow from missing him, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

You texted Mark, your fingers flying.

are you okay?i just got a weird message from someone at your company. mark, talk to me.please.

There was no answer. He was probably at practice. You called Jiwon.

She picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“I think I need to go to Korea.” Your voice cracked.

“What? Holy shit!” she breathed, “do you want me to help you look at flights?”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “Yes, please.”

For the next hour, you and Jiwon were hunched over laptops and phone screens, searching for anything—standby tickets, direct flights, last-minute deals. Every option was expensive, inconvenient, barely possible.

But still your hands shook as you clicked purchase on the first flight you could actually afford, your heart leaping and plummeting all at once. You were really doing this.

Jiwon grinned at you. “You’re insane but I’m proud of you.”

You almost laughed, except you were terrified. “I’m not sure if this is brave or just crazy.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s the same thing.”

You checked your phone again, but there was still no answer from Mark.

But it didn’t matter. You were going anyway.

i can get on a plane tomorrow.can someone meet me at the airport?

You texted his manager. The reply was instant and full of gratitude.

Thank you, y/n. We’ll take care of everything.

The alarm blared long before sunrise, and for a panicked second, you couldn’t remember why you had set it so early until your eyes landed on the half-packed suitcase perched at the foot of your bed. Right. Korea. Mark. You bolted upright.

It was ridiculous how fast adrenaline kicked in. You showered on autopilot, tossed two extra outfits into the bag (who knew what you’d be dragged to?), then yanked them back out because the zipper wouldn’t close. You ended up sitting on the lid, knees to chest, wrestling the slider across stubborn teeth.

Jiwon texted a string of blow-kiss emojis and a final “give me updates pls!” before you even left the apartment. She had pledged to babysit and water the already half-dead pothos.

You climbed into the rideshare with a jittery stomach, watching the city streets smear into a watercolor of headlights and neon until the airport lights finally swallowed you whole. The last time you traveled internationally had been with your parents on a winter holiday. Your dad had a color-coded folder for every document and even timed your bathroom breaks. Without his relentless organization this time, the check-in process quickly became a nightmare.

The kiosk spat out your passport on the first scan, the second, the third. Each time making you feel a little more helpless. Without your parents, there was no one to save you but a bleary-eyed agent, who finally waved you over, fixed the problem in twenty seconds, and sent you sprinting for security.

You fumbled every step of TSA. First, you dropped your boarding pass, forgot to remove your laptop, and nearly walked off without your shoes. Somewhere between the metal detector and the end of the conveyor belt, you realized you were actually shaking. Not from fear of flying but from the weight of seeing Mark, touching him, after so long.

At the gate, you collapsed into a plastic chair, clutching your phone. Still no reply from Mark, so to keep from spiraling, you texted his manager.

through security. boarding in 20. i should arrive at around 8 am.

He responded with a thumbs-up and a polite “safe flight, i will meet you at arrivals.”

You got a window seat, a bit cramped, but at least sunrise painted the tarmac a pretty gold. You buckled in, stashed your bag, then stared out at the wing while passengers jostled past. The guy next to you nodded politely, pulled a hoodie over his face, and went comatose. Lucky him.

As the plane taxied, your nerves peaked. You pulled up Mark’s last voice note and let it loop in your earbuds. His voice steadied you better than any deep-breathing app.

The engines roared, the cabin tilted, the city slid away beneath cloud cover. You pressed a palm to the cold window and whispered, “Mark, I’m coming.”

The first hour slipped by in a haze as you made a half-hearted attempt to read a book, but after rereading the same paragraph twice with zero retention, you gave up. Resigned, you tilted your seat back and closed your eyes, somehow managing to drift into a surprisingly comfortable sleep. But somewhere high above the Pacific, turbulence snapped you awake with a sharp jolt. You instinctively clutched the armrest, heart pounding—and then your phone buzzed.

Mark:

just finished rehearsal. sorry i didn’t reply, my phone died. are you awake?miss you like crazy tonight.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you typed back.

keep an eye out for a surprise. i’m closer than you think.

The three little dots flickered on and off, like he was typing, deleting, then typing again.

Mark: what do you mean???

When the captain finally announced descent, you were hit with a wave of relief so intense you almost laughed and cried at the same time.

Customs felt like purgatory as your rusty Korean tripped over the officer’s questions, your sweaty fingertips smudged the scanner, and jet lag scrambled any coherent thought. The queue crept forward by millimeters, long enough for you to imagine fossilizing right there behind a lady and her kid who kept sticking his tongue out at you.

By the time you retrieved your bags, your phone battery blinked red and a fresh wave of panic swelled as you pictured yourself marooned in this cavernous airport with nothing but anxiety for company.

Then a familiar-looking guy waved a sign bearing your name. Recognition clicked when you remembered him as one of the staffers from the last time you saw Mark. “Y/N? I’m Jiwon,” he said, bowing with effortless grace. You bowed back clumsily.

“This way, please. We’re so glad you made it.” Relief flooded through you as you trailed after him.

The car ride was quiet. You stared out the window, trying to rehearse what you’d say—what you’d do—when you finally saw Mark.

You arrived at the SM building, and it looked so much bigger and more imposing than in the pictures. Jiwon guided you through a warren of gray hallways where muffled music thrummed beyond a set of double doors.

“Wait here,” he whispered. “He’ll be out soon.”

Your pulse hammered everywhere at once. You smoothed your shirt, swiped under your eyes, though it didn’t help the puffiness.

Footsteps approached and then a door swung open. Mark burst through, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead, water bottle in hand. He was talking with a tech when his eyes met yours.

His mouth fell open and the bottle slipped, clattering to the floor and rolling away unnoticed. He looked at you with wide eyes and trembling breath—which was exactly how you felt, mirrored back at you.

“Y/N?” It was a croak, disbelief cracked right down the middle.

You tried to answer, but your throat folded in on itself. So you nodded, stepped forward, and watched relief crash over his features like sunlight breaking through a storm.

He crossed the space in three strides, hauling you against him. That familiar cologne and a tinge of sweat overwhelmed you; all of him suddenly real and solid after countless pixelated nights.

His voice was a hushed, broken mantra in your hair. “You’re here. You’re here. You’re really here.”

You melted into his arms and said the only thing that mattered.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“This way,” Mark murmured after a few seconds, his fingers wrapped around your wrist.

You followed him down a narrow hallway. Staff voices echoed somewhere behind you, but he didn’t slow. He pushed open a door marked STANDBY – DO NOT ENTER and pulled you in behind him, locking it with a shaky breath.

Once inside, he cupped your face with both hands like he needed to confirm you were real. His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes, fingertips pressing into your jaw softly. “You came,” he said again, hoarse. “You’re actually here.”

You nodded, hands slipping under his open jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through the soaked t-shirt. “I was told you needed an intervention.”

“You have no idea,” he admitted, laughing breathlessly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You reached up, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “So you decided to spiral instead of texting back?”

He groaned. “Don’t call me out when I’m this emotionally compromised.”

You smiled, but your chest ached. “You scared me, Mark.”

His eyes softened. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I missed you so much, and the calls weren’t enough anymore. I need you. I need—”

You kissed him before he could finish.

Months of longing folded into one desperate press of lips and hands, his mouth opening under yours instinctively. He exhaled your name into the kiss softly. Your fingers tangled in the back of his shirt, tugging him closer, while his hands slid down to your waist.

He walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the dressing table, then lifted you effortlessly onto the edge. Your legs parted, wrapping around his hips, and he stepped between them, lips never leaving yours.

“How long do we have?” you asked against his mouth.

“Not long enough,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw, down your neck. “But I don’t care. I just need you close.”

You tilted your head to give him access, fingers raking through the damp strands at his nape. His hands moved under your shirt, palms warm and steady against your ribs. “You kept me sane,” he said softly. “Every night.”

Your throat tightened. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I know.” He kissed you again, slower this time. “And I’m not letting you go now, either.”

His forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath, limbs still tangled. It was quiet here—just the sound of your heartbeats finally in the same time zone.

A knock jolted both of you.

“Mark, two minutes!”

He groaned, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I have to go.”

You nodded, smoothing his hair, your shirt, anything to make this moment last one second longer. “Go be amazing.”

He lingered by the door. “I’ll see you after?”

“Of course. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He grinned like he was seventeen again, slipped out the door, and left you breathless in a room that still smelled like his skin.

The ride through the city was quieter than you imagined. You expected to have a million things to say, stories to spill, jokes to catch up on, but nerves kept you both a little quiet at first. Mark’s hand found yours in the backseat, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your knuckles. Every now and then, your eyes met and you laughed quietly, overwhelmed by the reality of just being together again.

He pointed out little things as the car moved through Seoul—the café where he liked to write lyrics, the corner store where he got snacks after late practice, the street where he once lost his keys and had to call Haechan at two in the morning. You listened, smiling, letting his voice fill in all the gaps you’d only ever imagined during your calls.

When the car finally pulled up to a nondescript building on a leafy side street, he squeezed your hand once before letting go, glancing around out of habit to check for fans or cameras. Then he waved you through the entrance.

His apartment was nothing like the dorm. It smelled faintly of clean laundry and something familiar you couldn’t name. There were stacks of books on every surface, a guitar leaning against the couch, and a chipped mug with faded writing beside the sink. The windows let in soft city light, making the space feel open and quiet, almost suspended.

“It’s kind of messy,” Mark said, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I don’t get to stay here much. Sometimes I just come here to nap or write when things are too loud at the dorm.”

You stepped out of your shoes, smiled at him, and shook your head. “It’s perfect. It feels like you.”

He grinned and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over a chair. “You want water? Tea? Ramen? I probably have… one of those weird vitamin drinks left, too.”

You laughed softly. “I just want to sit with you for a minute, if that’s okay.”

Mark nodded and followed you into the living room. You both sank onto the couch, sitting close but not quite tangled up yet, knees bumping together.

He glanced at you sideways. “I kept thinking about what I’d say first, you know? But now that you’re here, it’s like… none of it feels big enough.”

You leaned until your shoulders touched, warmth blooming where you met. “You could quote the back of a cereal box and I’d still be happy.”

Mark’s smile curved. “Do you remember that night we talked until sunrise? I don’t think I ever told you, but that was the night I realized I was falling for you. You were going on about constellations and whatnot, and I just kept thinking that there’s no one else I’d rather listen to at three in the morning.”

For a second, you were flooded by this dizzying joy. You had waited for this, wondered about it in the quiet hours, but nothing prepared you for hearing it out loud.

You took his hand, feeling the comfort of his fingers wrapping around yours. “Can I tell you when I fell for you?” you asked, heart pounding.

Mark blinked, a little startled. “I mean, I always thought it was before we even met. You know, with the whole fan thing.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Back then I was dazzled. I admired you, but it was different. I fell for you the day I realized you remembered everything I ever told you… all the little things no one else cared about. My coffee order, the name of my childhood dog, the fact that Tuesdays freak me out because my dad always traveled on Tuesdays when I was a kid. You’d ask about each one with so much interest. That’s when it hit me that I mattered to you. All the tiny details you could have forgotten but you held on to them. That’s when I knew.”

Mark’s eyes widened, soft with wonder. “I—wow. I thought those details were just… basic boyfriend homework.”

He grew quieter, gaze dropping to his hands. “I was anxious, you know,” he admitted, voice thick with honesty. “That this wouldn’t work… that I was losing you. I kept thinking you’d wake up and realize all this was too much.”

You touched his cheek, your thumb brushing the shadow there. “I was scared too. But I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever, if you don’t want me to.”

His expression softened, a smile breaking through as he leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Please stay as long as you want. Move in, for all I care.”

You both laughed. For a few minutes, you just sat there together, talking quietly about nothing and everything—the different times he messed up the choreo, tiny disasters in the kitchen, the way you both missed each other in the strangest, smallest ways.

Eventually, Mark shifted closer, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. He pulled you in until your head was tucked under his chin and his hand was smoothing gentle circles on your back. His lips pressed soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your cheek.

“I missed you,” you whispered, letting yourself sink into the feeling.

He hummed, words warm against your skin. “Missed you too. Every single day.”

You pressed your forehead to his, feeling his breath mingle with yours, utterly certain for the first time that you were standing on equal ground. You tilted your head and found his lips. The kiss started unrushed and tender, just the two of you relearning what it meant to be close again. You moved together easily, his hands slipping up to cradle your face, your fingers twisting in his hair.

The moment stretched, deepening into something needier as you shifted, pressing closer, wanting to memorize every bit of him, not just with words but with touch. When Mark finally pulled away, breath short and eyes shining, you saw everything you’d been missing in his expression.

“Come with me,” he whispered, leading you down the hallway to his bedroom.

Mark’s bedroom was quiet aside from your breathing and the muted hum of the city beyond his window. You sat perched on the edge of his mattress, watching as he approached you slowly, his gaze heavy but gentle. When he settled beside you, his knee brushed yours softly.

His eyes held yours, questioning. “You sure you’re okay?”

You smiled a little, nerves fluttering warmly in your stomach. “Yeah. Just nervous, I guess.”

“Me too,” he whispered with a small laugh, the sound soothing your nerves instantly.

He lifted one hand carefully to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively. Your eyes slipped closed when he kissed you, slow and gentle at first. His lips parted yours gradually, and your breath escaped in a sigh that he swallowed eagerly.

You raised your hands to his hair, threading your fingers gently through the strands at the nape of his neck. Mark leaned into your touch, deepening the kiss just slightly, careful not to rush. He was savoring every second of finally having you here, close enough to touch, close enough to taste.

His hands traveled from your jawline to your shoulders, fingertips leaving a trail of warmth as they skimmed your skin. He guided you gently down onto the bed, following until his body hovered carefully above yours.

Mark pulled back for a moment to study your face. The tenderness in his gaze nearly broke your heart. He ducked his head slowly and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheekbone, then lower, just beneath your ear.

Your breath caught as his lips brushed softly against your throat. He paused to press a slow kiss to your pulse point, lingering as your heartbeat quickened beneath his mouth. His lips parted, and you felt the gentle scrape of his teeth followed by the warmth of his tongue soothing the spot. A soft moan slipped from your lips as you arched your neck further, silently begging for more.

He chuckled quietly against your skin, pleased. The sound vibrated down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Mark continued his slow path along your collarbone, kissing each inch of exposed skin he found. His hands slid up your sides beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your ribs gently, reverently.

You lifted your arms to help him remove your shirt, feeling the cool air kiss your bare skin. He tossed the fabric aside carefully before leaning back to look at you. The hunger in his eyes made your pulse race and your skin heat under his gaze.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered softly, almost like a confession.

You tugged gently at his shirt in response. He sat back just enough to pull it over his head, letting it join yours on the floor. His skin was warm as you touched him, tracing your fingers down his chest and across his stomach, memorizing the lines and planes you’d only admired through screens before tonight.

Mark dipped down again, his mouth finding the sensitive hollow between your breasts. Your breath hitched softly, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. He placed gentle kisses along the curve of your breast, deliberately avoiding where you needed him most until you arched upward with a quiet plea.

He finally gave in, lips brushing your nipple softly before taking it gently into his mouth. You gasped softly, your back curving off the mattress. Your fingers gripped his hair tighter as he drew careful circles with his tongue, driving you slowly toward blissful frustration.

He repeated this on the other side, taking his time, his touch patient and unrushed. By the time his lips started to drift downward again, you were trembling softly beneath him, needing more.

His fingers slipped carefully beneath your waistband, tugging your remaining clothes down your hips until you kicked them off completely. Mark paused, sitting back to take in the sight of you, completely bare and vulnerable beneath him. The look on his face—adoration mixed with desire—made your cheeks warm and your heart race even faster.

He lowered himself again, placing soft kisses along your stomach, lingering at your hipbones and leaving careful marks with his mouth. Your fingers threaded through his hair as you tried not to squirm impatiently beneath his touch.

“Mark, please,” you whispered, your voice quiet but needy.

He smiled softly against your skin before finally giving you what you were asking for. His mouth was gentle but insistent, lips and tongue moving carefully, building your pleasure slowly. Your hips shifted beneath him as your breath came quicker, louder, his name escaping your lips in soft gasps and whispered pleas.

He took his time, watching every reaction, listening to every sound you made. You finally shuddered softly beneath him, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as pleasure washed through you.

Mark crawled up your body again, kissing you deeply as your breathing slowly calmed. You felt his warmth pressed against you, skin to skin now, and your heart stuttered gently in your chest.

“Still okay?” he asked softly, his lips brushing your forehead.

“More than okay,” you whispered, pulling him closer. “I want you, Mark.”

He reached for a condom quickly, his movements still gentle as he settled back between your legs. Your eyes met again as he lined himself up, slowly easing forward until your breath caught again and your fingers dug into his shoulders.

He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust. Then his hips rocked into yours steadily. Each thrust was deep and careful, pulling you closer to him, his breath warm against your neck as he held you tightly.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper still. Your movements became synchronized, bodies perfectly attuned to each other as you moved toward your shared orgasm.

"So fucking good" he groaned.

Your nails scraped softly down his back, drawing a quiet moan from his throat. He kissed you again as his pace grew faster, more urgent as you both neared the edge. His fingers intertwined with your fingers as he pressed your joined hands into the mattress beside your head.

“Look at me,” he breathed shakily. You did, and the intensity in his gaze finally pushed you over the edge. Your body tightened around him as you whispered his name again, soft and desperate.

He followed moments after, breathing ragged as he clung to you, face pressed into the curve of your neck. For a while afterward neither of you moved, content to remain tangled and breathless, your heartbeats gradually syncing into something slow and peaceful.

Eventually he lifted his head just enough to kiss your lips softly. You smiled into the kiss, fingers brushing his hair away from his face.

“I really love you,” he whispered, lips barely brushing yours.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, and it felt like the simplest truth in the world.

You woke slowly, and you weren’t sure where you were for a moment, but then you felt the weight of Mark’s arm draped across your waist and his breath warm against the back of your neck.

You shifted carefully, looking over your shoulder. Mark was still asleep, his hair a mess, lips parted in the faintest snore. His face was relaxed in a way you’d never seen before. He looked younger, softer, as if the weight of the world had finally eased for a few hours.

You let yourself watch him for a little while, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the moles on his cheek, the way his fingers flexed gently against your stomach even in sleep. You turned to face him, noses almost touching, and whispered, “Hey. Wake up.”

He mumbled something incoherent, brow creasing as he tightened his hold. “Five more minutes,” he pleaded, voice thick with sleep.

You laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “C’mon, you promised me breakfast.”

That got a smile out of him. His eyes blinked open, unfocused at first, but when he saw you he grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

Mark leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. His hand slid up your back, thumb tracing lazy circles. “You’re still here.”

“Where else would I be, silly?” you murmured, letting your forehead rest against his.

You stayed like that for a while, tangled in sheets, trading gentle kisses and sleepy jokes. Eventually, the rumble of Mark’s stomach broke the spell, and you both started laughing.

“Okay, okay,” he said, untangling himself and rolling out of bed. He padded over to his closet, grabbed a t-shirt, and tossed it to you to wear. You slipped it on and it swallowed you whole.

You watched him move around the kitchen, hair still sticking up, humming quietly as he started coffee and pulled out bread and eggs. You leaned against the counter, grinning at how domestic it all felt. Mark caught your eye and winked.

“What?” he said, brandishing a spatula. “Never seen a master chef at work before?”

“Pretty sure you’re known as the worst enemy of eggs.”

“Hey, that was one time.”

You hopped up onto the counter and stole a piece of toast from his plate. He playfully tried to swat your hand away, but you were faster.

You ate on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets, plates balanced on your knees. He kept reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear or to press quick, silly kisses to your shoulder.

When the dishes were rinsed and stacked to dry, Mark stretched, muscles flexing under the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

“Wanna shower?” he asked, his voice still a little husky.

You nodded, happy to follow him down the hall. The bathroom was surprisingly wide, clean white tile, soft towels folded neatly, the scent of his shampoo lingering in the air.

Mark twisted the tap, checking the temperature. He peeled off his shirt first, glancing over his shoulder with a shy grin when he caught you staring. You tugged yours off in response, then stepped under the spray together.

Warm water drummed across your shoulders. Mark’s hands settled at your hips, guiding you under the stream until your hair slicked flat against your neck. He reached for a bottle, squeezed shampoo into his palm, and started working it gently through your hair. His fingers massaged your scalp in slow circles. You closed your eyes, the simple touch turning your knees to jelly.

“Lean back,” he murmured. You did, letting the suds rinse away. When you opened your eyes he was smiling, foam clinging to his own hair like a crooked crown. You laughed and swiped bubbles from his forehead. He tried to retaliate, streaking soap across your nose, so you flicked water at him in defense. The playfulness echoed off tile and glass, louder than it probably should, but neither of you cared.

Mark grabbed body wash next, lathering it between his palms before running his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, across your back. The touch was slow and steady, more patient than the night before. You mirrored him, sliding your soapy palms over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, head tipping back into the spray.

“Turn around,” you whispered. He did, and you trailed suds across his spine, mapping each vertebra with your fingers. You pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder blade and felt him exhale.

The water started to cool, so Mark reached around you to shut it off. Droplets clung to his lashes while he grabbed a towel for you, another for himself. He patted your hair dry, then wrapped the towel around your shoulders like a cloak before tending to his own. There was no rush. The morning belonged to both of you.

Back in the bedroom, the mid-afternoon sunlight sat warm on the sheets. You dropped onto the edge of the mattress, towel still wrapped snug around you. Mark pulled a clean sweatshirt over his head, then rummaged for one of his spare shirts and a pair of soft shorts for you. He tossed them over with a gentle, “Here, these should fit.”

Once dressed, you crawled to the middle of the bed where he was already propped against the headboard, legs stretched out. You curled into his side, damp hair spreading across his shoulder. He threaded his fingers through the strands, combing lazily while the city hummed beyond the window.

“You know,” he said after a while, “I never thought a quiet morning could feel this big.”

You shifted to look at him. “Big how?”

“Big as in… everything I wanted, but simple too.” His thumb brushed your cheek.

You smiled, letting your eyes drift shut. “Simple sounds perfect.”

Mark pressed a slow kiss to your temple. You breathed him in, warmth and clean laundry and his addictive natural scent.

His fingers were combing lazily through your damp hair when he asked, “Do you have a Seoul bucket list?”

You tilted your head up from where it rested against his chest. “Bucket list?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning a little. “Stuff you’ve always wanted to do if you ever came here.”

You thought for a moment. “I mean, I always wanted to walk around the Han river.”

“That’s it?” he said, faking offense. “What kind of tourist are you?”

You laughed. “Fine, I also wanted to visit a traditional palace. And maybe try street food from a cart like in the dramas. Oh, and take one of those cheesy photo booth strips. Happy?”

“That’s better,” he said warmly. “Get dressed. I’ll be your tour guide for the day.”

He took you everywhere.

The first stop was the Han river, just before the sun dipped too low. He rented two bikes, insisting on racing you down the path even though his legs were still sore from rehearsal. At one point, he lost control, swerved into the grass, and tumbled off earning a chorus of startled gasps from a family nearby. After making sure he was okay, you laughed until your sides hurt and promised to never let him live it down.

Next, you stopped at a food cart and got odeng, tteokbokki, and a hotteok that was almost too sweet. Mark bought way too much and insisted you both finish it, grinning through powdered sugar and spice.

He took you to Changdeokgung Palace, where you borrowed hanboks and wandered the quiet paths, giggling when Mark kept bowing to strangers like a royal guard. The afternoon was warm but breezy, the light gentle and soft on your faces. Everything felt impossibly light.

Later, he dragged you into a photo booth in Hongdae. You took one serious shot—both of you trying to look hot—and then the rest were silly. Tongues out, bunny ears, noses squished together, a kiss that took you both by surprise because it felt so natural in that moment.

“I’m keeping all of these,” he said afterward, shoving the prints into his wallet.

You nudged his side. “I better be in there for life.”

He looked at you, something soft passing through his eyes. “Deal.”

As the sun dipped lower, Mark brought you back to the Han river because he insisted the view was better at sunset. He was right. Everything was tinted gold, the water shimmering and cool. He bought two convenience store beers, and you sat on the grass sipping and watching the light change.

“I used to come here when things got too loud at the dorm,” he admitted, watching the horizon. “When we debuted, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Does it still feel like that sometimes?”

He nodded. “But less, now that you’re here.”

You stayed there long after the sun had set, city lights flickering on around you, breeze tugging at your clothes, his fingers laced tightly with yours.

This wasn’t the Seoul you had imagined. It was better, because he was showing it to you, because you were seeing it together.

Later that night, Mark led you up a narrow stairwell, fingers still laced with yours. You could see how the city stretched out in all directions from there. Seoul glittering below and the Han river in the distance tracing a silver ribbon through the darkness.

He looked at you, a little shy even now, and tugged a tiny Bluetooth speaker from his jacket pocket. “Wait here.”

You watched as he set the speaker on the concrete, fiddled with his phone, and then a familiar melody floated up, soft at first, then swelling. His song. Not the demo you’d heard the other night, but the finished version. His voice was clearer, more confident, full of everything he’d been holding back.

Mark stepped closer, pulled a slightly crumpled Polaroid from his wallet and pressed it into your palm. It was your favorite from the photo booth, both of you making ridiculous faces, happiness written all over your features. Scrawled on the back in his messy handwriting We’ll keep adding frames.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gaze serious and gentle all at once. “I wanted you to hear it first. And I want you here for every song, every stupid photo, all of it. Okay?”

You nodded, tears threatening even though you were smiling. “Okay.”

He took your hand and slow-danced you in a tight circle under moonlight, the music washing over you both. You could barely hear the city anymore, just his voice in your ear, singing a promise he’d already made you a hundred different ways.

When the song faded, Mark leaned his forehead to yours. “I don’t want to lose you. And now, I never will.”

#nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct dream fic #mark x reader #mark lee fanfic #mark lee x reader #mark lee x y/n #nct mark smut #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #mark lee fluff

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harmoonix · 5 months ago

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Forever

- Astrology observations -

Channeling Song:

People with their Moons in the 1st, 7th or 10th house. With moon in these houses you can easily fake your emotions and people might have a hard time to understand how you feel. Your emotional nature becomes more public rather than private, you might hate crying in front of others.

Sun aspecting the Moon can create identity or personality issues, you might have a hard time understanding things about yourself, you are very indecisive, and you have it hard opening to others

Saturn in the 4th, 6th, 8th, or 12th house natives tend to be private. You won´t know many things about them. These people do not like to share that many things, neither often being secretive or mysterious to the people around them

Lilith harshly aspecting the Moon (square, opposition, conjunction) can create lots of hate and underwhelming feelings. These aspects often create tense situations with other women/girls

Lilith in the 10th house can be a placement indicating exposing/shaming publicly. You can be exposed by others and, at the same time, to expose them in front of others

Mercury - Pluto/Mars aspects have a big mouth. They do not let anyone dissrespect them or the people they love. They might get aggressive when defending others or standing up for themselves

Mars aspecting MC tends to get in controversial situations in their life, take care of who you have around you, take care of who you talk/share things to, because it can end with drama

Virgo in the 8th or 12th house tends to have a lot of fears, especially if Mars is involved too. They can have lots of phobias, nightmares, ptsd, ocd and many more

Venus or Mars in the 8th house can get involved in "friends with benefits," and one night stands sometimes, making the native to crave satisfaction from other people even though it is wrong

Pluto/Lilith/Saturn in the 5th house had to grow up too soon. They might have lots of intense feelings when it comes to their childhood and having a hurt inner child.

Capricorn or Saturn in the 7th house, your parnters can cross your boundaries very often, standing your ground might help but is important to date mature people from now on

If you have Pisces or Neptune in the 7th house, your exes might come often back to you. You can have that "missing the partner" feeling once they break up with you...they will come back

10, 22, 8, 20 degrees on sun can indicate the native tends to appear intimidating to others, they can have a cold personality and may seem harsh at first

7, 19, 2, 14, 26 degrees on moon can indicate the native often gets inspired from things that hold a meaning/are dear for them. These natives are good at making a good first impression

Jupiter square/opposite Mercury can have a hard time being positive. Their mind plays a big role in this one. Your brain controls everything, Jupiter helps by trying to make the native less depressed

Saturn in Gemini/Virgo/3rd/6th or at 6° 18°, 3° 15° 27° degrees, even though Saturn here has the communication skills of mercury, the native tenda to be shy/anxious at their workplace

Sun aspecting Saturn natives have high self-control. Usually, if it comes together with an earth sign or degrees

'She can beat me, but she cannot beat my outfit' - an Aries Rising.

Leo/Sun/Libra/Venus/Mars/Aries in the 7th house secretly want their partners to tell them. 'You're my favorite'

(IM CRYING FOR ARIES MARS PPL LMAOO MY FRIEND SEND ME THIS:😭😭😭

The topic is about Mars signs in bed*

Virgo Mars natives are not safe neither😭🙏🏼)

On topic, these mars signs can have it good and struggle sexually at the same time .

Mars or Saturn harshly aspecting the Ascendant or Sun can make the natives body not so strong./sensible body or bones. Sometimes, even struggling with an ED (eating disorder). If you think you have, you should definitely contact a doctor on it

Mercury in the 5th, 7th, 8th houses can be so good at flirting/talking dirty/charming others with their words

I feel natives with Saturn or Uranus in their 2nd/10th house struggle with finding their worth. You struggle to see your true potential

Mercury aspecting Moon natives genuinely have a beautiful mind/mindset. You can fall in love with they way their think/perpective/logic. But you can also learn a lot from these people

Chrion in the 6th/12th house axis can make the native to not feel 'real' sometimes. You can question life so often and wonder if 'is it worth it'

Chiron in the 1st/8th house can overthink hardly when they're hurt/in pain. Sometimes blaming all on themselves

If you have a strong connection with someone's 5th house, you can easily end up dating them/liking each other after a while

Have a good start of the week everybody!🩵🩵

Harmoonix 🩵

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cmtwimagines · 7 months ago

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Drifting Apart

AARON HOTCHNER X READER

SUMMARY: You knew Aaron's job took a lot of his time, but you never imagined you would feel so left out of his life.

WARNINGS: insecurities (reader), slight mention of disordered eating/body dysmorphia, oblivious/neglectful hotch

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

The excitement you felt was palpable through the entire apartment. You spent the whole day cleaning, cooking, just overall preparing for Aaron to get home.

While he never went into too much detail about his cases and his job in general, his tone through texts and calls fills you in a bit on how he’s doing, and you know that the case him and the team have been working on was definitely not an easy one. He’s been more blunt and seemingly less interested in keeping the conversation going which you were trying not to take offense by, but hopefully when he comes home to the relaxing atmosphere of your shared apartment he will be back to his normal, loving self.

Just as you were plating both of your dinners you heard the sound of the front door unlocking. The ball in your stomach went crazy, your excitement sky rocketing knowing you are about to finally see Aaron after almost two weeks of him being away.

Moving out of the kitchen and towards the front door you were met with the sight of him slipping his shoes off and setting his briefcase down on the entryway table.

“Hi honey,” you greeted him softly, slowly grabbing his attention from the deep thought he was in. He turned his vision towards you and a small smile graced his face.

“Hi baby,” he replied. He walked towards you and gathered you in a hug, kissing the top of your head as you tucked yourself into his chest. Just the smell of him was sending your body into overdrive. God you missed him.

“I missed you,” you mumbled into his chest before pulling your head back to look up at him. His expression showcased that his brain was clearly somewhere else, not even bothering to look down at you, “dinner is ready, I cooked your favorite!”

That got his attention, but only for him to let out a deep sigh and step away from you. Your heart ached a bit at the motion, but you tried to remind yourself that his nerves are most likely shot and he’s tired.

“I’m not really hungry, I had a late lunch. I have more work I need to do so I’ll be in my office,” he shared, giving your hand a slight squeeze before walking off towards his office.

You really couldn’t help the frown from covering your face. He’s usually so excited to come home and spend time with you, but this time felt different. This time felt like he was almost annoyed that he was having to deal with yet another person (you). You willed yourself not to overthink it and got to covering his plate with tin foil and setting it in the fridge. What’s one more night of eating dinner by yourself, right?

Well, one night turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into an entire week of Aaron shutting down your dinners and overall spending no time with you. It’s like he’s home, but not really. With the way you were feeling, he may as well have still been on a case states away.

You tried to greet him every night when he entered the house, but it was always just a small hug and if you were lucky, a forehead kiss. He hasn’t even given you a full kiss since he’s been home. Most nights you’re asleep in bed hours before he joins you, and he’s up and gone before you’ve awaken.

You couldn’t help but ruminate in your mind that you must be doing something wrong. Maybe you were acting too clingy? Or maybe he came to his senses and realized he could do a lot better than you? Your insecurities ran wild and your days were growing treacherous, even your boss has began to ask you if you were doing alright.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror taking in the sight of yourself. It took a good year and a half of being with Aaron for him to convince you that you were beautiful and that he’s never been so attracted to someone in his life, but now you weren’t so sure. Maybe if you made some changes he would start noticing you again. Maybe he was growing bored of the relationship or is coming to the realization that he doesn’t need you, and as much as you tried to tell yourself that’s not the kind of guy Aaron is and that it’s most likely his job that’s just stressing him out, your own brain couldn’t fathom that it’s anything but an issue with you.

You stood back and looked over your whole body. You’ve definitely gained what they claim as “happy relationship weight” and you couldn’t help but curse at yourself over that. Maybe he just wasn’t attracted to you anymore and his way of skirting around that is to just claim he has work to do so he can hole up in his office and not have you make advances towards him? Maybe since you stopped putting so much effort into your appearance he just doesn’t feel the same way he did in the beginning of the relationship?

You decided then and there that you would make some changes.

More weeks passed, and Aaron continued to go on multiple more work trips leaving you at home to work on yourself. You were successfully losing weight (logically you knew you weren’t doing it in the smartest of ways but no one was there to notice or stop you). You had your hair lightened, your teeth whitened, and you even went and thrifted a whole new wardrobe.

You rationally knew that you didn’t have to do all of this, that you shouldn’t have to do all of this to keep a relationship going, but your love for Aaron overtook any reasonable thought from your brain.

“Y/N? Where are you?” You heard Aaron call throughout the apartment. Your eyes widened at the sound of his voice. You hurried to hide the scale you were just stepping on and threw your clothes back on right as there was a knock on the bathroom door.

“I’ll be right out Aaron!” You hastily responded, wiping any remaining tears from your eyes and fanning your face, begging your body to cooperate with you.

You took a deep breath as you opened the door and immediately spotted him sitting on the edge of the bed looking right towards you as you stood in the bathroom doorway. His eyes widened a bit as a breath was stolen from him. This made you want to curl in on yourself more than you already were.

“I didn’t expect you home so soon,” you mumbled, stuck in your spot not knowing if you could approach him or not. This was all so weird, things had changed and you couldn’t figure out why. You didn’t know why he grew distant or why it all the sudden seemed like he could live without you. You two were doing really well, you even thought a proposal was in the near future.

“You changed your hair,” he stated. Not a compliment, but definitely not said with any malice.

“Yeah, I thought some change might be good,” you responded, still not being able to meet his eye contact. A soft sigh escaped his mouth as he stood up from the bed and walked towards you. You stiffened up a bit, not knowing what to expect out of this conversation. Was he going to break up with you? Was he going to fix things? Your mind was going crazy. You felt like you were going crazy.

His hand reached up to twirl some of your hair, inspecting it a bit more.

“You look beautiful no matter what color your hair is,” he whispered. This is the most attention he’s given you in weeks and it broke your heart a bit that maybe your suspicions were correct. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to you as you were and now this new look was bringing him back into the relationship.

You finally brought yourself to make eye contact with him, just for your eyes to begin filling with tears. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, in fear that it would chase him away even more, but there was nothing you could do in this moment. He was only a step away with his attention directly on you, and a frown was covering his own face.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, bringing your hands up to your face to cover the tears that began to fall. The negative feelings you’ve felt over the past weeks surfacing just because of the slightest attention from him.

Deep down you felt angry. Angry that he was able to go day by day without your love and affection while all you wanted was his attention and love right back. Angry that he’s coming out of the woodworks now and suddenly ready to give you his attention. But you mainly felt insecure and sad. Insecure about yourself and that you clearly weren’t living up to what he needed. Sad that all you could think about was him and getting his attention just to never receive it.

“Why are you sorry?” He asks, lightly setting his hands on yours to pull them away from your face. You held your hands tighter against yourself, not quite wanting to face him yet. He retracted his hands but stayed where he was standing, not giving you anymore space, “Are you okay, honey? What’s going on?”

His question was enough for you to pull your hands away from yourself and give him a bewildered look. Does he not realize what he’s done over the past month or so? Does he not feel the separation between the two of you? Did he even miss you like you missed him over this time?

“What do you mean what’s going on?” You asked exasperated, “this is the first time you’ve truly talked to me in like a month, Aaron. I expected to come out of this bathroom and have you break up with me!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air just to land back at your sides.

“Break up with you?” He quietly repeats, taking a few steps back from you. His brows were furrowed, and he seemed to finally take in your state. You had lost a good amount of weight, the bones in your face a bit more prominent and deep bags formed under your eyes. You were wearing an outfit he had never seen you in, and it overall felt like you were cosplaying someone else.

“Was it something I did? Or the way I look? I promise I can change, just please don’t break up with me. I don’t want to experience this life without you,” you sobbed. You were beginning to panic, letting your insecurities out in fear that this will be one of your last moments with him.

His shocked face turned to a frown as he quickly approached you, pulling you into his chest and tucking your head under his chin.

“Y/N, I need you to believe me when I say I will never break up with you. You are it for me,” he speaks, rubbing your back to try and quell your sobs, “you did nothing wrong, there is nothing wrong with the way you look. you absolutely do not need to change anything about yourself. Is that why you changed your hair? And lost some weight? I am so sorry sweetheart,” he continues. He puts his hands on your arms and peels you apart so he can look you in your eyes, “I am so sorry, Y/N. I am sorry I made you feel this way. Work has just been crazy and I’ve been seemingly ignoring the one thing that matters most to me,” he admits. Your tears begin to slow but the shake throughout your body stayed put.

“You barely talked to me. You wouldn’t eat dinner with me, we haven’t spent time together in over a month. We sleep in the same bed but it feels like we’re worlds apart. Did you even miss me?” You replied, your heart breaking at your own words. He let out a deep sigh and began walking you back to the bed, gently sitting you down on it as he dropped to his knees so he was looking up at you while holding your hands.

“Believe me when I say I think about you all the time. I have missed you, and I have noticed the distance, I just didn’t know how to fix it with what was going on in my work life, but that’s not a good excuse,"

"You're right, Aaron, that's not a good excuse," you interrupted. You couldn't help but let your anger seep through a bit. He had noticed it all but didn't feel the need to change anything?

"I love you so much," you continued, "I love you so much that I've stuck through this, but I somehow blamed it on myself and thought there was something wrong with me. I thought I had done something wrong or you realized you weren't attracted to me, and it's not fair for you to just show back up and apologize like this past month hasn't hurt me to no ends."

He was still looking up at you from his kneeling position on the ground in front of you, his brows furrowed as he thought of a response.

"I should've communicated with you more, I know that," he started, placing his hands on each of your knees and gently rubbing, "I shouldn't have let work distract me so much from you, my sweet girl. I hate that I made you doubt yourself. Please let me make it up to you. You deserve so much better than how I've been treating you."

You couldn't help the tears filling your eyes once more. You hadn't thought about your reconciliation with Aaron throughout all of this. You hadn't thought about how you wanted him to apologize or what it would take for you to feel better about this all. All you know is you are grateful that he's back, and safe, and seemingly still in love with you.

"You still love me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course I do, honey. You are the love of my life. I couldn't even imagine not being in love with you."

He brought up a hand to wipe underneath your eyes before pulling you into a hug, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. You felt your body relax and took in a deep breath, letting the scent of him level your mind out.

"How about we start small?" he asks, bringing your attention back to the conversation and not just the physical comfort he was bringing you, "How about I order dinner in, you pick out a movie and we can get comfy on the couch and have an at home date night?"

"Yeah?" you ask, "you don't have any work to do?" you couldn't help question from falling from your mouth. You didn't want to hurt him or throw things back in his face, but you were still just a bit upset.

"No, baby. I have no work to do, and I have requested the entire weekend off so I can spend more time with you. I'm sorry for everything, sweetheart. I promise it'll never happen again."

He stood up from his kneeling position and grabbed your hands, pulling you up so you were standing face to face.

"I love you, and i'm so grateful for you. Thank you for sticking with me even when i'm hard to be with. Now please let me be here for you."

You couldn't help the small smile from forming on your face before falling into his embrace. He was quick to wrap his arms around you and kiss the top of your head. A deep sigh escaped your mouth, finally feeling the comfort you've been craving. Slowly turning your head up, you caught his attention before leaning in and kissing him. His hand gently carressed your cheek, pulling you deeper into the kiss. As you separated small smiles covered both of your faces, and your breaths mingled as you rested your foreheads together.

"I will never take advantage of your love for me ever again. I am sorry for abandoning you and making you feel like I wasn't in love with you anymore. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

You nodded at his words, not having much to say other than acknowledging his apology.

"Now come on, let's decide what you're in the mood for dinner wise. I brought some nice wine home, and we can chat until the food gets here. I want to hear about every little thing that I have missed."

You knew this was a good start. You knew this conversation wasn't fully over and that you would have time to organize your thoughts and say what you really needed to say about the situation, but you didn't need to let them all out now. For now you were going to be thankful that he is back and you get a full weekend with him. For now you were going to bask in the fact that you have your Aaron back, and you two are back on the same page.

A/N - My writing is a little rusty from not writing for years, pls bare with me hahahaha i couldn't get the ending right on this but i was sick of it sitting in my drafts so i'm posting anways

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fluff

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theoldsports · 1 year ago

Text

SOLUTION.

Art Donaldson x Reader | 5k words

SORRY SERIES LINK.

warnings: pregnancy, implied discussion of abortion, a boy groveling on his knees for his family, there’s a dog (a real one, not just Art), talk about Art’s forced weird athletic borderline disordered eating.

okay, i lied last time. THIS is my best work. this is very out of my brain and i hope you love it. holy shit.

Have you ever sat and listened to a leaky faucet? I mean, really listened?

Steady. Like a heartbeat, if you think about it.

Sometimes, though, if the leak is slow enough, it’s more like the kind of heart rate that sends the nurse with the crash-cart sweeping into the room to shock you out of an AFIB pattern. Or however that worked.

[Y/N] was listening to it. The dripping. The kitchen sink. It hadn’t stopped for days. When it began, it was steady. Now, it was irregular. It started the day Art left

Art had been away at an early season tournament. [Y/N] had an impossible work week, so Art had told her he was happy to go for the better part of the week on his own. They both knew Art really did hate to be alone in situations like that. He had always had one of his people there. His mom, Patrick, [Y/N]; one of them was in his corner at these things. This time, he was truly on his own. Art could not stand to travel alone. He had his team of physios and coaches, but not his family. [Y/N] was going to swing by and surprise him at the end, but her boss had leaned into her for trying to take more days off during release season for the big summer blockbusters. Plus, someone did have to watch the dog.

This context about Art’s being away is important. It’s not that Art was the epitome of a handyman, but he really liked to feel like he was contributing to their home’s ecosystem when a lightbulb went out or a switch needed replacing. The man was incredible with the small things. Yet, [Y/N] sat at the kitchen table with a frown on her face, trying to rough in an outline for an article. With the faucet dripping. If Art were there, or if she was with Art three states over, the faucet wouldn’t be dripping against the porcelain basin.

It wasn’t like the wifi signal was strong enough anywhere else on the property for her to up and move either.

drip drip drip. Said the faucet.

[Y/N] was damn near the point where she was going to run upstairs to the bedroom and get the baseball bat Art kept with the express purpose of running down the stairs in his briefs and cracking up on possible intruders. All she could think about was bringing the wood down against the glass and cheap metal on her kitchen counter.

A new house would have a working sink and a bathroom counter that wasn’t too small and a halfway decent wifi signal.

Instead, [Y/N] set her face down upon the cool blue faux granite countertop. The temperature helped ease the feeling of the hyperbolic corkscrew being driven between her eyes. The dripping kept dripping and [Y/N] wanted to cry.

This agony wasn’t all the sink’s fault, though.

[Y/N] saw on the tennis channel before she even got a call from Art that he’d won that weekend. He still hadn’t called. The lack of a call from made her feel ashamed. Not a soul there to celebrate the success with him. She felt an immense sense of guilt slide across her skin because she wasn’t there to witness that smile he got when he won. Sweaty and angry, but relieved every time. He still got that look when he won. Art was a machine on the court, and a competitor not worth counting out at this point in his career. He still looked surprised and delighted every time he, of all people, hit the winner. [Y/N] loved that look. Art loved how she would celebrate with him after a win, too.

[Y/N] prayed Art made his flight without delay that evening. Selfishly, because she wanted her boy back. Also because Art was mortally terrified of airplanes. Planes made him feel out of control due to lack of trust with the pilot. Without that phone call from him, [Y/N] was scared knowing he was out on his own and that he likely felt anxious enough to give a horse a heart attack. She would have no way of knowing if something had happened between the match end and now.

She did know that the sink was leaking.

She also knew her period was two weeks late.

That, Art couldn’t fix on his own. In fact, it was fairly obvious that the delay was more or less Art’s fault.

[Y/N] hadn’t yet taken a pregnancy test at that time. If she took the time to take one, it would make everything the obvious answer a reality she would have to deal with. She had scares before. Ones that she had never, and would never, tell Art about. She would wait for her delayed—not missed!—period and everything would be fine. Like the other times. It had to be fine.

She checked her phone. It was a blue slidephone with small rhinestone stickers she had applied to the back. Still nothing from Art. He said he would call first right after the match, but he still hadn’t actually called, so maybe it was time to call first. It had been hours since he said he’d ring up. It wasn’t a major concern that Art would blow her off. Ideas of danger and uncertainties flooded her head.

“I’m the one that wants marriage so bad. Not Artie. What if he says no? Or not now…?”

[Y/N] sat on the beach with her back against Patrick’s shins. Art and [Y/N] were completing their first year completely post college. [Y/N] and Patrick were twenty-four and Art was almost twenty-four. His November birthday set him behind.

Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders and his body in a beach chair behind her while they both stared off over ocean as the sun set. “You’re actually stupid if you think he’ll deny you, [Y/N].”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to step on his game, or whatever. The guy is supposed to ask. Isn’t this going to be… emasculating or something?”

“Emasculating for Art? For pretty baby? Yeah, okay,” Patrick teased. [Y/N] threw a fistful of sand at him. “Christ, okay, okay. Cool it.” He spit.

Art had run back up toward to hotel to grab his water bottle, while Patrick and [Y/N] stayed at the dunes. [Y/N] wanted to propose to Art by trip’s end. She thought it would be sweet. Art was extremely forward when it came to her her, but he hadn’t been forward about the whole proposal business. He seemed scared about marriage. [Y/N]he would do it herself.

She was grateful for the time alone with her best friend too. Sitting and doing nothing, or partying. Either was more than welcome. “He’s not going to say no,” Patrick continued. His mouth casually leaned close to her ear. “Because it’s insane how whipped you’ve got him.”

“Don’t say that—“

“He wants to have your babies. Ask him. Trust me, he’ll say yes and he will be all the hell over you.” His fingers worked into [Y/N]’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. He took his hands off of her when Art came running down the beach.

[Y/N] heard a click in the lock. Her head flopped to the left, still pressed against the counter, to glance at the door. Her heart rate increased. She was so tired and the speed of the situation so fast, that she didn’t both moving or attempting to defend herself.

Most fortunately, when the door swung open, it was her Art. The sun was going down behind him. He looked a bit ragged and had a racket bag over one shoulder and two duffels in the other hand. She sat upright sharply on the kitchen barstool. “Pretty baby!”

All Art’s gear hit the floor. The door was left open behind him (taking a big chance that their Labrador mix, Cheese, didn’t run down the stairs and bolt out and away). Art walked toward [Y/N], arms extending. His strong arms pulled [Y/N] in close to his chest. She rested her head against his soft gray t-shirt. Her own arms embraced him back and one of her hands tucked comfortably into the back pocket of his jeans. “[Y/N]… I missed you.” Art said into her hair.

“I missed you… I-I… You didn’t call. How did you get here—“

“Final match actually started on time, so I gambled on moving my flight to the earlier one. I didn’t have time to call if I was taking the early one. I should’ve texted. I got nervous with the-the flight. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

[Y/N] leaned back to look at him. There was no more welcome sight in the world than Art Donaldson. Irish genetics saw to it that Art was freckled from the spring sun. With shaggy hair boyishly covered by a baseball cap tipping back dangerously, he practically glowed. Even though he looked like shit. His sunglasses were hanging on his shirt. [Y/N/] tilted her head up, signaling for a kiss. Hungrily, Art leaned forward to take as many kisses as he wanted. His lips tasted like spearmint gum. Like always.

Cheese did run downstairs when Art’s hand climbed up the side of [Y/N]’s throat and when her own hand started to squeeze from under the fabric of Art’s back left pants pocket. Art had to pull regretfully away to grab Cheese by the collar and shut the front door.

Delightedly, Art did gteet Cheese with ear-scratches and a belly rub. Art received the customary licks and a tailwags in return. Cheese was always pretty down when the whole family wasn’t together. He walked and played a bit, but when his dad wasn’t around, Cheese kind of deflated. He had spent most of the time laying flat on Art’s side of the bed. It was obvious the dog was grieving the disappearance of his boy.

When Art bent down to pat his beloved Cheese, [Y/N] stood from her chair and bent at the waist. She pulled Art’s hat off and set it on the counter. Gently, she kissed Art on top of the head. With a scratch not unlike the ones he gave to the canine to the back of Art’s neck, the man looked up at her from the ground with a half-smile.

“Congrats, baby,” [Y/N] said. Art cut his eyes curiously from her to the tennis channel on the TV playing in the next room. That had him realizing where she would have gotten the information of his win from so efficiently. “How was the tournament? I’m sorry I couldn’t—“

“Sure, sure, but I bet Cheese here is pretty glad you were home,” Art said and stood up with one final pat to Cheese’s flank. “The whole thing was great. I… I’m kind of surprised I won, if I’m being honest.” Art said, wrapping an arm around [Y/N]’s waist.

Naturally, her hands flattened against his toned chest when he tugged her towards him. “I’m not. You’re fucking good at tennis, Art.”

His ears reddened in embarrassment as he tucked his face into [Y/N]’s neck to hide his face. Art was used to praise and loved it more than anything, no matter where it came from. Every compliment from [Y/N] was worth a hell of a lot more. Art hated thinking about why that was the case. He knew why, though. She had seen he and Patrick play and even then thought Art was good. Art still won the match when it came to [Y/N] and he would never tell her that.

“Hush…” He mumbled into her neck, planting a biting, teasing kiss there. She laughed. He laughed. “I played against an eighteen year old kid yesterday. He played really well,” Art leaned back to look at her again. “You saw, I’m sure,” he indicated the TV with a nod. “He would’ve won this weekend if I hadn’t won that match. Just… I’m twenty-six. Made me feel old.”

“…Glad you won, then.”

“I said if I hadn’t…”

“Well, if you’re sooooo down on your win then congrats on flying home all by yourself like a big boy.” [Y/N] smirked.

“Oh, you’re gonna be like that, huh?” Art withdrew his hands from his wife’s body and put them teasingly on his own hips.

[Y/N] nodded. “Yeah. If you’re old, imagine how I feel.”

“Ancient, probably.”

Art leaned in for another kiss. She pushed him back playfully. “No! You called me old!” [Y/N] laughed.

She leaned one way, then the other to avoid Art’s beautifully wrinkled nose and smiling mouth. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re-you’re not old!” Art said and attempted to trap her with his arms and give her a kiss.

[Y/N] turned hard over her shoulder and ran up the stairs. Cheese gave a woof from the couch when Art chased after her. Art spent his life chasing after her.

“No! You can’t kiss me! Doghouse! Bad Art! Bad!” [Y/N] accused jokingly. Art jumped up the stairs. He took them two and three at a time.

Art backed her against the bathroom door. Nowhere left to run. His rough hands settled on her hips. “Gotcha. You’re pretty fast for an old lady, y’know. Late for bingo, or—“ Art smirked when he leaned in to kiss her.

[Y/N] shut him up with a kiss. She had missed his stupid boy babbling. His mouth was soft against hers. Art put one of his hands on the wooden door beside her face to hold himself up. The other hand found her belt loop, keeping her body close to his.

“I love you,” Art whispered between kisses. “I love you so much, honey. I missed you.”

[Y/N]’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. Her breath caught in her throat. “I love you t—mmh!” Art leaned in for another kiss.

The joy of being Art Donaldson’s wife was that he never got tired of touching her, or being physically close. Sometimes, [Y/N] would look over at him while she was writing, or making dinner, and he would be staring, or slowly extending his hand to her and seeing how long it took for [Y/N] to acknowledge his presence. It never ceased to make her feel beautiful. “Can we…” his fingers danced over the button on her jeans.

“Can we what…?” She asked coyly.

Art blushed, but smirked and lowered his lips by [Y/N] ear. “Can we fuck? Please?” He asked too politely for as dirty as those words were. Like the good midwestern boy that he was.

She tipped her head back further. Art kissed her neck with all the energy he could muster. “Can I not make you dinner first? You-you a cheap whore as well as old now, too?” [Y/N] jeered. Art snorted a laugh. The warm air from the giggle spread over [Y/N]’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise. “I’m never letting you leave home alone again, then.”

Art nodded against her skin, sucking and licking a spot they both new would bruise dark. The sound she let out was absolutely disgusting and Art loved it. “I would prefer to never be let out of your sight, personally.” He said when he pulled away.

“Come on, house boy… We’re havin’ dinner. And you’re gonna eat some bread,” [Y/N] said, pointing a finger at Art’s chest. He started to put up a fight about the ultra-low nonexistent amount of inactive carbs he was eating during the season, but [Y/N] kept chattering. “Stop talking. Your brain doesn’t work right without carbs. Braindead. Come on, dinner.”

“You’re bad for me.”

“I know.” [Y/N] smiled.

Normally, [Y/N] drank a cup of coffee when the pair made dinner. Art knew the pattern. He made her the cup of coffee every time. It sat mostly unfinished that night, though. She found herself heating and reheating it in the microwave as they cooked. She started to space out as he recapped the tournament in full detail, as she requested. If Art noticed, he didn’t let on. [Y/N] noticed, though. Little stood between her and coffee. She didn’t want to drink it. That was violently unusual.

“Hey, I’m gonna go piss. Can you—“

“Watch the sauce?” Art asked, indicating the creamy pesto she had on the stove while Art cleaned and cut vegetables.

“Mhm.” [Y/N] confirmed. Art slid over to take the spoon from her. He placed a hand at the bottom of her back as she walked away. Art fit perfectly into her life. It wasn’t fair how right he was for her.

She went to the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one. She hoped that didn’t set off Art’s sixth sense about the way-things-had-to-be. Once upstairs, [Y/N] wasted no time yanking open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. It was overflowing, naturally. Makeup, supplements, condoms, hair ties, pill bottles, loose painkillers. It was a disaster. There was also a pregnancy test.

A laughing Art had given it to [Y/N] as a joke the morning after their wedding night and she had hit him hard enough to bruise across the chest. The test sat wrapped and in the box behind the mirror every day since. Just in case.

[Y/N] had officially arrived at just in case.

She gingerly tossed the empty box under the sink so Art wouldn’t see it without looking for it. Then, [Y/N] undid the buttons on her overalls and, well, took the test.

Lacking the time to sit and watch it come back positive or negative, [Y/N] tossed the clean cap on the stick, slid it into the pocket of her overalls, washed her hands and went downstairs like nothing was wrong.

Except she knew something was wrong. Now she felt like she had a loaded gun in her pocket. She was too cautious with her movements due to the fear that the test would slip out of her front right pocket in front of Art.

She was damn near about to step into the pantry and shut the door just to see if the pee stick had one line or two. If he wasn’t already suspicious, that would do it. [Y/N] felt that the anxiety created was easily the worst anxiety she had ever had. Oops.

[Y/N] got quiet. She was talking less and listening more. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she was a chatterbox. Art would notice her blanched face and wrinkled brow eventually, she worried.

Ever the perceptive bastard, Art did. When he sat beside [Y/N] at the counter to eat a bowl of pasta with more inactive carbs than he had eaten in six months, he kept cutting his eyes at her. His bare foot nudged her ankle. Her dish was relatively untouched. “You good, babe? You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are being weird because you’re not being you. I’ve barely asked you how you’re doing with all the excitement. Long day?” Art asked, setting down his fork to drag his hand across the back of her shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit.” [Y/N] said. What she meant to say was I have a pregnancy test and I bet it is positive in my pocket right now and I’m so terrified that I can practically smell my pit stains right now, baby. But she didn’t say that.

Art spun to face her, taking in her expression and demeanor. There was that contemplative knot perched between his eyebrows. The back of his hand landed calmly on [Y/N]’s forehead to check her temperature. “Art…” [Y/N] said, pushing his hand down.

“No, hang on.” Art said firmly. He tried to put his hand back on her face. Instead, not having a clue what it said, [Y/N] reached into her front right pocket and slammed the pregnancy test down between them. Art retracted his hand and flinched back a bit at the sudden movement. The test was face down on the counter.

Art’s eyes cut from the test back to her. His face was suddenly very solemn. “Are you—“

“—I dunno. I didn’t-I couldn’t look. It’s been in my pocket for twenty minutes. No idea.”

“Do you think you are?”

[Y/N] shrugged and looked at her bowl. It looked too green. sick sick sick. drip drip drip said the faucet.

“Do you want to know if you are?” Art asked wide-eyed. “I want to know, personally. Do… Do you?”

Again, [Y/N] shrugged. “If we don’t look, it’s not real.”

“…That’s stupid.” Art shook his head.

“You’re stupid.”

Art sighed. “I’m gonna look. I mean, I’m going to turn it over,” his eyes frantically reached for [Y/N]’s. He grabbed her hand with his to get her attention. “I’m going to look. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” She whispered and it was okay.

And she was pregnant.

Two blue lines stared at them.

“Fuck.” [Y/N] said. She felt both elated and humiliated. She wanted so badly to be a mother. She wanted to cry. How could they keep it? The timing was wrong. She hadn’t agreed to this. The two of them had so many fights about it. She barely understood how this happened. She thought they were being so careful. It didn’t make any sense. Every precaution she could think of had been taken at one point or another.

And the fucking faucet was still dripping. She could hear it. drip drip drip. Over and over.

“Fuck.” She said sliding out of her chair and standing unsteadily. That wasn’t the result one should feel when they get something they have spent so long wanting.

Art ran his hands through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling when she looked so worried. His face betrayed the wide smile he hoped to hide. That’s exactly what he wanted to see. Fuck.

“Honey… Hey, hey. You’re okay. This is awesome. C’mere.” Art said like he was diffusing a bomb. His arm were wide open to hold her.

“Art…”

“No, uh-uh. Just come here. Please.”

Cautiously, [Y/N] made her way into her favorite pair of arms in the world. “It’s not supposed to be like this.” [Y/N] choked out as Art held her.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Art said calmly. His left hand’s fingers brushed her hair away from her face. “But that’s how it is now. We have to accept that and solve for the next move, right?” It was silent for a while after that. [Y/N]’s arms were tightly wrapped around Art’s shoulders and their bowls of pasta were certainly cold. She felt that she had ruined everything.

She glanced at Art’s face. The small smile betrayed him. “Art… We can’t. Not now.” she had told Art not now so many times that it felt forced and rehearsed. Now that [Y/N] that was actually pregnant, she wanted nothing more than to stay pregnant. The timing was far from good. She had articles that were still very due the next day. She had a husband who very much traveled often for work (who she traveled with too). She had Cheese, who was staring at her weird over the back the couch because he didn’t understand crying.

“What do you mean we can’t?” Art said quietly. “We-We can. We… have. We are… Actively.” He fumbled.

“We can. We did! But… You know now’s not a good time, baby.” [Y/N] countered weakly.

Art’s hands never left [Y/N]’s waist. “Let’s run pros and cons.”

“Pretty baby.” She said accusatorially. Good old analytic Art…

“Let’s run pros and cons.” Art repeated unflinchingly. He sprang up off of his barstool to gather a sharpie and a legal pad from some drawer. Art uncapped the marker harshly with his teeth. Cap between his teeth still, he asked: “Do you want it?” while he found a clean, smooth page.

Before she could respond with her head, [Y/N] responded with her heart. She nodded a yes to him immediately. “Do you?”

Art capped the back end of the marker to free up his mouth. “More than anything ever, I think. It would probably kill me a little bit, actually, if… Yeah. I understand and it’s all up to you, honey, but… Yeah.” His hand created a PRO column and a CON column on the page.

Under PRO, Art added the items he knew would cause no trouble in his blocky capitalized handwriting:

FINALLY START FAMILY

NATURAL/EASY START

SEASON ALMOST OVER

[Y/N] HAS FLEXIBLE HRS

DREAM COME TRUE??

WILL BE GR8 PARENTS

[Y/N] nodded in approval. She couldn’t think of more pros, but Art handed her the marker and she started in on the CON list:

OLYMPICS??

ART’S NEVER HOME

EXPENSIVE

SMOKING/COFFEE

CHEESE JEALOUS?

TOO YOUNG!

Art drew the line at giving up stimulants and assigning the dog human traits and struck both of those off the list with a frown.

Frankly, Art thought the cons list turned out rude.

“I haven’t qualified for the Olympics yet,” he protested. “And if I do, imagine how early on that would be. Before all the hard stuff.”

[Y/N] replied with the thing they both knew was the most real problem. She had waited forever to say it out loud. “No offense… You are never home anymore. You’re busy all the time. Which I get. It’s your job. You’re good at your job. But look how excited the fuckin’ dog got to see you because you were gone so long. You are never here. We can’t put a human in doggy day camp all the time. It would be fucking impossible to raise—“

“I’ll quit,” Art said, wincing. He wouldn’t. [Y/N] felt that this was a bluff. He tried in vain to hide his expression of shame. “I’ll quit tennis.” He said. He wasn’t going to.

“That would worsen the problem. No money.”

“I’ll work at the 7/11. I’ll be a construction worker. I could be a fuckin’ coach. I actually have a degree, y’know, I can use it. I’m more than a racket. I don’t want you to feel alone here. I want to be here for all of it, I can—“

“You know I’m alone here a lot, babe. A lot. You don’t… You’re in a position where you’re unable to help constantly. Because you’re gone. That’s okay. I married you knowing that, right? But a baby, Art? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll bail on a season. I will. I just…” Art stared at her. “Please. I’m begging you. See this kid through with me.”

The sharpie was forgotten on the counter along with dinner. Art’s knees landed on the floor before [Y/N]. Art practically lived on his knees in front of [Y/N]. He gathered [Y/N] hands in his. “Please. It’s your call, but hear me out. Because that thing is part of both us. I don’t want you to hate or resent me or the little stinker forever, but you want it. I know that. Hear me out.” His beautiful two-tone eyes stared up at her.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“I will give you anything. Please, my world is you. Not tennis; you. I’m telling you, I-I would leave that behind to be anything you need right now. Just ask it. You’re my fucking priority, you got that? I just.. I… Please? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to keep it too, but—“

“Then what’s the big deal?” Art asked hopefully.

“It isn’t a good time. It’s too soon.”

Art’s mouth trailed kisses across his wife’s stomach and hips and hands and arms. He let this go on for several minutes. “Please,” Art whimpered pathetically into the skin of her wrist. “Please, please, please. I will do anything, my love. I’m on my knees here,” Art looked up at her through thick lashes. “We can do this. Both of us together. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. This can be good for us. I’m really sorry we’re here, but here we are, hon. What time’s going to be the right time? Please. I love you.” Art pleaded desperately.

[Y/N] knew this was going to be a disaster. But she wanted to keep it. What time’s going to be the right time? rung in her ears over and over, like the faucet. They had put so much time into arguing about the time and the place that would be right for a family. Now it was right in front of them. Her hand caressed Art’s face. She loved it when he groveled like that. This time, on his knees and everything. On instinct, he nuzzled his face into her hand and looked up at her through long lashes.

“Will you fix the faucet? It’s been dripping all week.”

“Anything.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’m going to think about it. The baby.”

“You will?” Art’s teary eyes widened.

“Objectively, this is a terrible fucking idea. We both know that. But if it’s really so terrible, why do I feel, like… happy about it…”

Art’s face lit up. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. [Y/N], honestly, found it very hard to say no to Art. His arms wrapped carefully around her thighs while his head rested against her middle as he knelt. [Y/N] could feel his silver ring through the denim of her overalls. “God, I love you. I love you, [Y/N]. We’re not going to regret this. Holy shit…”

“Love you too. We’re gonna… We’re gonna try, maybe? This doesn’t feel real. Does this feel real? I…”

“It feels like a dream is what it feels like,” Art mumbled into her clothes. “I love you.” Art said, pressing a kiss to her stomach.

“I love you.”

“I’m gonna be a dad…” Art almost wept. “If you, y’know, but… Shit. I’m sorry.” Which part he was apologizing for was unclear.

At that, [Y/N] laughed and tangled her fingers in his curly blonde mop of hair. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a fucking dad, pretty baby.” She smiled.

[Y/N]’s next instinct was to say: I have to call Patrick. Then she remembered couldn’t call Patrick.

TAGLIST (ask to join):

@diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @shysstuff @soberbabes @avylanchce

apologies for tag issues. i’ll dm those it didn’t work for!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #sorry series #father art

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lieslab · 28 days ago

Text

I'd fall to pieces on the floor, if you weren't around

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Changbin X gn reader

Summary: You struggle with weight gain after taking a new medication.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.2K

Eating disorder resources

Trigger warning: Weight gain, self-image issues, and brief mention of skipping meals.

A/N: I'm glad I could finally push this request out. Requestee, I hope this helps. Changbin would not want anyone to skip their meals or think they're ugly. Our bodies are so important and do everything they can to keep us alive. That is so special and this fic really highlights that. Please take care of yourselves <3

_ _ _

It turns out there is a hell on earth. It’s the bright fluorescent lights of the dressing room. A long rectangular mirror that leaves no flaw untouched. You tried to avoid meeting your own gaze. Once again, you reached down and attempted to button the waist of your pants, but to no avail.

You gritted your teeth, sucked in your stomach, and pulled at the waistband once more. Why weren’t more jeans fitted with elastic waists? Why did the sizing always feel wrong? Most importantly, this was your size, so why wasn’t it fitting?

You weren’t overly enthused about going clothes shopping, but when it came to jeans, you knew you had to bite the bullet. You risked a lot buying them online, so you decided to check out the nearest department store. You made sure they had the brand you liked before you came and now you were here.

Just outside the dressing room, Changbin leaned against a white wall. He didn’t know how long you planned on taking. In the meantime, he texted Han about a new movie he thought he’d be interested in seeing. Unaware of your distress, he texted as if nothing was wrong.

“Stupid fucking jeans,” you mumbled to yourself. You grabbed the sides, jerking them back down your body. You squirmed, nearly tripped, but then they were off.

You folded them, just like how they were folded when you picked them up, tossed them on the nearby bench, and stared at the other pairs you grabbed. You grabbed three different shades of colors. A light-wash, regular denim blue jeans, and a pair in black. If you couldn’t wear the size you grabbed, those wouldn’t fit, either.

You stared at the unworn pile, trying to swallow the forming lump in your throat. If you couldn’t wear the brand of jeans you always wore, it only meant one thing; you gained weight.

You feared it, you always had, but there was no more denying it. When your jeans didn’t fit properly back home, you blamed it on the dryer. You assume you must have pressed the wrong setting, causing the denim to shrink somehow. You should have known, but you wanted to deny it.

Bodies are everything in this day and age. From the way you look, to the facial features you don’t get to pick, they make, or break you. You thought you were doing okay. When the doctor prescribed a new medication and weight gain was a side effect, you shrugged it off, assuming it wouldn’t happen to you.

The four square walls felt a little tighter. Anxiety brewed in your gut and you blinked rapidly. A wave of warmth overcame you, but you ignored it. You grabbed your sweatpants and quickly slipped back into them. Wiping at your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath.

A shirt still awaited you. You grabbed it because you liked the way it looked. Determined not to look at your reflection, you jerked your shirt over your head, and wiggled into the new one. Something was off instantly. It didn’t cover your stomach fully. You sucked in your stomach, but even then, it didn’t fit.

Your teeth clamped into your bottom lip. Your eyes squeezed shut and you sucked in a deep breath. Part of your brain tried to say it was okay, but the other part screamed at you. You were pathetic. Ugly. Gross.

Fat.

You ripped the shirt off, as if it was on fire. It hit the side of the wall and slumped down inside out on the jeans you folded. Your arms crossed over your body and your head ducked down. Nobody could see you, your boyfriend waited for you outside, but you felt so alone.

Insecurity always hung around and today it clamped onto your heart. Your worth shattered on the ceramic floor. The burn of hot tears came so fast, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you reached up and pressed your fingers against your eyes, trying to stop them.

“Stop it,” you weakly whispered. “You’re fine. Just be normal. It’s not a big deal.” You pulled your hands away and fanned your face. Rapid blinks helped the forming tears dissolve.

It took you a few moments to collect yourself. You jerked back to the mirror to check your eyes and that’s when you caught the stretch of your skin. Bright marks pulled your attention to them. You knew you were gaining stretch marks, but you had no idea it was this bad. You were hideous and you hated who you turned into.

You briefly made eye contact with yourself, enough to make sure your tears were gone, and then you steered yourself back to the bench. In your shirt, you felt so much more comfortable. You refolded the shirt, grabbed the jeans, and headed outside.

At the sound of an opening door, Changbin pushed off the wall and grinned. “You’re back!”

You nodded and forced yourself to smile. “Yeah, I’m back. I’m sorry I took so long.”

“No worries, I’m texting Han. Did it go alright? Did they fit?”

It was a harmless question, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell the truth. You nodded and reached out for his hand. “Yeah, let’s check out and head home.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, shopping makes me feel really tired. The lights are so bright and there’s so many people. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be. I mean, unless you have somewhere you want to go?”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” His fingers curled around yours and he led you towards the cash registers. “Let’s head back home and find something to do there. I feel like a home day might be good for us. We’ve both been so busy lately.”

He looked at you like you made the stars, but you didn’t notice. Too stuck in your head, you didn’t realize just how much he loved you. You walked to the counter and paid for the clothes, pretending that they really did fit. They would fit and you’d make them.

Even if you had to skip a few meals, you’d get back to your size no matter what.

~ ~ ~

Back at home, you took your bag of new clothes through the house and into your shared bedroom. Changbin giddily followed you, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. As you pulled open the bag to put them in the dresser, he snuck into the room and shut the door. You glanced over your shoulder when the door clicked.

“Okay, I’m ready!” He jumped forward, springing onto the bed on his stomach.

“For what?”

“Your fashion show! Duh! What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t hype you up?”

You froze and your face fell. You quickly jerked your head back to the dresser, but it was too late. He already saw the panic in your eyes. He pushed himself up, worried that something was wrong. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I-I just-” Your brain went into overdrive. “I’m just not feeling very fashionable today. I just tried them on back at the store and I don’t think I’m feeling jeans much anymore. I had the epiphany while I was trying them on.”

He groaned and jerked himself onto his back. “But I was looking forward to the fashion show! I waited all that time and held up the dressing room wall for you.”

“You know what I look like in jeans.”

“But these are new jeans!”

“I’m getting a headache.”

He huffed and grumbled to himself. Like a toddler, he kicked his feet. “I can’t believe that-”

A wave of anger swept through you. Usually, his antics didn’t bother you, but you were already so upset about the way your body looked. Disgusted and humiliated. Your words tumbled out so fast and you couldn’t stop them.

“I can’t try on the jeans for you because they don’t fit, Changbin! There! That’s why! Are you happy now? I don’t want to show you because they don’t button. I’ve gained weight, I’m fat, and ugly, and gross.”

His head snapped over to you and his face fell. “They don’t fit?”

You kept your back to him. You weakly shook your head and shut your eyes. “No.”

“Baby, you didn’t have to buy them if they didn’t fit. We could have sized up and it wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“Did you not hear the part where I said I’m fat and ugly?” You weakly laughed, trying not to cry, but your laugh cut out. A bottom lip trembled and you wiped at your eyes.

Changbin quietly got up and snuck behind you. Strong warm arms wrapped around your waist. “You’re not fat and ugly.”

“I gained weight from my medicine.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, it’s n-not. What if you realize I’m ugly now? What if I try the next size and they don’t fit either?”

His arms gently squeezed around your torso. “Take a deep breath, you’re spiraling.”

“I have new stretch marks a-and I-” Your eyes squeezed shut, but it wasn’t enough to stop the salty tears from poking through. “I feel so ugly.”

“I know you might feel ugly, but you’re not ugly. It’s okay to gain weight and it’s okay to lose weight.” His head gently fell against your shoulder. “What’s not okay is to call the love of my life ugly. You’re not ugly now and nothing will ever make you ugly in my eyes.”

“But the stretch marks…”

“What about them?”

“They’re gross.”

“Why? What makes them gross? Because the way I see them, your skin is stretching to protect you. It’s keeping you safe. You think I don’t have stretch marks?”

“Huh?”

He pulled away from you, reached up, and tugged the sleeve of his t-shirt all the way up. It took a few moments, but he finally found what he was looking for. “This right here,” he pointed to a faint mark. “This is one of my stretch marks. They formed after I started to gain muscle.”

“But you're not fat,” you whispered. You spun around, so you could see.

“You don’t have to be fat to have stretch marks. They form when you grow and you might think they’re ugly, but I don’t. My skin is stretching to accommodate me. That’s not ugly, there’s beauty in that.”

Your eyes lingered on it and you sniffled again. He continued speaking. “There is nothing disgusting and evil about stretch marks. So many people have them. You shouldn’t hate yourself just because you have them.”

“I don’t know how not to.”

“You hate your body right now because people have told you that you should. I’m here to tell you that you should listen to me because I love you.” He let go of his sleeve and it fell.

His hands reached up and gently cupped your cheeks. “The human body is amazing and wants to keep your organs safe. The skin is stretching to keep you safe. No matter how bright they might be right now, they’ll fade.”

“If you’re worried about gaining weight, you’ve kinda lucked out.” A soft smile quipped up on half his face. “You’ve got me and I’ll help you with it, if that’s what you wish.”

“Are you going to make me drink your chicken breast protein shakes?”

He laughed and shook his head. Black hair bobbed and your distress started to melt. “No. I won’t make you drink them, but if you ever want to try one, I-”

“No thank you.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to do whatever you don’t want to do.”

You nodded and your eyes met his. “Thank you for making me feel better.”

“It’s an honor, a privilege, and always a delight. Do you know what you do to my heart? Ugh, I love you! You’re worried about being fat? Watch this!”

“What are you– hey!” You shrieked as he dipped down and jerked you over his shoulder. You dangled with your hands towards the ground. “Where are we going?”

“Out to have lunch because you’re not skipping your meals and I can hear your stomach growling. Hang on tight, spider-monkey.”

“Did you just quote Edward Cullen?”

He laughed, causing your body to vibrate. You rolled your eyes and dangled with defeat. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Let’s see if I glitter in the sunlight. If I’m a vampire, I’m turning you. I’m not being an immortal without you. Wait!” He paused and he raised an eyebrow. “If I was a vampire, does that mean Chan would be my enemy since he-”

“Don’t start with the Chan is a wolf conspiracy.”

“But he picked his pack and everything!”

“No.”

“It’s canon!”

“Changbin!”

“I need to call Han and get his opinion.”

There was absolutely nothing you could do as you hung over his shoulder, besides sigh and hope he put you down sooner, much rather than later.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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hunzzzzz · 4 months ago

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OBX TWEETS: part 11 (Rafe Cameron x reader x John B SMAU)

TW: mentions of eating disorder

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

You were hunched over your laptop in the library, the glow of the screen doing little to cut through the fog in your brain. Barely a hundred words of your assignment stared back at you, each one a monumental effort.

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm that echoed the ringing in your ears. A sheen of sweat slicked your palms, even in the cool library air. The impending date with Rafe – just the thought of it sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

“Hey,” a voice, laced with concern, cut through the buzzing in your head. “You good?”

You blinked, your focus snapping back to the present. A hand waved gently in front of your face, and you finally registered John B sitting beside you, his brow furrowed in worry.

“Huh?” You looked up. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just… trying to get this shit done.” You gestured vaguely at the screen.

His eyes followed your hand, “You’re shaking,” he pointed out gently, his voice soft as he watched your fingers tremble above the keyboard. “Have you eaten anything today?”

A wave of dizziness washed over you. The memory of the black coffee and monster you’d chugged down that morning, hoping to kickstart your focus, felt like a cruel joke now. The caffeine was a jittery current beneath your skin, amplified by the gnawing emptiness in your stomach.

“Uh, just coffee,” you mumbled.

“You don’t look so well,” he said, his voice laced with genuine worry. He reached out and placed a warm hand on your shoulder, “Come on, let’s get you out of here. I’ll take you home.”

He was already efficiently packing up your laptop and notebooks, slinging your bag over his shoulder.

“What about the others?” you asked. Normally, the Twinkie was the designated transport, and John B the unofficial chauffeur for your crew.

“Nah, they all… uh, went to get some grub,” he trailed off, his tone casual.

You nodded, too preoccupied to question it. You let him gently guide you towards the car park, his hand a steadying presence on your back. Your legs felt like jelly, and you leaned into his support. In the passenger seat of the Twinkie, you instinctively curled into a fetal position, knees drawn to your chest, head resting heavily.

Why were you so anxious? Why did the thought of this date with Rafe make you feel so sick? Because it was Rafe. The Rafe you’d heard countless warnings about, the one your friends practically spat venom at. You were willingly walking into an evening with him. But beneath the surface of that obvious dread, something else churned – a potent, unsettling mix of nerves and… vile attraction.

Your fingers twitched, a phantom sensation of reaching for your phone. You’d caught yourself doing it all day – a quick check to see if he’d viewed your story, a nervous refresh of his Twitter, the small sting of disappointment when his messages took longer than you expected. A shameful part of you even wondered if, subconsciously, you’d pushed things with Topper to create this very scenario. A disgusting, thrill-seeking part of you craved the danger, the wrongness of it all. You knew he wasn’t good for you. Yet…

Your breath hitched as a vivid image of his stupid smirk flashed in your mind. Those eyes, usually so vacant, held a strange intensity when he looked at you, a brief flash of something that reminded you of the ocean’s depths. What the fuck was wrong with you? This had to be some kind of self-destructive streak, a twisted form of self-harm disguised as attraction.

The click of the front door latch echoed in the sudden silence. You stepped inside, the familiar scent of home usually a comfort, today it felt suffocating. And then you saw them.

Your mother, her face already crumpled with worry, sat on the edge of the sofa. Your grandfather, usually stoic, had a rare look of concern etched onto his weathered features. JJ, Pope, and Kiara sat in a row of dining chairs, their expressions a mixture of awkwardness and genuine care. And then there was your aunt, her kind eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own growing dread. It hit you like a physical blow. This wasn't just a casual gathering.

“Is this an intervention?” The question ripped from your throat, sharp and laced with a panic that threatened to overwhelm you. Every head in the room snapped towards you, their expressions confirming your worst fears.

“Honey, we just want to talk to you,” your aunt said softly, her voice gentle as she started to move towards you.

“Uh-huh, yeah. Just one sec, I think I left something… in the car.” You started to backpedal, your eyes darting towards the door, a desperate escape route forming in your mind. But just as you thought you might make it, your back collided with a solid chest. John B. Of course it was John B, the final, insurmountable obstacle.

You whipped around, your eyes locking with his. “Just sit down,” he pleaded, his voice low and earnest. “Let’s just talk.”

It felt like a punch to the gut, a cruel twist of a knife you thought you could trust. He knew. He had to have known. This was his idea, wasn't it?

“We just want to talk, please?” His voice held an underlying desperation that, under different circumstances, might have swayed you. But right now, all you felt was the sting of his perceived betrayal.

With a heavy sigh that felt like surrendering a battle you hadn't even started. You avoided everyone's gaze, your eyes fixed on a loose thread in the rug.

Your mom, as expected, was already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, her silent tears adding another layer of guilt to the already thick air. Your aunt reached over and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze before standing up.

She took a deep breath, “Honey,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “we want you to know that we all care about you, so deeply. We all love you. And please, please don’t think of this as anything other than that. This is a judgement-free zone. We are all here because we want the absolute best for you… We really do.”

She then reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a folded piece of paper, her hands shaking slightly as she unfolded it. She took another deep breath and began to read:

My darling niece, I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. Your tiny hand wrapped around my finger, and in that moment, you became like my own daughter. The world felt brighter, full of possibility, the day you came into it. And I have had the absolute joy of watching you grow, of seeing you blossom into the intelligent, witty, and beautiful woman that you are today. You have a light inside you, a spark that can illuminate any room

I know you have had a difficult relationship with food, my sweet girl. I’ve seen you struggle for so long, the battles you’ve fought in silence. But you are so incredibly brave. Three years ago, you took that monumental first step and sought help, and I have never, ever been prouder of you than I was that day. You faced your demons head-on, and that takes a strength that most people can’t even imagine.

But we also know that recovery isn’t a straight line. Every day is a challenge, every day a new battle. And while I may not fully understand the intricacies of what you are going through, the weight you carry, I know this much: you are not doing okay right now. And that’s alright. Relapsing is a part of the journey, a stumble on a long and winding path. It doesn’t diminish the progress you’ve made, it doesn’t make you any less strong, it only makes you human. We all falter, my love.

I want you to get better for yourself, not for us, but for you. I want you to live a long, healthy life, filled with joy and laughter and all the things that make your eyes sparkle. I want you to be able to achieve all of your goals, to chase every single one of your dreams without this holding you back. I want my niece – my bright, fierce, incredible niece – to be strong and healthy and vibrantly alive. You deserve that, more than you know.

I love you more than words can say, my darling. We all do. And we are here for you, every single step of the way.

The fragile sense of connection you’d momentarily felt shattered as your mom dramatically tossed the crumpled tissue onto the coffee table, her eyes red and puffy. She stood up, her posture stiff, and unfolded a piece of paper with a sharp, rustling sound. Her voice, when she began to speak, was tight with suppressed anger and a raw, self-pitying edge.

Writing this letter is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but frankly, I don’t know what else to try. I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, consumed by worry. It’s a constant ache in my chest, this fear of what’s happening to you. And honestly, it’s starting to take a serious toll on me.

I just wish you could be honest with me, just once. When I ask you how you are, I’m not just making polite conversation. I’m your mother! It’s my job to worry, but you make it impossible when you constantly lie. You have no idea the anxiety I feel every time you walk out that door. Is this the day…? That’s what runs through my head constantly. It’s exhausting.

You lie to me every single day, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend I don’t notice. I thought maybe a skipped meal here and there was just a phase, something teenage girls do. But it’s so much more than that, isn’t it? You tell me you eat a full lunch at college, but John B, bless his heart, felt he had to tell me the truth. You apparently tell them that you eat a big dinner here at home! What am I supposed to think? It makes me look like a fool.

And why the secrecy? If you’re struggling so much, why can’t you just confide in me? Why won’t you just get the help you so desperately need? We went through this before, remember? Three years ago. It was incredibly difficult for all of us, but we got through it. You got better! So why are you doing this again? Don’t you remember how hard that was on everyone? Especially me?

Honestly, if you can’t even do it for yourself, then please, just do it for me. I can’t keep living like this, walking on eggshells, constantly wondering if I’m going to get a phone call. I can’t stand by and watch you disappear like this. You’re a shadow of the vibrant, happy person you used to be. Sometimes I look at you, and I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. It breaks my heart.

I feel like such a failure as a mother. What did I do wrong? How did I let this happen again? It’s a constant weight on my shoulders, this feeling that I can’t even help my own daughter. And it’s so frustrating because you won’t let me in. You push me away, you refuse to talk. You are making me feel like I’ve failed you, and that’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone–

At that point, your aunt, her face etched with concern and a hint of disapproval, she placed a hand on your mother’s arm. “Why don’t you sit back down for a moment?” She gave your mother a pointed look, a silent reprimand for the letter’s overwhelmingly self-centered tone.

Your mother, still sniffling, reluctantly sank back into her seat, her gaze fixed on you with a mixture of accusation and wounded pride.

JJ unfolded the crumpled paper, and along with Pope and Kiara, the three of them took turns reading short sections, their voices a blend of concern and earnestness. Their joint letter expressed how worried they all were about you. They emphasized that what they were witnessing wasn't healthy, and it was impacting their friend in a way that was deeply concerning. They reiterated their unwavering support and pleaded with you to consider getting help, stressing that they missed the old you and simply wanted their friend to be healthy and happy again.

Your grandfather, a man whose silence often spoke volumes, stood up slowly. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a familiar warmth that had always been a source of quiet comfort. He didn't read from a letter, didn't offer any lengthy speeches. He simply said, his voice a low rumble, "I love you, angel."

He then walked over and enveloped you in a hug. It was a hug that spoke of years of unspoken love and understanding, and in that moment, it was exactly what you desperately needed.

A lump formed in your throat, and you had to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over. Emotions were a messy, unwelcome guest in your carefully constructed inner world. You had always viewed them as a weakness, something ugly that should remain locked away, buried deep inside.

This intervention, this forced exposure of your vulnerabilities, was your absolute worst nightmare. Having to sit there, under the scrutiny of everyone you knew, listening to their worried words and seeing their pitying glances, made you want to disappear. You wished the earth would just open up and swallow you whole, offering a swift and silent escape from this agonizing reality.

And then it was John B's turn. You kept your gaze fixed on the worn pattern of the rug, your vision blurring slightly at the edges. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Not yet, maybe not ever. This betrayal felt different, deeper than any other you had experienced. It burrowed under your skin, a cold, hard knot in your stomach.

He knew. That was the thought that kept repeating in your mind, a relentless accusation. He knew you.

He knew how fiercely you guarded your inner world and how much you would resent this forced exposure. So for him to go to your mother, behind your back, to orchestrate this… it felt like a fundamental violation. A tearing of the trust you had placed in him, a trust you had believed was unbreakable.

It felt like a betrayal of your friendship, a disregard for your feelings. A mental wall had slammed down in your mind, a solid barrier that prevented you from separating the act from the person.

It wasn't just something he did; it felt like a revelation of who he was – someone who, despite your closeness, ultimately didn't respect your boundaries or your wishes.

Did he care about you? A small, reluctant voice whispered in the back of your mind that he probably did. But right now, that didn't matter. The hurt, the sense of being ambushed by someone you considered a safe person, was too raw, too overwhelming.

I’m so sorry. I know this is probably the last thing you wanted, and believe me, it wasn’t easy for any of us. But I didn’t know what else to do. Watching you… watching someone I care so deeply about struggle like this, all by yourself, it felt like I was drowning too. I kept thinking about all the times… all the times we’ve been there for each other. Remember that pie-eating contest at the county fair when we were kids? You were so determined to beat Topper, and you did, even with blueberry all over your face. I was laughing so hard I almost choked on my apple pie. You were always so competitive, so full of life.

And remember when you used to spend hours in the kitchen, experimenting with all those crazy recipes? You were only ten, but you were already talking about becoming a chef, opening your own restaurant. You’d make these incredible, elaborate meals for all of us, even if it was just a Tuesday night. You had this passion, this fire in you. And lately… lately that fire has been dimming, and it scares me.

I knew I could never forgive myself if anything were to ever happen to you, if I just stood by and watched you disappear. I had to try something, anything. I want you to know that I love you, every version of you. Whether you’re the life of the party or hiding away, whether you’re feeling strong or just a tiny fragment of yourself. I love your laugh, your stubbornness, even your eye-rolls when Pope gets too nerdy. I just want you to get better. I want you to be whole again, because that’s what you deserve. You deserve to feel that fire again, to chase those dreams you had. And I really, truly hope that one day, you’ll understand why I did this, and maybe… maybe one day you’ll even forgive me.

Your aunt stepped forward again, her expression gentle but firm. “Honey,” she said softly, “there’s a car waiting outside to take you to a rehabilitation facility. We’ve already arranged everything.”

Panic flared in your chest, a desperate urge to bolt. “No,” you said quickly, your voice rising. “No, you don’t understand. I can do this. I promise. I’ll make a meal plan, I’ll stick to it–”

It was a lie, and you knew it even as the words left your mouth, but the thought of going away, of being confined in some strange place again, was terrifying.

Your mother cut in, her voice sharp. “I can’t listen to any more lies,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “You need professional help. You need to be in a place where people know how to deal with this. This isn’t something you can just promise your way out of anymore.”

A strange sense of resignation washed over you. You were tired of fighting, tired of the constant tension and the worried looks. And honestly, a break from your mother sounded… almost appealing. You made a decision, right then and there.

Not because you suddenly had a burning desire to get better, not because you were ready to confront the gnawing voice of your eating disorder, but because you needed to get away from all of them. The sheer embarrassment of having your vulnerability laid bare in front of everyone you knew was unbearable. You couldn't face them, not right now.

“Okay,” you said, the word feeling heavy and foreign on your tongue. “Okay, I’ll go.” You avoided making eye contact with anyone.

The goodbyes were a blur, each hug a bittersweet farewell. Pope squeezed your hand tightly, Kiara pulled you into a fierce embrace, whispering, "We'll be here when you get back. Promise."

Then it was JJ. He wrapped his arms around you, swaying you gently, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

"Hey," he mumbled into your hair, "don't go making any new friends in there now! None of them will ever be as crazy as me! I probably got, like, schizophrenia too, let me come with you." Even in this mess, JJ could make you crack a small involuntary smile.

You finally turned to John B, who stood awkwardly by the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and you could see the faint outline of his fingers fiddling with something small – probably a quarter.

You walked towards him, each step feeling heavy and final. When you reached him, you didn't say anything, you just wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. His arms, stiff with surprise for a moment, slowly circled your waist, his face burying itself in the crook of your neck. You could feel the faint tremor in his shoulders.

"I'm gonna go to rehab," you choked out, the words thick with unshed tears. "And I'm gonna get better." You sniffled, the disgusting emotions you usually kept locked away spilling out in a messy torrent. You pulled away slightly, your eyes unable meet his.

"Don't call me, don't text me, don't contact me ever again." The words were sharp, meant to cut, to create a clean break.

You finally looked up at his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, brimming with unshed tears. His mouth was slightly ajar, a silent testament to the shock that rippled through him.

"Goodbye, John B," you whispered, the words laced with a pain. You reached out a trembling hand and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek, a final, bittersweet gesture before turning and walking out the door.

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