#take the angst and feelings with them in the film

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

May 4th

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1. Wangxian having sex but it's lan wangji POV (p.s he is top) @lanwuxian0725

Fair's Fair by KingdomFlameVIII (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Drunken Kissing, Making Out, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Incidental Edging, Marriage Proposal, Fluff and Smut)

🔒(Planning the Day) To Meet You by Bettydice (E, 61k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Pining, Mutual Pining, WWX raises A-Yuàn, minimum angst, MAXIMUM GAY, Self-indulgent fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, POV LWJ, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Intercrural Sex, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX)

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan’s late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ’s Horny Grip, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWX, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

❤️ save a sword, ride a socialist by sysrae (E, 33k, wangxian, modern w magic, college/university au, fake/pretend relationship, single parent WWX, homophobia, light angst w/ happy ending, idiots to lovers, fluff)

Honesty is the Best Policy (Except if You’re an Asshole) by piecrust (E, 22k, WangXian, Porn with Feelings, College/University)

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2. ITMF a fic where wwx hurts lwj's feelings in some way and regrets it

Between The Lines by Witch_Nova221 (M, 153k, WangXian, Epistolary, Romance, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Letters, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Idiots in Love)

A Little Late (But Can I Come Home Anyway?) by anobtra (animeobsessedtrash) (E, 31k, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC/NMJ, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, Falling In Love, Running Away, Oblivious WWX, Pining LWJ, LWJ Deserves Love, Supportive Sibling LXC, Minor WWX/Other(s), dadxian, Adopted LSZ, Smut, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, Modern, Composer LWJ, Teacher LWJ, Role Reversalish, Crying, a lot of it, Cock Warming, Morning Sex, Slow Burn, Kind Of, Riding, Not Actually Unrequited Love, friends to strangers to lovers, Gentle Sex, Soft WangXian, Morning After, Crying During Sex, NMJ is a good brother in law)

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3. I’m in the Mood for a Fic: Spicy and Kinky wangxiang! (all kinks ok) BUT with plot, less than 80k, completed, switching is ok, but no bottomji only, thx! <3 @needlovebeloved

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4. Hello! I am itmf a well-structured sports au. I've recently finished Waiting For Spring and The Boys of Summer by @thievinghippo, which has consumed me these past weeks and now I need more! I'll take any sport, but ice hockey would be wonderful. Thank you! @chef-manardee

In Your Shoes by athena_crikey (E, 42k, WangXian Modern AU, Olympics, athletes as minor celebrities, olympic promotion, Filming, on screen chemistry, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Archery, Fencing, Period-Typical Homophobia, as an influence not an interaction)

I feel like I win when I lose by so_shhy (T, 25k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sports, basically written as the ATP tennis finals, but with extra swords, Getting Together, [Podfic] I feel like I win when I lose by sisi_rambles) this one is modern cultivation as a sport tho

For 4, some of these don’t go in to a lot of detail about the sports but I thought I’d include them anyhow:

Play Wangxian by lorelaiart (E, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Concussions, Gay Sex, Frottage, thigh fucking, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol, Drunken Shenanigans, Drinking Games, Dry Humping, Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, acespec wei ying if you'd like (I like), Hockey)

🧡 Never Have To Ask by literaryoblivion (T, 14k, WangXian, Hockey AU, Modern AU, Kid Fic, Fluff and Angst, Single Parent WWX, NHL Player LWJ, Past Minor Character Death, Pining, Friends to Lovers, Reunions)

love - all by vastlyunknown (M, 18k, WangXian, Modern AU, Tennis AU, Time jumps)

🧡 your heartbeat, across the grass by fakeplasticlily (E, 44k, WangXian, Modern AU, Football/Soccer, Football/Soccer player LWJ, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Childhood friends, Kid Fic)

The Space Between Us by TempestFlame (E, 30k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Tennis, charity date auction, mentions of drug use, Hurt/Comfort, Yunmeng Siblings Dynamics, Supportive LXC)

Dance Me to the End by venagrey (E, 35k, WangXian, Modern AU, 2021-2022 Figure Skating Season, No Pandemic, teammates to friends to lovers, Eventual Smut, mixed signals: on ice, Oblivious WWX, Bisexual WWX, mortifying ordeal of being known, slightly nonlinear timeline, Unreliable Narrator, gratuitous descriptions of skating, first time nudes, Accidental Phone Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, inappropriate use of medals, Rimming, Winter Olympics)

me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 10k, WangXian, Modern, Hockey, Epistolary, Unconventional Format, Social Media, Sports, WWX & LWJ are rival hockey players, WWX is a menace as per usual, POV Outsider, shenanigans tomfoolery rumors chaos etc etc, the junior squad are rookies!, JC is So Done, Crack, is it gay to fall in love with your hockey bro or are you just a really committed ally)

take my hand, will you share this with me Series by doodlebutt (M, 137k, WangXian, Modern AU, figure skating, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Getting Together, background relationships - chengqing; xuanli; xiyao, Background Pregnancy, the mortifying ordeal of Talking About Your Feelings, sexually tense pair skating, past trauma, There Was Only One Bed, Pre-Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Domestic Fluff, Burnout, Yunmeng Siblings Feels)

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5. Hi!

Itmf cute short wangxian fluff (it doesn't matter if it's canon or modern times). I want them to get together and also share the first kiss.

I read a lot of these in the past but I hope I can get a lot of new recs.

Thanks in advance💜 @petra2402

Love Cats Series by so_shhy series (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern, Meet-Cute, Fluff, WWX is wet and adorable in a tree, With a Cat, LWJ had no chance, Don’t Try This At Home, First Dates, LWJ likes ducks, WWX does not like dogs, They just have a nice date, picnic dates, Falling In Love, LWJ is briefly less than graceful, there is a spider, but like barely there and totally harmless, LWJ Loves Rabbits, Office Party, LXC is a Good Big Brother, WWX is an excellent boyfriend, POV Outsider, they are in love the world is full of joy, Everything is Beautiful except for baby coots)

hot for teacher by attackofthezee (noxlunate) (M, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Kid fic, Teacher LWJ, Single parent WWX, Fluff, Getting together, different first meeting)

Worship you till morning comes by feyburner (E, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Meet-Cute, First Dates, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, Hand Jobs, Falling In Love)

🔒beep! goes his heart by wearing_tearing (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Roommates, Hurt WWX, Single Parent LWJ, Friends to Lovers, Heartbeats)

I get religion quick 'cause you're looking divine by so_shhy (T, 7k, WangXian, Fluff, Humor, Getting Together, I get religion quick 'cause you're looking divine [Podfic] by Fleur Rochard (fleurrochard))

Blooming Days by Atsushiis (G, 7k, WangXian, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & MM, Modern, College/University, Meet-Cute, First Dates, First Kiss, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, LWJ Has Feelings, Let LWJ talk about his feelings agenda, Romance, Falling In Love, Wangxian are softer than a baby bunny, gratuitous handholding, Give LWJ hugs agenda, LWJ Protection Squad)

🔒divine, divine by sunflowersfield (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Pining, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, For an extremely minor injury/cut on the hand, Meet-Cute)

🔒to breathe a sigh or two by sunflowersfield (G, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Falling In Love, Christmas, Winter, Getting Together, Happy Ending, First Kiss, Brief Flashbacks to High School, Friends to Lovers, Artist WWX, Pokemon Vendor and Streamer LWJ, holiday markets)

Chemical Warfare by lemonlush, naqaashi (G, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Fluff and Humor, Bad Cooking, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Soft WangXian, First Kiss, Domestic WangXian, Fluff and Crack, Minor QingMian, Minor NieLan, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Public Display of Affection, Roommates/Housemates, Love Confessions, Happy Ending, Minor XuanLi, Inspired by Fanart, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication)

The fish dies by its mouth by Hong0 (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Mutual Pining, Teenage Dorks, First Kiss, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, WWX-Typical Obliviousness, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor)

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6. In the mood for some angsty (preferably with happy ending) lonely Lan Zhan. It could be after Wei's death and focused on his lonely punishment and life without his love. Or it could be focused on Lan Zhan growing up in Gusu and having no friends or someone to connect to. I would really like to read some story that describes Lan Zhan's solitude and how it affected him.

Each Imagining Another Face by Fool_on_the_Hill_2528258 (T, 3k, LWJ/OC, WangXian, The Untamed (TV) Compliant, Inspired by The Untamed (TV), Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Past Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Past Violence, LWJ Plays Inquiry, Angst and Feels, Grief/Mourning, Angst and Hurt/Comfort)

a safe pair of hands by occultings (microcomets) (E, 11k, WangXian, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Body Worship, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Sharing a Bed, Getting Together, First Time, Curses, Intimacy, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved LWJ)

🔒Response by Aki_no_hikari (G, 12k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Feels, Love Confessions)

to the act of making noise by words-writ-in-starlight (WordsWritInStarlight) (G, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, inquiry, LSZ is the best of boys and I will not hear debate, Music, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, [Podfic] to the act of making noise by Ceewelsh, flamingwell, kisahawklin, Rionaa) not sure this is exactly what the poster is looking for, since this is from Sizhui's POV rather than LWJs, but it primarily focuses on the years WWX is dead and is very much about LWJs grief

🔒the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death)

The seasons change (but I love you the same) by kdkdkd (G, 7k, LWJ & LSZ, WangXian, Single Father LWJ, Thirteen Years, Fatherhood, Growing Up, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief, Insecurity, Love, Canon Compliant, headcanons, Music Hall, Single Parent LWJ, Dad LWJ, Badass LWJ, Annoying Lan Elders get put in their place and fired, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Angry LWJ, Gusu Lan Elders Bashing, Kid Fic, Happy Ending)

the year of drought by idrilka (E, 24k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Pining, Getting Together, Wedding Planning, Letters, Instructional Use of Gay Porn) also works but it’s the 2nd part of a series (the first part was from Wei Wuxian’s perspective)

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7. Hello, thank you for your hard work! 🙏Itmf any stories where the Burial Mounds or the dead Wen Remnants take revenge on the cultivation world for what happened to them and WWX. Thank you so much! @boxedbutterfly

To Be Named by Suibian_613 (T, 39k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Out of Character, WQ is out of character, Everyone is probably ooc, canonical violence, Canonical Character Death, let WWX and JC become bros again, JYL lives, Somewhat Sentient Burial Mounds, WN and JC Rivalry, Sibling Rivalry)

Reclamation by CordialCoroner (CordialCrow) (M, 6k, major character death, not JC friendly, canon divergence, post sunshot, revenge)

So Faithful, So Few (So Pardon, and Done) by azri (M, 3k, wangxian, canon divergence, post-siege of burial mounds, revenge, zombies, horror, blood & gore, not JC friendly, not cultivation world friendly)

Meet you at a different place by tawaen (M, 57k, Eventual WangXian, Ghost General WN, Ghost WQ, Canon Divergence, WQ comes back to haunt the cultivation world, Bad idea to kill the one person who didn’t kill anyone, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Wen Remnants Deserve Better, Sīsī Deserves Better, MXY Deserves Better, POV WQ)

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8. ITMF power bottom or dominant (but still receiving) WWX. Any setting except A/B/O is fine! 🖤 @linderel

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9. Hello.... I have request. Can you recommend fic on

A) wangxian office romance

B) Wei Wuxian grew up with Nie Clan.

Thank you.😍 @hazeylove89

9A)

Body Language by Scourge Daughter (scourgedaughter) (E, 33k, wangxian, modern, office au, ABO, gender changes, fem wangxian, office romance, hacking, cybersecurity, alpha/alpha wangxian, arranged marriage, wangxian endgame, happy ending, YZY A+ parenting, canonical character death, sexual harrasment, drunk LWJ, switch wangxian)

Secretary Lan Series by silverclaw (T/E, 15k, WangXian, Modern AU, CEO WWX, Secretary LWJ, Misunderstandings, Humour, POV Outsider, Infidelity (but not really), Office Sex, Roleplay, Competence Kink, very light dom/sub undertones, LWJ is a brat, A side of strength kink as a treat, Porn With Plot, LWJ is in fact a sapiosexual, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Angst, Insecurities, Wangxian argue but lovingly, Resolved Argument)

Work-Life Balance is Not A Thing by catbrainedschemes (E, 17k, WangXian, Modern, Workplace Relationship, Romantic Comedy, Idiots in Love, Oblivious WWX, Oblivious LWJ, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Pining, Dirty Talk)

🧡 Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? By overmountainandmeadow (T, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Office, Modern office AU, IT Director! LWJ, Graphic Designer! WWX, Father!LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Juniors as interns, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn, Rabbits, Cloud Recesses as a company, Happy Ending, Single Parent LWJ)

🔒at first sight of the sun by sunflowersfield (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Coworkers, Fluff, Neurodiversity, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, First Dates, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort)

Twist, Coil by Scourge Daughter (scourgedaughter) (E, 18k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Business Partners, meet ugly, ongoing twitter threadfic, high society, Technology, Pining, Office, Romance, much ado about ai, Shanghai, brief lwj/other but it's in the name of wangxian)

Incognito by EClairatee (E, 15k, WangXian, Misunderstandings, Light Angst, Modern AU, Office Romance, Eventual Smut, POV Alternating, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering)

🔒WangXian Office AU: What's the Tea... ? Series by Blackbeads461, Ladycroft4evr (G/M, WangXian, Modern Era - no cultivation, Office AU, CEO WWX, Secretary LWJ, Office Romance, Rollercoaster ride of new love and angst and pining, WangXian as canonically incapable of role-play, office gossip, OYZZ is So Done, SMS Bashing, more like pulling his leg, Awesome WQ, NHS is a Little Shit)

9B)

🔒 shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NieLan, WangXian, SangNing, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

💖🔒 The Echoes of that News Ring Loud by Scarlet_Gryphon (T, 111k, NHS & NMJ, 3Zun, NHS/WN, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, NMJ Lives, WWX Raised by a Different Sect, Joining the WWX Raised by the Nie Sect club, Universal Da-ge NMJ, JGY deserved better, Cinnamon Roll WN, the Nie brothers will do whatever they can to save the world, Temporary character death (but they get better), Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Everyone Lives, Good Guy XY, because let's not leave kids hurt on the street, Let's give NHS Battle Fans club member, Gray-Ace power trio 3Zun, Canon Divergenc, ediscussions of JGS's canon-levels of dickery, brief and non-graphic discussion of past rape/non-con due to QS's origins, Mentions of Nightmares, NHS is a Little Shit, Minor Character Death, Happy Ending)

Heart of the Beast by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 488k, WangXian, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious WWX, Protective NMJ, Scheming NHS, Protective NHS, Soft NMJ, NMJ is So Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Pining, LWJ Has Feelings)

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10. Hello! So, I've been in the mood for two kinds of fics, actually!

A) I just reread All old things are new again, by The Feels Whale and would LOVE more reincarnation or reincarnation with Immortal LWJ and/or WWX, where JC and LWJ just LOATHE each other and don't understand why, or LQR and WWX also hate each other and have no idea why, with either other one of wangxian knowing and don't know how to tell their parner or past lives and lingering strong feelings is just commum place. Just... That vibe of JC going "So why do I hate your ass?" and LWJ "...blinked slowly in a way that he knew drove Jiang Wanyin’s elder self insane. The trait apparently persisted through reincarnation because a dark red flush started to creep up the man’s neck."

And

B) I would really like Lan Xichen critical fics, not really bashing, but if possible, LWJ openly criticizing him, his attitudes, choises, hypocrisy and etc. Most importantly would be LWJ knowing and recognizing his mistakes and flaws. I read too many LWJs just glossing over his brother's whole thing and helping him out of seclusion, and for me that's not very much LWJ coded.

Anyways, thanks for all you do in this fandom!

10B)

these may not be perfect a perfect fit but are close:

🔒 In spirit by apathyinreverie (T, 1k, WangXian, BAMF LWJ, Cultivation World Critical, LWJ being pissed and WWX watching delightedly from the sidelines, As a ghost, for now, Fix-Itof sorts, Canon Divergence, lwj takes a-yuan and leaves the cultivation world, Some angst, Fluff)

Mourning Dove by jaemyun (Not Rated, 29k, WIP, WangXian, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, WWX is dead at first, dark LWJ, rogue cultivator LWJ)

Seek and Ye Shall Find by orphan_account (E, 21k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, JC Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, JYL is Not Angelic, Gusu Lan Sect Bashing, LQR critical, LXC Bashing, NMJ Critical, NMJ Tries, Only for NHS, Not bc he feels guilty, JGS Being JGS, Secret Relationship, Secret Children, Explicit Birth, WangXian Get Married in the Cold Springs Cave, Married WangXian Have Children, LWJ and WWX Are LSZ's Parents, Sexy Yiling Laozu WWX, LWJ Being a Perfect Husband, Cultivation World Critical, WWX Has a New Golden Core, No Yīn Iron, Cultivation Sect Politics, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Frankecanon, for my purposes only, Mpreg, Gusu Lan Elders Bashing, WQ Lives, Wen Remnants Live, No Smut)

❤️ For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by sami (E, 65k, WangXian, Time Travel, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Canon Divergence, Asexual JC, First Time, Getting Together, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, [Podfic] Cold read of For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by kisahawklin, Для нас обоих (И время лишь бумажная луна) (Russian translation) by nomuad)

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11. Hello, I have an itmf request, please! Looking for fun adventure fics with WangXian and the juniors. Could be classes, night hunts, quests, mysteries, etc. The longer the better. Thank you so much!

🔒 when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations) not to be a broken record but my favorite WWX having adventures with the Juniors fic is "When the Sun Goes Out" -- the Juniors don't become relevant until the back half of the fic, but there's a lot of great stuff before then too.

between the pages of some novel by yuer (vintageblueskies) (T, 7k, JL & LJY & LSZ & OYZZ, WangXian, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Curses, Sex Curse, non-explicit discussion of sex and porn, junior shenanigans, the mortifying ordeal of trying to figure out if your seniors are having sex, no sex happens in this fic, the author attempts humor)

let me come home by cafecliche (G, 4k, WangXian, Vignettes, Fluff, the Lan family alcohol tolerance, Travelogue, Light Angst, Like the lightest, just enough to make the fluff sweeter, it's gentle pain seasoning, Post-Canon)

🔒 and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They’re Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending) you might like the sound of music au??? even though it's not "junior quartet" exactly. definitely plenty of WWX & kids adventures though

🔒 Four Parts Honey and One Part Vinegar by masked (T, 13k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Fluff, Humor, Time Travel, 5+1 Things, Jealous WWX, the Impeccable Trust between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, POV Outsider, everyone is Thirsty for Hanguang-jun as one tends to be)

🔒 hills and rivers are waiting by LtLJ (T, 15k, WangXian, JL & WWX, Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, BAMF WWX)

Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Case Fic, Intimacy, Curses, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Romance, Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, WWX Loves To Teach, wangxian are married, Fluff, nonsexual intimacy, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Nonverbal Communication, this is HEAVY on the symbolism, Translation in Russian)

爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 68k, WangXian, All the clan leaders, Literally so many OCs, Case Fic, Blood and Injury, Demons, Body Horror, Mystery, The intrinsic horniness of wound tending)

tell some storm by qurbat (G, 31k, wangxian, JC & WWX, LSZ & WWX, NHS & WWX, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, liberal amounts of outsider POV)

your words upon my lips by uchiuchi (T, 17k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff, Curses, no sad times only good times, Canon Compliant, Romance, they are married!!, Let LWJ Say Fuck, Case Fic)

Wei Wuxian’s Delightful Demon Baby! by CheekyBrunette (T, 22k, WangXian, Case Fic, Accidental Baby Acquisition, POV LSZ, LSZ-centric, LSZ Needs a HugJealousy, Family Feels, Family Bonding, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Canon Universe)

Junior Detectives! (The Case of Mo Xuanyu) by CheekyBrunette (T, 64k, WangXian, High School, Case Fic, Mystery, False Identity, Teacher WWX, Teacher LWJ, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, MXY IS WWX, LSZ Needs a Hug, JL Loves JC, JL Needs a Hug, Good Nephew JL, Gun Violence, Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Attempted Kidnapping, Near Death Experiences, Near Death, Canon-Typical Violence, but modernized)

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12. Sad fic where Wei Wuxian dies in childbirth. Maybe birthing A-Yuán. Could be anyone tho

🔒Holding onto what remains of my life (it's slipping through my fingers) by Indrel (M, 3k, WangXian, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Child Death, Miscarriage, Mpreg, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Hurt WWX, POV LWJ, Protective LWJ, First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Location: Burial Mounds, Blood) might work, at least if you don't read the sequel, as the first fic leaves the ending open

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13. Hello! Thank you so much for all you guys do for this fandom!

For ITMF; Any of the Lans, even if just Lan Zhan at first, realizing WWX is a genius in the lectures and is abused by the Jiangs, then doing whatever they can so WWX stays with them and never goes back to Lotus Pier? @lostandmessedup

🔒 the language of flowers and silent things series by Reverie (cl410) (M, 107k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, LWJ & Madam Lan, NHS & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & NMJ, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the YZY warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric, Politics, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, Cultivation Sect Politics, Protective WWX)

🔒💖 Hoards and treasures by apathyinreverie (T, 21k, WangXian, Siblings, Family, not particularly Jiang friendly, YZY Bashing, slightly darker Gusu Lans, LXC being the best brother, Some manipulation, But with the best of intentions, and not between wangxian, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Smitten LWJ, Fluff, perfect happiness, adorable WWX, Romance, Some worldbuilding, courting)

🔒💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

I’ll Take the Path of Thorns by Admiranda (G, 6k, WangXian, Misaimed Curses, WWX is clever, character is cursed to experience pain based on dislike, Cloud Recesses, Canon Divergent, JC's canonical homophobia, Curses, Baby Wangxian, Light Case Fic, Not JC Friendly, We all love NHS in this household)

🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, JFM & YZY, JYL/NMJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

🔒 Come Lay Your Head Down Beside Me by Preludian_Staves (Not Rated, 9k, WangXian, No Sunshot Campaign, Fluff and Angst, protective Lans, Not Jiang Clan Friendly, Mpreg, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Past Abuse, Child Abuse, Getting to Know Each Other, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX)

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14. I'm itmf any assassin wwx and lwj fics preferably where they're both assassin's :D

You Only Die Twice by Mikkeneko (T, 11k, WangXian, Assassins/Spies, Assassins & Hitmen, Modern AU, Mafia AU, Action, Moderate Violence, a lot of people die but no named characters, not exactly lan sect friendly, not exactly lan sect critical either, Assassin LWJ, Kindergarten Teacher WWX, coffee shop meet cute, Let LWJ Say Fuck, slightly cracky, Non-Linear Narrative)

silhouettes to steal this night by moonsteps (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern, Assassins & Hitmen, Roommates, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Identity Porn, Violence, Blood and Injury, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Secret Identity)

Target Acquired (A Family) by relenafanel (T, 11k, WangXian, Assassins & Hitmen, Modern Cultivation, Cultivation Sect Politics, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Acquired family, YLLZ WWX, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Disguise, WWX Wears a Dress, Domestic Fluff, Comedy)

🔒 You & Me Baby, We’ll Eclipse The Sun Series by 2501987 (M/E, 130k, WangXian, XiCheng, MIND THE TAGS, Modern AU, Mafia, Murder husbands, Torture, Possessive Behavior, Blood and Violence, Older JC, Younger WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Dark)

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15. Hello! ITMF Wei Wuxian achieving immortality in the midst of the canon plot at some point, and everyone else's reaction to that? Thank you!

To Do Nothing by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 7k, WangXian, Revenge, non Canon, Not JC Friendly, Not Lan Friendly, lots of A-Yuan, WWX & LWJ are so in love, death and not death, Canon Divergence, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, BAMF WWX)

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16. I would love to read some stories where Lan Wangji is taking care of Wei Wuxian, like helping him take a bath, brushing his hair. I kind of like stories that go beyond the sexual between them, in fact, I love when they explore non-sexual intimacy. I would prefer this to be set in canon, I'm not a big fan of modern au and stuff like that...

In Sickness and In Health by athena_crikey (G, 9k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Fever, Fever Dreams, Delirium, Poisoning, Nursing, the inherent indignities of illness, Love Confessions) lwj takes care of a sick wwx

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, wangxian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort, hunters seeking solid ground (Русский) by Sphinx28, sağlam zemin arayan avcılar by DemigodElena, [Podfic of] hunters seeking solid ground by exmanhater, hunters seeking solid ground by Attila [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea))

and I can’t break free by Kika988 (T, 4k, WangXian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Touch-Starved, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, 🔒and I can’t break free by Kika988 [podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea))

the hidden source is the watchful heart by o_honeybees (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Domesticity, Touch-Starved, Grief/Mourning, Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Unresolved Sexual Tension,Eventual Smut, reflections on selfishness and selflessness)

build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, …then sexual intimacy, WWX learning to accept intimacy without deflection, occasional LWJ humor agenda, [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)

call me home and I’ll build you a throne by anaphoricae (E, 51k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Post-CQL, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Self-Indulgent, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, Touch-Starved, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sexual Intimacy, Lán Juniors Gossiping about Wangxian, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Farmer WWX, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Mutual Pining, Communication, Quietly Falling Into a Married Life, Light Angst, Wholesome, POV LWJ, POV WWX, LWJ in braids agenda, Sharing a Bed, Semi-Public Sex, Inventor WWX, Jealous WWX)

where the chaos is by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 6k, WangXian, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Compliant, Post-Canon Reunions, Love Confessions, First Kiss, First Time, Emotions, WWX is overwhelmed, Domestic Bliss, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Intimacy, Hair Brushing, and more!)

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17. Hi! I hope y’all having a great day

For the next itmf, i’m thinking of wei ying learning to scare away dogs with resentful energy while he lives in the streets. Like how fierce corpses used to run away from him after his yllz era. Has anyone seen something along these lines? Just wei ying getting dabbling out of a survival need before being found by jfm. Thanks!

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[orcasoul]

The Plus One

Summery: You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?

Warnings: swearing, angst (because I liiive for it!), mental health issues, low self esteem from reader, caring Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.

This is inspired by the video of Pedro dancing his arse off at Sarah Paulsons 50th birthday party. God bless this man for randomly inspiring us when he's not even trying to lol.

Word Count: 3,516

It's a quiet evening at home. The living room fireplace is softy blazing, the crackling red and orange flames along with the Christmas tree lights and low lamp light bathes the room in a reposeful ambience. You're snuggled up on the settee in your favourite fluffy Oodie, sipping a hot chocolate as you finish reading a Christmas rom com by one of your favourite authors. And while this is something that usually helps you to unwind at the end of the day, you can't seem to shift that gutting feeling deep down in your stomach. You should have been with Pedro tonight at Sarah's party instead of here alone. With the book finished you're about to check Kindle for your next read but before opening the app, you'd decided to check your notifications on facebook.

Now you wish you hadn't. Of course the first thing to pop up would be a video of Pedro having the time of his life at the party. Not that that is the real issue here. You're not the controlling or possessive type who wants to keep their partner all for yourself and deny them any kind of social life; quite the opposit, in fact. The thing that really hurts, that makes your heart physically ache is that you're never included in Pedro's social events anymore. You would have loved to have been his date to Sarah's party and make memories with him like normal couples do. You've met Sarah on several occasions and the two of you had always got along really well, so why would he rather go alone than bring you?

You've been together for six months now, so it's not like you're in the early stages where you're both yet to meet the others' family and friends. It just doesn't make sense. You had attended a few ceremonies and promotional events for Pedro's movies with him before now and even though they had been quite intense environments to be in, you were just thrilled to be there with him, to support him and show the world how proud you are of him. And you'd like to think that you were adept at hiding the effects that your social anxiety had on you during these occasions. You'd smile, engage in chit chat and if it became too overwhelming you'd always secretly resort to your special coping technique to calm your nerves; stroking slow circles on the palm of your hand.

But it had been months since you'd last attended any events with him and as time goes on it just hurts more and more. You'd hoped time would have made it easier to accept, but truthfully it makes you feel abandoned, insignificant, like you don't belong in his world. Is that it? Is he embarrassed by you? It's true you're both from very different worlds, having met through friends of friends and not through working together in the film industry. Sometimes you still can't understand why he'd chose to be with a nobody like you when he could literally have any woman he wanted. As your mind continues to spiral, taking you to dark places, tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

To love him so much, only to feel it's not enough for him to want you around is... soul crushing. You'd been trying for so long to ignore that niggling little voice in the back of your mind; the one telling you that you aren't good enough for him and there has been times when you'd been able to mute it, especially when you're together and he looks at you with pure adoration in his eyes, or the times he would come home to LA between filming, even if it was just for a couple of days to see you or if he couldn't make it he'd fly you out to the set. No matter what he always made time for your relationship, but only out of the public eye. Pedro has always been a private person, especially when it comes to romantic involvements, but it feels like he's trying to hide you.

And now, this latest video has turned that niggling little voice into a full on megaphone, screaming an endless barrage of ugly truths at you; you're not enough for him. He's bored of you. You're an embarrassment, a stone around his neck. It was only a matter of time. You clutch at your chest as your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, sobs wracking your body. It's over! How could you have not seen it sooner?! He doesn't need you in his life. He's bloody Pedro Pascal for heavens' sake.

You were a delusional fool to ever believe you had anything to offer him. Maybe this is his way of subtly telling you it wasn't working for him anymore. Maybe he'd hoped showing you the stark differences between you both would have made you realise it couldn't continue, and being the kind and gentle man he is, he didn't want to outright dump you and hurt you, so this was the best strategy.

Now your sorrow is tinged with anger. If he wanted to end it all this time he damn well should have had the balls to tell you instead of dragging it out. So, it's down to you now; if he won't do it, you'll have to. Your tablet screen is now shining with your tears. You wipe it dry with your sleeve and throw it down beside you, Knidle well and truly forgotton. Fluffing up a cushion, you curl up on the settee while your broken heart mourns and weeps.

As the party came to an end Pedro couldn't help but feel a little relieved. He'd had a great time and wouldn't have missed one of his best friends' milestone birthdays for the world, but he missed you like hell tonight. He especially felt the sting of your absence when he would see couples dancing or sitting together, hand in hand or snuggling up. He feels selfish, but he wishes you could have been here tonight. And not just tonight, but to all his recent public appearances like the premiers for The Wild Robot and Gladiator 2, but he won't put you through that again.

The guilt still eats away at him when he casts his mind back to the last couple of times you'd attended high profile events with him, even low key and private ones where there isn't a constant blinding flash of cameras. He knows of your struggles with your mental health, in particular with social anxiety (something he can absolutely relate to) and even through your obvious facade he could see what the pressure was doing to you, often feeling a slight tremble in your hand while laced with his. He could see the difference between your forced smile and your genuine smile; the one that would make your eyes sparkle and he could lose himself in them completely.

But the worst thing was when you start rubbing the palm of your hand over and over when you'd thought he wasn't watching. He knew then it was all becoming too much for you and that's when he'd decided that he won't be selfish anymore, that he had to prioritise your well being and comfort before his own and if that meant attending ceremonies and large gatherings alone, so be it. Of course, he always felt incomplete without you at his side, but your needs far outweigh his own as far as he's concerned. Knowing he can shield you from even a fraction of discomfort makes the sacrifice worth it.

After slipping into his jacket, Pedro found Sarah at the front door of her house, waving some guests off. Wrapping her in a big hug, he said, "Happy birthday again, sweetie and thanks for inviting me." Sarah returned the hug. "I'm so glad you came, but I missed seeing Y/N tonight. How is she?" Pedro couldn't hold back the grin that broke out across his face at the mention of your name. "She's great. I wanted to bring her tonight, but I think the crowd would have been too much for her." Sarah smiled endearingly at her friend. "You really do love her, don't you?" Pedro chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh no reason..." she smirked. " Only that I've never seen you so smitten and protective over any other woman in all the years I've known you. You've got it bad." Pedro rolled his eyes, playfully. "Yeah, I guess I do." "So, what are you waiting for?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about?" Pedro asked, knowing exactly what she meant. "You've been carrying that ring around with you for weeks now and still haven't asked her. What's holding you back?" Pedro shifted uncomfortably, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Just worried about her, that's all. The moment word gets out of an engagement, paparazzi will be circling like vultures. I don't just want her overwhelmed." "I think you underestimate her," Sarah began, "I don't think she'd ever let her anxiety get in the way of being with you. It's obvious how much she loves you. In fact when I'm around you two for too long, the sweetness gives me temporary diabetes." Pedro let out a deep belly laugh at that, drawing one from Sarah in return.

"Just do it..." she urged, gently. "You know she'll say yes." Pedro smiled and nodded, "I know." "Well..." Sarah yawned, "Get out of here. I'm fifty now and need my beauty sleep." She gave Pedro another hug. "So, I'll see you and Y/N for lunch next week?" "Sure," Pedro replied, "Goodnight, sweetie." He waved as he walked to his car. "Night," Sarah called out before closing the door.

Settling in his car, Pedro connected his phone to the car speaker and rang your phone. He promised he'd call after the party to say goodnight and couldn't wait to hear your voice. But as soon as you answered, he knew something was wrong. "Hey baby, everything okay?" he asked, worridly. His worry only increased when you cleared your throat, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "Yeah um... I'm fine." You most definitely aren't fine! "You're a shit liar, you know that?" Pedro says, lightheartedly to help put you at ease. Now his tone turns more serious. "Tell me what's wrong." Silence... "Y/N? You're starting to scare me now." "I told you I'm fine. I'm just... tired." You tried to sound convincing but failed, spectacularly.

"I'm coming over -" "No!" Your abrupt outburst silenced Pedro. You've never turned him away in all the months you've been together. "It's... uh... it's late. You should just get home safe." Pedro sighed. "I know something's wrong and if you won't tell me on the phone I'm coming over." At that, you burst into tears. A pang shot straight through Pedro's heart at the sound of you crying. "Hey, baby, talk to me!" he pled. "What happened?" In between the the sniffling your voice became strained. "I didn't want to do this over the phone." Pedro suddenly had a sinking feeling in his gut, not liking the tone of this conversation. "Do what?" he asked, hesitantly. "Its..." sniffle, "It's over."

If Pedro hadn't already been sitting in the car his legs would have given out on him! "W- what?!" he stuttered in disbelief. "What do you mean it's over?!" His hands gripped the steering wheel for support. Where the fuck did this come from all of a sudden?! "Please..." you whispered, sounding mentally drained. "Don't pretend you didn't know this was coming. If you don't want me anymore you should have said something sooner." Pdero jerked his head back, blinking in shock. "What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?" You are full on sobbing now, your words just an unintelligible jumble. "I'm coming over, right now!" "No, please-" "I'm coming over!" he cut you off bluntly and hung up the phone.

His hands shook as he started up the engine and it took all of his willpower to not floor it to your house. Getting pulled over for speeding is the last thing he needs right now. The whole way over, his mind was a frantic mess. What could have happened between the last time he saw you (which was only yesterday) and now? Did he say something? Do something? When he got to your house, he practically flew from the car, his fist pounding on your front door almost as hard as his heart was pounding behind his ribs. "Baby open up, please. I'm not leaving until you talk to me." A few moments later the door cracked open and there you stood, puffy eyed and blotchy faced. Your lips had swollen and your nose shone red from crying.

Pedro could have cried himself from the state you're in. Without a second thought he pushed his way through the door and swept you into his arms, cupping the back of your head to his chest. To his relief, instead of pushing him away, you encircled your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He reached back to close the door behind him, then guided you to the setee, sitting beside you. "Now, what's all this about, hmm? I know this isn't what you really want." You shook your head, a small humourless laugh escaping you. "Of course it's not, but deep down I think it's what you want."

Pedro's forefinger gently tipped your chin up so you were looking into his eyes; big puppy dog eyes filled hurt, confusion and fear. "What I want?" His bottom lip twitched as if he was lost for words. You nod, wiping your cheeks. "W- why would you ever think something like that, sweetheart?" Pedro's shocked expression now has you doubting yourself. Were you wrong? But how could you be? For a while, you've been trying to ignore the feeling that he was slipping away but looking at him now... It's like he'd never even entertained the idea of leaving you. All this uncertainty is giving you whiplash and you can't hold it in anymore. You need to get everything off your chest.

"I..." you trail off as you feel more tears gathering, ready to pour out along with all your insecurities. "...I feel like you don't want me around anymore..." you begin, chest shuddering with nerves and hiccups. "You never invite me to anything, whether it's to do with your public life or even your social life. I'm never included like a partner should be. I need you to be honest... Are you ashamed of me? Because sometimes I feel like you don't want to be seen with me and that you've been pulling away..." You're rambling now, but you just can't stop. "I know I'm not on the same level as you and there are so many beautiful women out there throwing themselves at your feet. Maybe I don't belong in your world. Maybe I'm not enough for you-" Pedro's hands on either side of your face stops your self deprecating tirade.

"Baby, don't you ever put yourself down like that again, you hear me?" You're shocked to see Pedro's cheeks are now wet too. "I'm sorry. Fucking hell! I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I thought I was protecting you this whole time." "Protecting me?" you ask in bewilderment. Pedro gave you a sad smile. "I Know from years of experience that being in the spotlight is tough. It can be draining and I could see how hard it was for you." Pedro took one of your hands and turned it over, rubbing slow circles into your palm. When you realised what he meant by that action, he nodded and kissed your forehead.

"I know you tried to hide it from me, but I noticed every time." "I'm sorry," you mumbled, shame burning your cheeks. "No." Pedro squeezed your hand. "You never apologise for that. I'm the one who's sorry. I was afraid if I mentioned it, you deny it for my sake, so I stopped asking you to come with me thinking it was the best thing for you." Pedro exhaled and your heart ached for him, seeing the guilt and remorse crushing him. "I didn't think it would have looked like I never want you around, 'cause the truth is I miss you, EVERY GODDAMN TIME I have to attend these things without you. I want you with me, now and forever. I'll tell you what..." he looked to be carefully considering his next words. "if you feel up for it, come with me to the next event and if you feel overwhelmed at any point, you tell me and we'll take some time out or even leave."

More tears fall, but this time from sheer relief. You hadn't realised you'd dropped your head again until Pedro, once again, lifted your chin. He looked into your eyes with a fierce and passionate determination. "Now, I'll say this only once; I'm not ashamed of you, we are on the same level, you are more than enough for me and you ARE my world. I love you, so much!" You couldn't fight the beaming smile that practically split your face and you grabbed Pedro by the collar of his jacket, crashing your lips against his.

A surprised "Oomph!" came from his throat and you felt him smile against your mouth. His hands slid to your waist and he pulled you flush to his upper body. His tongue licked your lips and you opened them, allowing him to deepen then kiss; a kiss filled with love, reassurance and a promise of forever. Pedro then broke the kiss, pulling you into a hug. "I love you too," you whispered into his ear. "And I'm sorry, I should have told you how I was feeling instead of keeping it from you." Pedro cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry too, for making that decision for you instead of talking to you."

You let out a lighthearted chuckle, Pedro's frown softening at the sound. "I guess it was just bad communication on both our parts." "Yeah..." he agreed. "Let's make a promise to each other, right now; that we'll always be open and honest with each other and not keep things bottled up." "I promise," you smile and kiss the tip of his nose. "And I promise, too," he returned the kiss. With all the tension drained from your body, you suddenly feel exhausted and can't stop the big yawn taking over you. Pedro smiled at you, adoringly. "I think we should get you to bed, sweetheart." He stood up, picking you up off the setee and made his way to your bedroom.

"Will you stay tonight?" You whisper as you snuggle into his neck, inhaling the scent you love so much. "Of course I will." He kissed the crown of your head. While you used the bathroom, pedro changed into a pair of PJ bottoms and an old T-shirt he'd left here for when he'd stay over. He used the bathroom after you, rushing through brushing his teeth just so he could return to you sooner. Walking into the bedroom, he laughed to himself when all could see was your eyes peeking at him from the edge of the quilt, which was pulled up to cover your nose. God, you look adorable. Your eyes creased in the corners as you laughed under the cover, then pulled it away for him to settle in next to you.

Pedro laid on his back, lifting his arm for you to snuggle into him. Sighing happily, you lay your head on his broad chest and lace a leg over his hips, the steady thump of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body soothing you instantly. "I love you." You tipped your head up to kiss him softly on his lips. "I love you too," he purred, tightening his arms around you. It didn't take you more than ten minutes to drop off, judging by your slow breaths. Pedro, on the other hand, stayed awake long after you'd dropped off, just relishing the feeling of holding you in his arms. He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about how close he came to losing you tonight, and all because of a misunderstanding.

He thinks of the ring he's been carrying around, how he almost lost the opportunity to give it to you. Well, he won't wait any longer. If tonight has taught him anything, it's that nothing is guaranteed in life and, even though he never once doubted you'd say yes, just your devastated reaction to believing you'd lost him proves that you love and need him as much as he does you. Tomorrow he'll ask you; He'll wine and dine you at your favourite restaurant, take you on a stroll along the beach and then, he'll get down on one knee and invite you to share the rest of your life with him.

@greenwitchfromthewoods @picketniffler @liciafonseca @misscornelia13 @missadangel @southernbe

[comatosebunny09]

Now that his birthday’s passed, I can be angsty on main.

cw: non-mc reader, angst, rejection, heartbreak, self-loathing, alcohol mention, unrequited feelings (kind of), stream of consciousness, not proofread, bittersweet (?) ending

After Sy returns to the base following a day spent with Emcee, you quietly slip him your gift—a small, matte black box with a curled, scarlet ribbon encircling it. You don’t give him time to thank you before you’re out of sight. He doesn’t miss the forlorn undertone of your “Happy Belated, boss-man,” before you leave.

He opens it up to see a QR code at the base of the box. He scans it on his phone. Two tickets to a candlelit orchestral performance. He smiles quietly, an affectionate chuckle in his throat. Something tame yet different to get him out of the base. Something so inherently Sylus. But why are there two tickets?

He stares after your afterimage. Ah. Was one of them for—not you? Well, that won’t do. You went through all this trouble to get him something thoughtful. Of course you’re coming with him. Maybe it’ll help break up the tension that’s been brewing between you since he made his choice.

—

It’s nice. Pleasant. You rented out the concert hall just for him. Didn’t expect him to bring you, but you won’t deny that you were thrilled about the invitation. Surprised—it was meant for him to enjoy it with…someone else.

He looks great beneath the candlelight. Then again, so do you. Dressed in sophisticated crimson, a dress to highlight the devastation of your body, courtesy of him. It’s still alright for him to buy you things, right? Friends buy each other gifts all the time.

It’s a little awkward, sitting there beside him. Thighs just barely brushing, fingers itching to reach for each other’s hands. But you’re friends—this is what you agreed to. You convinced yourself you were content with remaining by his side, paying off your unspoken debt to him, even if it pained you to look at him. Smell him. Feel him, barely ghosting, but always a commanding presence.

The music is a lovely distraction. It’s soft, invoking emotions you tucked away. Your eyes water as the strings kick in. It’s like he senses the minute shift in your expression, the change to your posture, the clench of your teeth, and he places his hand over yours to offer you a semblance of comfort. It feels wrong how his fingers burn, how they curl towards your palm on the armrest. How they make you feel safe, validated, wanted.

That soft smile he offers when you glance at him doesn’t help. And how he strokes over the clutch of your hand with his thumb, agitating the emotions welling in your chest. Your returned smile is watery, guarded as you glance at your lap.

Should friends even be holding hands like this?

—

A little bubbly to chase the burn away.

He took you to a lovely restaurant afterwards. You joked it was his birthday gift, so you should be treating him. It’s fine—friends take care of each other, right? When the ache is too much. When your tongue’s too heavy in your mouth, and your heart pulls in your chest.

You end up going for a walk downtown after dinner. Enjoy the historic sights, the fairy lights, the nightlife bustling on the cobblestoned walkways.

You’re laughing. Crowding together. Conversing like two idiots who just fell out of love, itching to sink back into it. He has gentle yet firm fingers around the crook of your elbow to steady you. Maybe you drank more champagne than you thought.

Your feet hurt. He shepherds you to a bus stand to take a load off. Pulls your feet up onto his lap, peeling off your high-heeled sandals, and working through the pain with his knuckles. Just like old times. Is this alright? Should he really be…this nice when he’s…not yours, and—

Thoughts you tried to keep at bay come spilling in. That night replays like torn film reels.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” he whispered, as if admitting it so low would ease the devastation of it. The sting. “Maybe in another lifetime, it could’ve been you. I could’ve held your hand while you laughed so sweetly under the sun. I could’ve stroked your cheek while you pouted in that adorable way, pretending to be upset with me. I could’ve held you so close while you dreamed, while you gave yourself to me. Just…not now. The timing. It’s just—”

You laughed despite the pang in your chest. Despite the tears clumping in your lashes, distorting your vision of him. Pathetic little streaks of red, white, black. You remember rubbing your arms to self-soothe. Being hysterical. Curling into yourself as bile singed the back of your throat. You wanted to vomit. Wanted the world to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to be erased from his memory—him forgetting you would’ve hurt less.

“Please don’t cry,” he placated, voice all croaky. Strained. Broken, almost like how you felt. Like it pained him more to let you down. He reached out for you, fingers shaky in the air near your cheek. You stepped away. You didn’t deserve his affection. Didn’t think you could handle it.

You laughed again, forcing a bitter smile onto your lips. “I’m okay,” you lied through a constricted throat.

It burned. Felt visceral. His pity was the worst torture you’d ever been subjected to. Honestly, you could’ve lived with him being mean. Crushing you. Telling you that you were delusional, a mistake, pathetic. His tenderness hurt more, like a knife thrust into your gut and twisted. It was like he was teasing you with a glimpse of what could have been. False hope. That doting voice speaking to you every day like that.

“Don’t worry about me,” you choked around the threat of a sob, a laugh, “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He hated it, how you always had to put up a front. Always so brave, guarding your emotions like forbidden treasure. He wanted to hold you. Stroke over your hair. Murmur, ‘I’m sorrys’ against the outskirts of your ear. He’d never seen you like this, falling apart at the seams, and yet still fighting to shield yourself. As though showing a bit of weakness would cause him to dispose of you.

He hated himself, watching you wear that prideful smile despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. Letting you slip out of his office without a fight. His nails bit unforgivingly into his palm. Split the skin. Anguish possessed his features in the quiet. He always swiftly dealt with anyone who hurt you. A hair out of place, a scar on your cheek, blood seeping through your clothes.

So what was he supposed to do when he was the source of your pain?

You don’t say anything as his driver pulls his car up to the bus stop. Stone-faced as Sylus drops his jacket onto your shoulders, ushering you into the backseat. You feel empty—a husk. You thought you’d be over it by now, his soft rejection. But he’s gone and picked the scab, reopening festering wounds beneath with his sentimentality.

Why couldn’t it be you? Why was it always—

Someone else?

You lean away from him the entire ride back to base, watching the streetlights blur past the tinted window with your forehead against the crisp glass. It’s all you can do to keep your tears at bay. To keep yourself from falling apart all over again.

And you don’t miss his reflection—those anguished, scarlet-spun eyes watching you. His mouth opening and closing, grappling with the right words to say, yet failing to get them out. 

What could he say that wouldn’t wound you more? 

—

You leave without warning the following morning while everyone’s asleep. Pack up your essentials, a duffle slung over your shoulder, a motorcycle purring between your legs.

You ride towards the horizon, no destination in sight, a sinking feeling in your throat. You thought you could do this. Thought you could brave the storm, the torrents of pain, the letdowns. Thought you could handle seeing him smile like that, hearing him laugh like that, knowing you weren’t the cause of it. 

You deserve better, don’t you? A change of scenery. A chance to start over. To figure out who you are again, without the crushing weight of a quiet, consuming, one-sided love tearing you asunder.

[theetherealbloom]

It Only Falls Into Place When You're Falling To Pieces

Summary: There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ HEAVY ANGST, Fluff, Crying, Tears, Sadness, Apocalypse, Cordyceps, Infected, Major Character Death(s), Funerals, Grief, PTSD, Depression, Kissing, Blood, Morgue, Star-Crossed Lovers, TLOU 2 Spoilers,

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: Fml. I know that you know I don’t usually write angst, but fuck man, I need to mourn and maybe so do you… God I'm so sad. Like we knew the story and how it would end for Joel. Even if you think you're ready... But I know this from experience, even if you've braced yourself, brutality like this... will hurt a lot.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Still by Noah Kahan

Joel Miller Masterlist | MAIN MASTERLIST |

WYOMING, JACKSON — 2029

The mornings were slow in Jackson. Slow in a way that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t living in the end times anymore.

Joel had a habit of waking up before you. Not out of routine or discipline, but out of muscle memory. The kind that sticks even when the world’s long since changed.

Sometimes, he made coffee. Sometimes, he just sat at the table, plucking at his guitar in soft, incomplete chords while the sun started to push through the windows. The house you shared wasn’t big or fancy. But it was warm. It was quiet. It had his coat always draped over the same chair, his boots by the door, the scent of cedar and pine from the little woodworking studio in one of the rooms.

It had Joel.

You found yourself drifting toward him more often than not. Whether he was sanding a piece of maple or trying to shape a leg for a rocking chair he swore he’d finish someday, he let you linger. You’d sit on the bench next to him, fingers curled around a warm mug. He’d hand you scraps to practice carving, smiling softly when you accidentally broke off a corner.

“‘S alright,” he’d murmur, brushing sawdust off your cheek with a thumb. “Takes time.”

Everything with Joel took time.

Loving him. Learning him. Earning the space between his heart and the pain he never quite put into words.

But the quiet in Jackson gave you time. Time to laugh with him over burned dinners, to slow dance in the kitchen when he played a familiar tune, to lay on the couch with your head on his chest while he told you about old country songs and the guitar he lost in Austin.

And it gave him time, too.

Time to lower his walls. To see you not as a danger, but as something steady—something soft he could rest in. Time to share pieces of himself he rarely offered to anyone, fragile corners he'd kept locked away.

He would look at you and think, If I were braver. If I could just say it.

He’d imagine the words on his tongue, how they’d change everything the second they left his mouth. But he wasn’t ready—not brave enough, not honest enough.

So he just looked at you instead.

And maybe you knew. Maybe you always knew.

Because he did love you.

In quiet, consistent ways. In the way he made your coffee just how you liked it. In the way he memorized the sound of your laugh. In every glance, every softened breath, every moment where he didn’t walk away.

He didn’t love you because he was lonely—Joel had long since learned how to survive in the silence.

He loved you because your light made the dark seem less like a prison and more like a place he could leave behind.

It started small.

A found thing—half-buried in the snow behind the stables. You’d been looking for spare nails in a busted old toolbox when you saw it: a film camera. Dusty, scratched up, but the click still worked. You brought it back like a prize.

Joel looked up from the guitar he was restringing, brow furrowed. “You went diggin’ around in that old junkyard again?”

You grinned, breath fogging the air. “Found treasure.”

He squinted at the thing in your hand like it might bite him. “You sure that ain’t just some broken plastic?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He watched you tinker with it all afternoon, wiping the lens clean with your sleeve, warming the roll of film between your palms to bring it back to life. You caught him staring more than once—chin propped in his hand, fingers idle on the frets of a guitar he’d been meaning to finish tuning.

When it finally worked, you snapped a picture of the sunset from your porch. Then one of his back as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration, sleeves rolled up, calloused hands steady over the worn wood.

You took one of his profile too. He’d been humming low under his breath, unaware.

“Hey,” he said, catching the click. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re handsome when you’re focused.”

He huffed a laugh, but he didn’t stop you when you raised the camera again.

Later that week, you asked him for one together.

“C’mere,” you said, tugging at the front of his jacket. “Just one. You might like the memory someday.”

He looked reluctant, like the idea of being frozen in time made him itch. But he let you lead him into the light. You kissed him on the cheek just as the timer clicked. He smiled, wide and surprised and real.

The photo came out a little blurry. But your mouth was pressed to his skin, his eyes crinkled with something close to joy. You kept it in your coat pocket like it might keep you warm.

Sometimes, he came into the kitchen just to touch you.

No reason. No words. Just drawn to you like muscle memory.

You’d be standing at the counter, elbow-deep in something mundane—rinsing mugs, slicing vegetables, stirring whatever was bubbling in the pot—when suddenly there’d be a shift in the air behind you. A warmth. A quiet presence.

Then, Joel’s arms would wind around your waist, firm and steady, palms pressing low on your stomach, right through the thin fabric of your shirt. His chest would settle against your back like it belonged there, like you were meant to carry each other’s weight.

“You makin’ somethin’ good?” he’d mumble into your hair, voice rough with sleep or fresh air or maybe just the softness you always brought out of him.

You barely had time to answer before you’d feel it—his nose brushing just beneath your ear, his scruff scratching tender against your neck. The kind of touch that made the air feel thick with heat and memory.

“You smell like cinnamon,” he whispered one evening, lips grazing the spot where your jaw met your throat.

You stilled, blinking down at the spoon in your hand. “You been sniffin’ me, Miller?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, slow and sweet, like molasses in summer. “You’re intoxicatin’, darlin’. Makes a man forget what he came in here for.”

His mouth followed the curve of your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse. Slow. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

You laughed then, breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. Just a soft, breathless sound that filled the space between your bodies as you leaned back into him, hips settling against his.

The laughter didn’t last long. It never did when his hands started to move—one curling around your hip, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

The spoon slipped from your fingers and clattered into the sink, forgotten.

You turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes, and whispered, “The stew’s gonna burn.”

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling just enough to be trouble.

“Let it.”

One night, he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

It was late, storm tapping at the windows, fire burning low. You were tucked beneath his arm on the couch, legs over his lap, your hand tucked into the worn flannel of his shirt. He kissed you once, then again, then a hundred more times.

Short, sweet little things.

He kissed your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. You giggled, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling.

“Joel,” you whispered, nose scrunched, lips twitching. “What are you doing?”

His palms cradled your face like you were something delicate. Like he’d break if he didn’t touch you just right.

“Memorizing you,” he said. Then he kissed the giggle right off your lips.

Your hands curled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, lips sliding together like they belonged there.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice came out low and honest, barely above a breath:

“You’re everythin’ darlin’.”

He didn’t say he loved you.

Not with words.

But in every quiet moment, every gentle touch, every photo you took that he let you keep—he showed you.

And somehow, that meant more.

Love shows up in the quiet moments with Joel. Always has been.

Not in grand declarations or fireworks. Not in promises whispered beneath starlight or etched into stone. No, with Joel, love slips in softly—through the cracks of everyday life, in the pauses between sentences, in the silence he lets you share without needing to fill it. It’s there when the world is loud, and he chooses to be quiet with you. When everything aches and he doesn’t try to fix it—just stays.

It’s the way your hand always finds his, especially when he’s got that look about him—brows drawn low, eyes shadowed, body still as a storm about to break. You’ve come to know it well, that kind of tension that settles in his shoulders like he’s bracing against something only he can see. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel like peace, but like he’s waiting to run or fight or fall apart.

So you reach for him.

You don’t announce it, don’t make a show of it. Just slide your hand into his, palm against his rough calloused skin, fingers curling between his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. Because you’ve done this before, countless times. Every time the ghosts get too loud or the silence feels too sharp. You hold his hand and he lets you, and that’s how you know—how you always know—he’s letting you in again.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. Just breathes out slow, like your touch takes some of the weight off, even if it’s just a fraction. His jaw unclenches. His shoulders drop a little. You can feel it—the shift, the surrender, the trust.

“Y’okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, soft enough that it could be mistaken for wind slipping through the seams of the old house, rustling the curtains just enough to remind you that the world is still turning outside these walls.

Joel looks at you. Not a glance. A real look. The kind that lingers. The kind that says more than words ever could. His eyes are tired, but there’s something else there too—something quieter, gentler, something that only ever surfaces around you.

His thumb moves in a slow arc across your knuckles, and when he answers, it’s not just with words. It’s in the way his grip tightens slightly, not desperate, just present.

“I am now,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, frayed at the edges. Like maybe he’s been holding it in all day, maybe even longer. Like your hand in his unlocked something he didn’t know he needed to say.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You lean into him instead, resting your head on his shoulder, letting the weight of you press gently against him like a tether. Like a promise. His arm slips around you, steady and sure, palm settling at your hip. He presses a kiss into your hair—right at the crown of your head, like a seal, like a prayer, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.

The room around you is quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the crackle of the fire. Outside, snow falls soundlessly, blanketing the world in soft white. And inside, it’s warm. Not just from the fire—but from him. From this.

From the way he holds you like you’re something he never thought he’d have again. Like the simple act of your hand in his might keep the darkness at bay for one more night.

With Joel, love doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to.

It just stays.

And that’s always been more than enough.

The mornings are always slow.

Time feels syrup-thick when the sun hasn’t fully crested the horizon yet, and sleep still clings to your limbs like molasses. Your body is heavy, cocooned in the tangle of sheets still warm from the man who slept beside you. The air is cool beyond the bed, but the mattress holds the echo of his heat, and it makes you reluctant to move, even as your senses start to stretch awake.

You shift lazily, one arm reaching across the bed to where Joel had been moments ago. It’s empty now, his absence a soft dip in the mattress, but the scent of him lingers—cedarwood, a trace of leather, the faint hint of salt and earth from yesterday’s long walk back into Jackson. Comforting. Familiar.

You pry one eye open, squinting into the low light. Joel’s already sitting at the edge of the bed, the muscles of his back broad and bare, catching a gentle glint from the early morning haze seeping in through the window. He’s halfway through pulling on his shirt, slow and steady, the way he always is in the mornings. A quiet man doing quiet things.

Without thinking, without even fully waking, your hand slips out from beneath the covers and finds him.

Your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist—barely a tug, just enough to let him know you’re there, still tethered to him. And then you shift closer, burying your face against the small of his back, pressing a soft, languid kiss to the warm skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Mmm... good mornin’, Joel,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, muffled by the skin beneath your lips.

He pauses. Still for a moment, like the warmth of your kiss stopped time. Then he breathes out, slow and fond, and turns slightly—just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes crinkle at the corners, soft with affection, and that familiar crooked smile curves beneath the rough scruff of his jaw.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” His voice is rough and low, like gravel soaked in honey, warm enough to melt straight through your bones.

You hum in response, already halfway to sleep again, forehead resting against his back. The bed creaks softly as he shifts, brushing his hand over your tangled hair in a slow, affectionate stroke. His thumb lingers at your temple, then trails down to the curve of your cheek, gentle and grounding.

“Go on,” he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss into your hair. “Sleep a little longer. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

You don’t answer, not really. Just let out a sigh that sounds like peace and contentment all wrapped into one. He stands slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb the blankets more than necessary, and as he moves toward the hearth, you stay curled in the warmth he left behind—your hand resting in the space where his had been, eyes slipping closed again.

You listen to the familiar rhythm of him moving through the room—boots being tugged on, the scrape of kindling, the gentle snap of a match. The softest clink of metal on stone. And through it all, the quiet knowledge that this is what love is.

Not always words. Not always fire and thunder.

But this.

These mornings. These moments. Him.

Sometimes, when the world gets too loud—even in Jackson—you find yourself gravitating toward him without a thought.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the bustle of the market, the chatter of passing patrols, or just the quiet hum of a too-long day catching up with your bones. Something in your chest tightens, overwhelmed and aching for something quieter, something still. And so you find Joel.

He’s usually somewhere close—he always is. Maybe talking with Tommy, maybe checking the perimeter, maybe just standing there with his arms crossed like he’s holding up the whole damn sky on his back again. But the moment your arms circle around his middle, everything else seems to fall away.

You press yourself into him, chest to his back, arms around his waist, and your face buries instinctively in the crook of his neck. That space between shoulder and jaw where you swear the whole world could stop and you wouldn’t mind. The smell of him hits you instantly—faint cedarwood, worn leather, a trace of smoke from the fire pit, and something else too. Something warm and steady and Joel.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away or ask what’s wrong. He just lets out a quiet hum, low in his chest, and leans back into your touch. His hands find yours where they’re linked around his stomach, thumbs brushing idly over your knuckles. You feel the weight of his chin as he rests it gently on top of your head, and then the press of a kiss into your hair—soft, unthinking, like muscle memory.

It’s the kind of affection that doesn’t ask for attention. Doesn’t need an occasion. It just is.

You breathe him in like you’re trying to anchor yourself. Let your eyes flutter shut. Let the rest of the world blur into background noise.

“I missed this,” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, the words barely more than a sigh. You don’t even mean the moment, exactly—you mean the peace of it. The quiet. The him of it all.

Joel turns his head just a little, enough for the edge of his beard to scratch gently against your forehead. His voice is soft when he replies, but there’s something thick in it, something full.

“You’re right here,” he murmurs. “Ain’t gotta miss a thing.”

You shift your face closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Sometimes I still do,” you admit.

He nods once, like he gets it without needing you to explain. “Yeah,” he says, his hand trailing up to cup the back of your head. “Me too.”

And for a long moment, neither of you say anything more. You just stand there, wrapped up in each other, while the world spins noisily on around you—too loud, too fast, too much.

But here, in the shelter of his arms, in the crook of his neck, everything is quiet. Everything is enough.

Crowds were never your thing.

Too many people pressed in too close, too many voices overlapping, footsteps echoing off wood and brick. Even in a place like Jackson—safe, familiar—it could still feel like too much. You were used to being on alert, always aware of exits and shadows, always bracing for what could go wrong. Old habits from the world outside didn’t die easily.

Joel wasn’t much better with crowds. Maybe a little quieter about it, a little more practiced at hiding the way his shoulders stiffened when someone brushed past too close. But you’d seen it. The way his jaw would flex when he was trying to be polite but already had one foot out the door in his head. The way his hand sometimes hovered near his belt like he was missing the feel of his rifle.

And yet, here you were.

The town hall was full to bursting, the whole place humming with life. It was some kind of celebration—maybe a harvest, maybe a birthday, maybe people just needed a reason to dance and drink and pretend that the world hadn’t ended outside those walls. Whatever it was, it was loud. Laughter spilled from every corner. Music vibrated through the floorboards. Glasses clinked together and boots stomped in time with the beat.

You stood near the far end of the room, half-heartedly nursing a cup of water, swaying just a little in time with the song playing—more to keep your nerves from buzzing than for enjoyment. You scanned the room like you always did. Faces. Movements. That unconscious search for something familiar, something grounding.

And then your eyes found Joel.

He was on the opposite side of the room, shoulder leaning against a wooden support beam, arms folded loosely across his chest. He hadn’t joined the dance, hadn’t made a plate from the food table. Just stood there, scanning the crowd—and you knew in your bones he’d been looking for you.

When your eyes met, the noise dulled. Not all at once. It didn’t go silent or freeze like in the movies. But it faded. As if the current of the room moved around the two of you instead of through.

You were mid-sip when it happened, your fingers curled around the cool tin cup, lips barely brushing the rim. But as soon as you caught his gaze, you paused.

It wasn’t a grand thing. No sweeping declarations. Just a glance. A quiet, steady look that said you’re here, and I see you, and that’s all I need.

You tilted your head a fraction, the corner of your mouth twitching upward into the kind of smile you only saved for him—small, but true. Your chest softened. Your breath eased.

Across the room, Joel’s lips quirked into that familiar little half-smile, the one that never quite reached both corners of his mouth, but you knew what it meant. He gave a subtle nod. Nothing flashy. Nothing for show.

Just,  I see you too.

You held that look for a second longer, your body still surrounded by the warmth and noise and movement of the room, but none of it really touched you. Not in that moment. Not with his gaze wrapped around you like a thread pulled taut across the distance.

And even though no one said a word, something passed between you.

You smile again, this one a little wider, a little softer. A silent message of your own: I’m not going anywhere.

And Joel’s eyes softened like he heard it loud and clear.

You hum sometimes, without even knowing you’re doing it. It just slips out—soft and low, the way wind moves through tall grass. A half-remembered tune from before the world went sideways. Maybe it was from the radio, maybe from your childhood, maybe your mother’s voice singing over the hiss of boiling water. It’s not the melody that matters. It’s the feeling that comes with it—warmth, familiarity, something that once meant home.

Sometimes, when your mind is far away, you whistle it instead. Just a few notes, carried on your breath.

Joel never interrupts. Never tells you to stop or asks you to hush. He just listens—quietly, carefully, like the sound of your humming settles something in him too. Like maybe the song is stitching him back together in places neither of you can quite name.

He’s usually out on the porch when it happens, sitting on the old wooden steps with one of the guitars he’s been fixing up. Strings stretched taut, frets worn smooth by time and hands that once knew chords. His fingers—rough and weathered—move slow and steady as he tunes it. Every so often, he plucks a string, listens, adjusts. The sun casts a soft amber glow across his forearms, painting the scars in gold.

You’re nearby. Always. Curled up with your legs folded beneath you, back resting against one of the porch posts. A blanket draped over your shoulders. You hum like peace lives in your chest and is trying to find its way out.

Joel glances up when he hears it—mid-strum, his brow relaxed, lips parted just slightly like he’s about to say something but doesn’t. He just looks at you for a moment, and everything about him softens. His shoulders drop. The line between his brows disappears. Like the sound of you is the first deep breath he’s taken all day.

“What’s that song?” he asks after a while, his voice breaking the silence like it belongs there. Low and warm, barely above the hush of wind.

You pause, the melody tapering off in your throat. Your eyes flick toward the sky, as if the answer might be waiting somewhere in the clouds.

“Not sure,” you murmur, a smile tugging lazily at the corner of your mouth. “Mama used to sing it when she was cooking. I think it used to be on the radio, too. One of those songs that just… stuck.”

Joel nods, the kind of slow, thoughtful nod that doesn’t need words to follow. He strums another chord, something soft and sweet, and leans back on his elbows.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you with that familiar flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Keep goin’. I like it.”

There’s something in the way he says it—something that makes your chest ache in that soft, full kind of way. The kind of ache that’s not about pain at all, but about being known. About being seen and loved for the quiet parts of yourself you didn’t think anyone else noticed.

So you hum again, picking up where you left off. Joel doesn’t look away. He keeps strumming, matching your rhythm now. Not quite harmonizing. Just being there with you, in it.

And for a little while, the world feels like it’s made of nothing but warm wood, old songs, and two people learning how to feel safe again.

You’re curled up together in bed one night, everything quiet except the low pop and crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. The room glows in soft amber and gold, the shadows on the walls swaying like they’re dancing to the rhythm of your breathing. Outside, wind brushes against the windows, but inside, it’s warm. Safe. Still.

Joel lies flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped loosely around your waist. You’re pressed into his side, head resting just below his collarbone, your hand lazily combing through his hair—fingertips tracing gentle, aimless patterns. His hair’s soft tonight, freshly washed and still carrying the faint scent of cedar soap and woodsmoke.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s no need. Just the hush between heartbeats and the sound of Joel’s steady breathing, slow and even beneath your ear.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whisper eventually, your voice thick with sleep. Each word melts into the warmth of his skin. Your eyes are already slipping closed, lashes brushing his chest. You don’t even know if he hears you.

But then you feel it—Joel’s arm tightening around your waist, his hand sliding up under your shirt just enough to rest against your spine, warm and grounding.

“Then don’t move,” he murmurs, voice rough with tiredness and something gentler, deeper. The kind of softness he only ever shows in moments like this, when the world is quiet and his guard is down. “Ain’t no one tellin’ us to go anywhere.”

You smile into the dark, into the skin of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your cheek. His heartbeat thumps slow and steady, and you swear you could fall asleep to that sound alone.

Joel shifts slightly, just enough to press a kiss into the top of your head. His lips linger there—like a promise more than anything spoken.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“So are you,” you say, voice feather-light.

A comfortable silence settles in again. Your fingers slow in his hair, curling around a soft wave near his temple. His hand stays at your back, thumb drawing idle shapes you’re too sleepy to name.

The fire crackles. The wind hums. And you drift off like that—wrapped up in him, hand still in his hair, the weight of his love wrapped around you like a second blanket. Nothing else matters. Not out there. Not tomorrow. Just this.

Just him.

The temperature dips before the sun even brushes the horizon. The last of the daylight clings to the sky in hazy streaks of orange and violet, but the wind has already turned sharp, biting through the seams of your jacket. You and Joel walk side by side down the path back toward Jackson, boots crunching over patches of frost-laced grass and half-frozen dirt.

You don’t say much—patrols tend to leave a certain kind of quiet between you, a silence that doesn’t need filling. But you can feel the chill starting to settle deep in your bones, your fingers stiff and cheeks raw from the cold. You try to rub your hands together for warmth, but it’s useless. The wind is relentless.

Joel notices, of course. His eyes flick over to you, worried in that subtle way he is—more tension in the jaw, more silence than usual. You know he’s about to offer you his coat or tell you he should’ve brought that extra scarf.

So before he can open his mouth, you reach out and grab a fistful of his jacket.

Without a word, you tug him in. Joel stumbles the smallest step forward, surprised but not resisting. You pull until you're chest to chest, until the warmth of his body bleeds into yours. Your frozen hands slip under the back hem of his coat and find the soft flannel of his shirt underneath, palms pressing flat against the heat of his spine.

“Jesus,” Joel mutters, letting out a breath that puffs white between you, his arms automatically sliding around your waist. “You could’ve just asked for my coat, y’know.”

“But then I wouldn’t be this close,” you reply, chin tilting up, a smile tugging at your lips despite your chattering teeth. “You’re warmer than any jacket.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, the kind that melts around the edges. He leans in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “You’re a damn menace,” he says—but his voice is warm and low, thick with affection.

You can feel his fingers pressing into your back, holding you tighter. His nose brushes yours as he tilts his head, and then—soft as snowfall—he kisses you. Once. Then again. And a third time, his lips barely touching yours, quick little pecks that make you laugh and shiver all at once.

“Joel,” you whisper, still grinning, your breath fogging between you both.

“I like the taste of your lips on mine,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your mouth like silk. He says it like a secret. Like it’s always been true.

Then he kisses you again—this time slower, deeper, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pours warmth into you one soft press at a time. The world falls quiet. No wind. No cold. No patrols or gates or the threat of anything waiting in the dark.

Just Joel.

Just this.

When you finally pull apart, you don’t go far. He keeps you close, your fingers still tucked against his back, his breath brushing your temple.

You smile into his collar. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

He kisses your hair, voice barely above a whisper. “Far as I’m concerned, we can stay like this forever.” 

And in that moment, time slows. Your heartbeat settles into the rhythm of his, safe and steady. Warm, despite everything. Because love—real love—isn’t just in the grand gestures. It’s in this. A quiet winter dusk. A jacket shared. The taste of his kiss. The way he holds you like you’re something worth braving the cold for.

Then there’s Ellie.

She was nineteen now. Strong. Sharp-tongued and guarded in the way Joel used to be. You weren’t her mother, and she never treated you like one—but she was curious about you. Distant at first. Then, little by little, she started asking questions. Sitting with you on the porch. Bringing you a book she found and thought you might like.

She and Joel… there were things left unsaid between them. You could feel it like a splinter under the skin. Something tender and unresolved.

He finally told you one night, long after you’d both settled into the quiet comfort of shared sheets and a life you thought might last.

It was after dinner. After the guitar and the laughter. After you’d kissed the corners of his mouth and pulled him into bed.

“I lied to her,” he said, voice hollow.

You blinked in the dark, still half-tangled in sleep. “What?”

Joel’s face was turned toward the ceiling. Still. Tense. “I lied to Ellie. About the Fireflies. About the hospital.”

The room chilled. Your fingers reached for his without hesitation.

“I killed them,” he continued. “Every last one that stood between me and her. ‘Cause they were gonna cut her open. To find a cure.”

He didn’t cry right away. He spoke through gritted teeth, like the guilt was a weight he carried every damn day and had never quite set down.

“She would’ve died. She didn’t know—still doesn’t really. I told her there were others. That she wasn’t the only one. But it was a lie. It’s all a lie.”

You didn’t speak. Just curled into him. Held his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“She hates me for it,” he whispered.

“No,” you said. “She loves you. She’s angry, but she loves you.”

He shook his head. Silent tears rolled into his hairline. You kissed his shoulder. You stayed up all night, fingers running through his graying hair until his breathing steadied again.

That was the last night he told you something he’d never said out loud.

The screams had long gone silent. All that was left now was smoke. Gunpowder. Blood soaking into snow.

Your boots crunch through it—through the aftermath. Bodies, both friend and foe, lie crumpled like broken marionettes. The streets of Jackson, once humming with quiet life, are now a graveyard.

Tommy had held the line at the south gate. You saw him, blackened with ash and soot, flames dancing in the reflection of his eyes as he lit up a bloater with the last fuel of the flamethrower. His scream—raw, furious—cut through the chaos like a knife. You’d joined the others in the streets, turning bullets on the infected… and eventually, on the bitten.

Some of them you knew by name.

You don’t remember pulling the trigger. You only remember the stillness afterward.

The quiet after the roar.

By the time the last runner was put down, your hands were slick with blood—some of it not your own. And when they called for the dead to be gathered, you helped. You counted.

You lost count.

They winched open the gates sometime after. You were still standing by the old greenhouse-turned-morgue, watching Tommy collapse into Maria’s arms, his body shaking with the weight of what he’d survived.

And then—

The hoofbeats. The shuffle of footsteps. The drag of something heavy behind them.

You turned.

Jesse and Ellie rode in first. Dina followed, all their faces hollowed out by exhaustion and something far worse. Behind their horse trailed a shape wrapped in canvas, dark with frozen blood, limp in the snow.

Ellie’s eyes met yours.

Red-rimmed. Wide. Empty.

And you knew.

You knew.

Your legs gave out beneath you before the thought could fully form. The cold didn’t register. Only the scream that tore out of your throat—animal, guttural. You clawed at the snow, sobbing into the dirt and ice, your lungs heaving like they were trying to break through your ribs.

“No—no—no—!” It came out broken. Like you could undo it just by denying it hard enough.

Tommy grabbed you. Held you back. His own face soaked with tears.

You screamed again. You didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care that you were on your knees in the blood and the snow with your heart ripped open.

Maria stood nearby. Hands pressed to her mouth. Silent.

The bag didn’t move.

He was in there.

Joel.

You want to tear the canvas open. You want it to be a mistake. You want to see his face, alive. Cranky. Loving. Whole.

But you already know.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. How long your sobs echo off the ruined walls of Jackson. You only know this: he felt like home.

And now home is just… gone.

They carry him to the chapel. Ellie disappears inside, Dina trailing her silently. Jesse catches your eye and looks away.

You follow the corpse. Your legs move on their own. There’s nothing left to protect now, no fight to win. You’ve survived—but at what cost?

The snow keeps falling.

And somehow, the world keeps turning.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. No birdsong, no wind. Just the thick, suffocating kind of silence that wraps around your ribs and squeezes until it feels like you might shatter from the inside out. The kind of silence that doesn’t leave room for breath, or hope.

The makeshift morgue is colder than outside, colder than anything should ever be. Too sterile. Too still. Too many bodies of people you once smiled at in passing. A metal table stands at the corner of the room, and he’s there—Joel—lying beneath a white sheet that feels far too thin. Like if you peeled it back, he’d stir. Grumble about the draft. Ask where his jacket went.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t fucking move.

You sink to your knees beside the table. Wood floor biting into your bones, your hands trembling as they hover just above the edge of the sheet. Your throat burns like it’s been scraped raw from the inside out, but you haven’t said anything. Not really. Not yet.

Tommy sits down beside you, legs bent awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest like if he doesn’t hold himself together, he might fall apart right here with you.

“I don’t wanna say goodbye,” you choke out, voice so broken it barely sounds like yours. Your hands finally touch the edge of the table, and you grip it like a lifeline.

“I know,” Tommy murmurs. He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t try to fix it. Maybe because he knows there’s no fixing this.

You press your forehead against the cold edge of the metal, like maybe if you’re close enough, you’ll feel his warmth again. But there’s nothing. Only the chill of a world that kept turning without him in it.

“I needed him,” you whisper. The words break on your tongue like glass. “I still do. I need his voice—I need his arms. I need him to tell me this is all gonna be okay.”

A sob claws its way out of your chest, jagged and ugly. “He was supposed to be here.”

You think about the way he used to hold you—how his hands fit so easily around your waist, how he’d tug you close like the world outside didn’t exist. You think about his voice, low and rough, whispering “I got you, baby,” when the nightmares got bad. About the way he looked at you, like you were something worth protecting. Like you were home.

He was home.

And now he’s gone. And you’re nothing but a house with the roof torn off, standing in the rain.

“I don’t know how to be in a world that doesn’t have him in it,” you admit, tears falling freely now, soaking into your sleeves. “I was never scared of tomorrow when he was with me.”

Your head turns toward Tommy, eyes rimmed red. “How do I do this?”

He doesn’t answer. He just puts a hand over yours, squeezes it tight. It’s all he can give you, and you take it, even though it’s not the hand you want.

You close your eyes, breathing in like maybe you’ll catch some trace of him. Leather. Cedar. That soap he used when he tried to be fancy. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the dull antiseptic of this godforsaken room.

“I thought I knew grief,” you whisper. “But this… this is a whole new kind of broken.”

And it is. It’s grief with no bottom. No edges. No map. Like walking into a fog and never coming back out.

You reach up, finally, trembling fingers lifting the edge of the sheet.

You don’t pull it back.

You just press your palm over where you know his heart used to beat.

And you stay there, frozen in time, whispering his name like a prayer. Like if you say it enough, he might come back.

“Joel…”

He doesn’t.

And you know—no matter how many tomorrows come—you’ll miss him in every single one.

Because he wasn’t just the love of your life.

He was your life.

And now, all that’s left is the silence.

It’s three days later when Tommy finds you.

You haven’t spoken much since that day. Just shadows under your eyes and silence on your lips. People leave flowers near the mailbox. You go through the motions—eating when someone puts food in front of you, lying down when your legs give out—but you’re not really here.

You’re sitting on Joel’s porch when he approaches. Your knees are drawn to your chest, your hands wrapped in the sleeves of a jacket that still smells like him. It’s too big, and it doesn’t make you feel any less hollow.

Tommy stands in front of you for a moment, quiet.

Then he lowers himself to sit on the step beside you.

“I ain’t sure if now’s the right time,” he says, voice low. Rough. “But he… he asked me to give you somethin’. If…”

You look at him. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to. You both know how it ends.

Your heart stops. And then starts again, slower. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small envelope—folded and worn soft at the edges like it had been carried for a long time.

Your name is on it.

Your handwriting. Joel’s writing. It’s him. It's him.

Your fingers are shaking as you take it.

“I didn’t read it,” Tommy says, eyes on the horizon. “Didn’t wanna. Figured that was for you.”

Inside the envelope is a single piece of paper, folded once.

And a gold band.

Simple. Plain. No diamonds or carvings. Just a ring. One he probably bartered for quietly. One he probably kept in his pocket, maybe touched it when he thought about you. One he never got to give you.

Your vision blurs instantly.

The paper trembles in your hands as you unfold it. The ink is smudged in one corner—Joel had probably written it with those big hands, careful and slow. Trying to say something final in a way that didn’t feel like goodbye.

Your eyes find the first words.

Hey, baby.

If you’re reading this… then I’m not where I should be. I’m sorry.

God, I didn’t wanna write this. Been puttin’ it off for weeks. But the way this world is… well, you and I both know it don’t always give you time to say things out loud.

So I’m writin’ ‘em now.

First thing—I love you. You probably know that already. Hell, I’ve said it in a hundred different ways without ever sayin’ the words. In the way I hold you. The way I listen to you hum that song. The way I breathe easier when you’re near.

You gave me something I thought I didn’t deserve. Peace. A second chance. A home.

I hope I gave you the same.

Second thing—you’ll find a ring with this letter. Nothin’ fancy. I wanted to give it to you proper. Maybe on the porch. Maybe by the fire. Just… you and me. I had all these words planned. But none of ‘em matter now.

Just know this—I would’ve asked you to be mine. Not ‘cause I needed to prove anything. But because you already were. In every way that counts.

And I wanted the world to know.

I wanted to grow old with you. Wanted to find out what your hair looks like when it’s all grey. Wanted to kiss you goodnight a thousand more times.

I wanted all of it.

But if I didn’t make it—if you’re readin’ this now—I need you to do something for me.

Live.

Please. Don’t let this break you.

You got too much light in you to burn out now.

So wear the ring, if it helps. Or don’t. Keep it in your pocket. Toss it in the river. It’s yours, either way.

You’ll always be mine.

Forever and then some,  

Joel

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until Tommy places a hand on your back, steadying you as the weight of the words crushes you from the inside out.

The ring glints in your palm, catching the dying light of the day.

You bring it to your lips, kiss it once, then curl it into your fist and press it against your heart.

“I would’ve said yes,” you whisper into the air, broken and breathless. “I would’ve said yes a thousand times.”

And the wind moves through the trees like it’s carrying the words to him—wherever he is.

Because love like that doesn’t die.

It just waits.

It lingers in the quiet. In the echo of footsteps that aren’t his. In the smell of cedar and leather that still clings to the collar of his coat. It stays tucked in the corners of every room he touched, every breath he took beside you.

You will mourn him forever. You will miss him every minute.

Your hands will grow old holding a photograph of the two of you—sunlight on your faces, his arm around your shoulders like he always meant to keep you safe. Your bones will ache with the shape of him, your soul carved hollow where he used to be.

And when your time comes, when the world fades soft and slow at the edges, you’ll go with his name dancing on your lips. A whisper. A promise.

Because some loves aren’t meant to end.

Only to be found again.

[imnotshua]

progress report: i am missing you to death - jww

٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2006 - you and wonwoo are better off as lovers ٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships, mutual pining. idiots in love. my babies are flawed and that's okay because so are real people. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid regular things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. they are both down bad. occasional use of pet names (baby & pretty), no use of y/n or other variations, plot and smut, mention of historical bullying, but nothing graphic or extreme. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses (lots), fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f & m receiving), no condoms but reader is on BC, sloppy, soooo much hand holding, sex!!!!!, hickeys, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 17.7k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: this work is the main instalment from my series sorry every song's about you. it’s complete on its own and can be read without the others. there’s a prequel already posted, it’ll be linked at the end and can be found on the series masterlist linked above. you choose the order you want to read them in. future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boy’s I slept with someone in Fall Out Boy and all I got was this stupid song written about me. I have a playlist linked on the series masterlist if you happen to be into that. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for reading this in fragments, over and over again until i got it right. jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate and love you both beyond belief. to @c-oupsie thank you for catching my errors and shouting at me about these two idiots in my dms, i love yelling, i appreciate you. to @daechwitatamic thank you for encouraging me, i appreciate you and your shouting too! to everyone who reads, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

January 2006

Wonwoo got the last choice for film night. He’d put on some period drama to make up for the torture he put you through earlier (another horror movie), one that’ll make you cry very soon probably, and sets the re-filled popcorn bowl between your legs. You pass him a bottle that he opens with his teeth, because for some reason you always forget to bring an opener from the kitchen, and once you’re tucked up in the blanket, with his thigh pressed against the side of yours, it feels too wrong to move. 

It’s routine. It’s good. It’s been this way since school. Every Tuesday is reserved for taking up each other's space. Tuesday– because who else makes plans on Tuesdays? Watching movie after movie in his apartment until it gets too late to go home, and you sleep here. Can’t get interrupted on a Tuesday. (The only time you press pause is when either of you are dating someone, the last was Siyeon several months ago. You liked her, but Wonwoo never really talked about why he ended it.) You have a half hearted fight over who takes the sofa, but you always win out in the end. Wonwoo brings you pillows and pyjamas that smell like his laundry powder. It’s fine. It’s nice. 

The problem is that lately your feelings have been running away with themselves again. You’re not sure how it started anew, or if they ever even fully went away, but the affection you have for him swirls, neglected and nameless, in your stomach. All Wonwoo has to do is smile in your direction and you melt. Made worse tenfold every time he holds your hand. It’s not often. Just when a particularly horrible scene comes on, and your spine goes rigid and you hold your breath, he’ll reach over, wrap his fingers around yours and use his thumb to work the tension out of your knuckles. He’s so good like this. You’ll take all the horror movies he wants for these soft moments, even though they make everything worse. He’s your best friend, and you’ve tried this two too many times. You never properly talked about the last time, the second time, four years ago.

(It’s like these feelings come in cycles.)

The end began with a sickness bug that stretched several days, and ended with a clipped voicemail, Wonwoo’s quiet contemplation obvious through the tinny sound of the recording, saying he wants to just be friends, saying he didn’t want to ruin what you have. That he cares about you so deeply that your friendship needs preserving over everything else. Yes, it hurt. God– it hurts. But you’d rather have him in your life in these half measures, than not at all. 

His hand is on his leg now. You could touch but you won’t. What’s happening on screen isn’t the right kind of scary for holding Wonwoo’s hand. Just Laurie telling Jo he loves her, and Jo telling him she doesn’t. Not in that way. You sink onto your side, hardly watching the screen through fuzzy eyes. Wonwoo chuckles softly as he looks over. 

“Are you crying?”

“No–” you say, voice thick.

“Oh you are,” he says, leaning over to stroke your hair. 

“Don’t touch me right now, Wonwoo,” you warn. “I’ll bite you.”

“Freak.” He laughs and pulls his hand back. “Shit–”

“What?”

It’s obvious what. Wonwoo has knocked over the mostly-full bottle that was tucked between you, and it’s soaking into the seat. 

You jump up to grab some paper towels from the kitchen, and when you come back Wonwoo is stripping the covers from the cushions. “Fuck, it’s soaked. I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” you ask, patting the excess liquid from the cushions. ‘It’s your sofa.”

“Yeah but it’s your bed.”

“Who says I was even gonna stay?” you joke.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll call a taxi.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It’s one AM, you’re not going home now.” 

You laugh. “And where, pray tell, am I going to sleep?”

“My room,” he says, without any idea how the thought of that has been floating through your mind for weeks. You haven’t slept in there since– since– “Hansol’s on the night shift, I’ll take his.”

You chew on the fat of your cheek. “Okay, sure. That works.”

There’s a knock at the half open door an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo whispers. “I can’t sleep.”

“Does it smell again?”

“It’s like something died in there. And there’s crumbs in the bed.”

Okay. Okay. It’s fine.

Wonwoo slips into the bed next to you, pulls the sheets right up to his shoulders even though he must be boiling in those pyjamas. Maybe he’s feeling strange about this, too. You turn on your side to find him watching your face already, cautious eyes and words unsaid on his lips. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Is this too weird?”

“Not weird,” he says. A pause. “A little weird. It’s been a while.” He reaches for your hand and you let him take it. Dummy.

“Do you think Jo and Laurie should’ve ended up together?” Wonwoo asks, after a minute. 

“She didn’t love him.”

“Wouldn’t it have been a better story if she had?”

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been them then, right? Jo and Laurie in love would’ve been different people entirely.”

Here he is, fingers entwined with yours and much too close. Here you are, four years older and not at all wiser. You are Laurie, pathetic and yearning, and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to get that he’s Jo, and that sometimes his tenderness makes you ache. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” he says.

Some things shouldn’t change even when they do. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” you say. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol opens the bedroom door at just past six AM. He clocks the bed, the lump under the sheets, the just visible hair, face hidden by Wonwoo’s shoulder. He locks eyes with Wonwoo, who has been laid wide awake for the better part of an hour, trying not to move lest he wakes you too, and mouths Who’s that?

Wonwoo mouths back your name, and Hansol’s jaw hangs open. He makes a crude gesture with his hands, and raises curious eyebrows. Wonwoo gives him the finger. 

A little later, while you’re attempting to rush out the door for a seminar, Hansol is shovelling cereal in his mouth, and Wonwoo is sitting at the table with a coffee. Hansol asks around a mouthful of Frosties– “so, are you two fucking again?”

“What? No.”

Hansol swallows loudly, frowning confused. “What’s the wet patch on the couch?”

“Ew– it’s beer, you weirdo.” You’re staring at Hansol in disbelief. “Even if we were hooking up I don’t fuck on shared furniture.”

Wonwoo suppresses a choke on his coffee. You throw him a pointed look, lips twisting with the effort of trying not to laugh.

(You and he did, once, on the aforementioned sofa.)

“Why did you sleep in his–” Hansol gestures with an accusing spoon at Wonwoo. “–bed, then?”

“Because it smells like a skunk shat in your room, Hansol, maybe you should wash your arsehole once in a while.”

“I’m squeaky clean, buddy.”

“I doubt that, pal.”

Hansol laughs. He’s loving this. “You need to get laid so badly, shall I help find someone big and strong to pull that gigantic stick out your a–”

“Oh my God, please shut up,” Wonwoo interrupts. “It’s so weird you two are related, who talks with their cousins like this?”

“Second cousins,” you and Hansol correct in unison.

“Just to clarify– you’re not together again?”

You roll your eyes so hard all Wonwoo can see is white. “We weren’t ever together,” you say, exasperated. “We’ve been over this before.”

Wonwoo rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You’re going to be late,” he says to you.

You look at your watch. “Shit– bye best friend, call me tomorrow. Smell you later, Hansol.”

You’re already halfway out the door, and Hansol is calling after you, “Gonna find you a boyfriend! That’s a warning!” 

When the door clicks closed, Hansol turns on Wonwoo. “You’re donezo, I guess?”

Wonwoo sips his coffee. “Never started-zo.”

That sounded less stupid in his head.

Grinning wide, Hansol says, “You won’t mind if I introduce her to Minghao, then?”

Wonwoo presses his forehead against the table and tries to consider how much Hansol’s parents would miss him if he were to flush their son down the toilet. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

February 2006

Wonwoo hovers his cursor over the Submit button. He hesitates. Could remove one of the options, the long shot, and replace it with something more achievable. He’s not going to get it, and if he did he’s under no obligation to take it. It’s more for his ego than anything else, he tells himself. But Professor Lee had insisted he throw his hat in the ring, so he does, and tries not to panic over having made a horrible error of judgement once he clicks submit, because now it’s too late– it’s in the ether. 

You turn over in your sleep, uncomfy in the ball you’d tucked yourself into before drifting off, and your leg unfurls over him, seeking warmth and closeness. Wonwoo sets his laptop on the nightstand, and shifts down carefully next to you. It’s nights like these that Wonwoo is convinced that his life isn’t really real. Because isn’t it some funny joke that you’re here next to him like this, and you’re both still worlds apart. Touches are considered and well-mannered, despite how they used to be. But here you are in your ridiculous Pompompurin pyjamas and he wonders if you ever think about the last time you wore these with him. Probably not. It wouldn’t be considered memorable to anyone else, he thinks. Just a late breakfast in bed, that turned into non-stop talking, that turned silly, peppered kisses into lazy, deepened ones, forgoing lunch in favour of laying together, just close, in ways not completely unlike you are now. In some parallel universe, in some other life, this could still be happening in the way it was meant to. 

Wonwoo considers how well he really knows you now, if it’s less than before, if your favourite colour is still the same as it was when you were children together. There are some questions you don’t think to ask your best friend of twenty years, because it’s expected you’ll already know. Unfortunately, Wonwoo knows nothing of the things inside your head, and someday you’ll find out. Tomorrow he’s going to ask what your favourite colour is, and hopefully that someday won’t be anytime soon. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo surprises you when he picks up the phone on a Friday evening. 

“Oh– hello. I was preparing to leave you a message. Aren’t you playing WoW?”

“Runescape,” he says. “Just getting snacks. What’s up?”

“Mum called, said I’ve got a letter there about our class reunion next month, the eighteenth.”

“Ah yeah, Jihoon mentioned that it was coming up.”

“You wanna go? I could rent a car.”

“Oh so you’re volunteering me as the driver?” You can hear Wonwoo’s smile through the phone. “When are you planning on getting your licence?”

You pout, even though he can’t see you. “Come onnn, won’t it be fun? I promise I’ll be good company.”

Wonwoo laughs. “How good?”

“I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Uh huh–”

“And I’ll burn three new CDs.”

“Four.”

“And I’ll burn four new CDs.”

“Okay, getting closer.”

“And, uh– honestly that's all I had.” You wrack your brain and come up with nothing of substance. “I’ll uh– I’ll hype you up in front of that girl you had a crush on. Whatsername? The cheerleader. God, it’s on the tip of my tongue–”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The girl– that girl you liked once. The one with the hair–”

“I genuinely have no idea who you mean.” He does sound confused, actually. 

“Damn,” you say. “That’s all my bargaining chips.”

“Damn,” he echoes, with a click of his tongue. “Guess you’ll have to take me to dinner if you can’t remember who my mystery girl is.”

“So you’ll drive us?”

“Rent the car.”

“Thanks dear, you’re a real friend,” you sing-song. “Love you, see y–”

“Wait,” he says. “Wanna come over and play Mario Kart?

“Right now?”

“Yeah, you can stay the weekend. If you want.”

There was a phrase Wonwoo’s dad always used to use for the pair of you. Birds of a feather flock together. You’re flocking so often you hardly have to think about it. Just comes naturally. Nothing else is going on, and a weekend playing games and eating out of Wonwoo’s fridge instead of your own is a decent offering. Maybe he’ll have rented that film he talked about last week. The Descent? You’ll tolerate it, if he’ll squeeze your hand through the awful parts. 

“Sure, okay. I’ll pack a bag.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

March 2006

The last weeks of winter feel too long, but today there is a breath of warmth in the air and it feels good good good. March is always the best time of year for dreaming, you think. Feels especially good when you’re watching 28 Days Later, and Wonwoo holds your hand through the whole thing. It’s not even as scary as the others he’s had you sit through, but holding his hand feels nice. Every Tuesday since Little Women has ended in his bed. Feels like old times, without any of the touching and all of the one sided angst. 

When it’s your turn, Wonwoo groans at the sight of the Sense and Sensibility box, but it’s gently done.

“You cannot complain when we’ve been watching horror every week lately,” you admonish, pointing at him with one of your fries. He bites at it and you throw the remaining half at his face. “You know I hate them.” 

Wonwoo grins. “You should complain more, then.”

You hum your agreement. “Well it’s because I’m so selfless that I don’t, you see.”

“Sure, sure,” Wonwoo laughs. His laugh is so lovely. “That’s why you’re taking up my entire bed every Tuesday night.” 

You scoff. “I sleep very mindfully, actually. I even curl into a little ball so your giraffe legs have enough space.” 

“Is that so?” Wonwoo tugs at the material of your (his) pyjama bottoms. “Then explain why I’ve woken up with your legs draped over me every time?”

You blink. Can feel the heat on your ears. Thank God it’s dark. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise.”

A pause. 

“I don’t mind,” he says. Quiet. Suddenly too serious. You can’t look at him. “You’ve always slept like that.” 

“Movie’s starting,” you say. And that’s that. 

Later, Wonwoo squeezes in beside you in his tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. He bumps his hip into your side, smiles at you in the mirror, and it feels so horribly domestic you might actually throw up. It doesn’t make sense what you’re doing. 

When you finish brushing your teeth you look down the hallway to the sofa, think briefly about taking it, but Wonwoo steps out behind you, tugs on your sleeve and asks if you’re coming to bed. There’s toothpaste on the corner of his lip. This time four years ago you would’ve wiped it away. Now you just tap at the corner of your own, say got something there and let Wonwoo sort himself out. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s a rare Tuesday that Hansol is home. He takes Wonwoo’s usual spot next to you, showing you pictures of some guy on his laptop while Wonwoo is fetching drinks and snacks from the kitchen, and when he comes back in the room he blinks, surprised that he’s been relegated to the armchair. He leans over the arm of the sofa to peer at the Myspace profile loaded on Hansol’s screen. 

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Hansol here is trying to get me a date.”

“Am not,” Hansol rebuts. “Though if I were, is he the sort of guy you’d be interested in?”

“Uh–”

Wonwoo’s sharp laugh sounds like a bark. “No, Soonyoung is not her type.”

You swat at him. “What would you know about my type? None of my exes have been remotely similar. He’s hot.”

“Sure, but he’s not for you,” Wonwoo insists. “He’s not serious about anything–”

Hansol sighs, dejected. “We’re never gonna get him laid–“

You stare at the screen. “And apparently he’s a virgin–”

“Don’t shame him,” Hansol says flatly.

“I’m not! It’s just surprising, that’s all!”

“Okay, fine, what about this guy–” He’s already closing off his profile and loading another. It’s all grunge and dark compared to the neon green garishness of the previous. He’s tall, long dark hair, painted nails. That’s all you get to see before Wonwoo is snapping the laptop closed. 

“I’m putting on the movie now, guests choice first.”

“Who pissed in your cereal?” asks Hansol.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just flops into the chair opposite, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the title screen on the TV.

Pride and Prejudice begins, and no less than five minutes in, Hansol sags against the back of the sofa. “Borrrrring. Can we watch Shrek instead?”

Wonwoo glances at you, and you shrug. Hansol takes that as a yes, and disappears off to his room to dig out the DVD from underneath the mess. 

“We can watch it another time,” Wonwoo offers. But you don’t care about that. You’re wondering if Wonwoo is keeping his secrets again. If Hansol knew much about your past, more than the hooking up, more to do with the depth of the feelings you once had for each other, would he be trying to set you up with his and Wonwoo’s friends, right in front of him?

Later, you lay in Wonwoo’s bed and ask why he isn’t dating anyone. He’s on the verge of sleep, can hear it with how low his voice is, how soft. 

“Don’t wanna,” he hums, eyes closed. “M’happy as I am.”

Ah.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Dating someone.”

“Well I’ve got terribly high standards, you see.”

Wonwoo laughs, grins lazy and sweet. “Not high enough. All your partners have been awful.”

“Not all of them,” you argue.

“Name one.” His big brown eyes open just enough for him to level you with them.

You could say anything. Anything. You could say what you really mean, and it could be okay. It could not, too. 

“Remember Park Sungkyu? He was pretty great.”

Wonwoo tickles your middle, and you yelp, swatting at him and suppressing a giggle. “Boys from when we were six don’t count.”

“He gave me a crown for my birthdayyy!” you sing-song. “He called me his Princess.” Wonwoo tickles you again and you jolt.

“Okay, okay, you’re right! I have terrible taste! Now stop torturing me, you freak.”

“Whatever Her Majesty desires.” 

You kick him in the shin in exaggerated outrage but all Wonwoo does is smile wide, grossly pleased with himself. He’s beautiful like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s the weekend and you’re watching Pride and Prejudice from Wonwoo’s bed. Hansol has taken over the living room with a group of friends, and their yelling is so loud it feels like they’re right outside the door. It’s the final game for something or other, you didn’t really listen. It’s unseasonably warm, and though the window is thrust open the air hangs still and heavy in this room. You’re laid shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sheets pushed down to your feet. Occasionally, his thigh brushes yours and it’s nice. His hand twists, palm up, and his thumb strokes your wrist. You like how it feels deliberate. 

It gets to the part where Elizabeth turns down Mr Darcy’s proposal and Wonwoo sniffs. You near snap your neck to look at him. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

“You are. Your eyes are all watery.”

He gestures at the screen. “This is fucked up. They could just talk to each other.”

You shrug, turning back to the screen. Elizabeth finishes up her speech, Mr Darcy looks at her lips, they lean in and hold back. The desperation in his voice, his breathy please, has your chest knotted tight and uncomfortable. “Without a little miscommunication there wouldn’t be any story at all,” you say. 

“Love doesn’t need to be a story,” says Wonwoo, flat. “It could just be.”

“But then we wouldn’t have films, my dearest friend. And all this yearning makes me feel alive.”

Wonwoo knocks his foot against yours, and you nudge him back. More cheers from down the hall. 

“I hate yearning. Makes me feel sick.”

You laugh then, rolling onto your side and looking over at him. Your heart is thumping so loud he can surely hear it. Don’t say it. Don’t push. “What have you ever yearned for?” 

Fuck. What a stupid thing to say.

He doesn’t look at you. Rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and clams up. “Nothing. Nevermind.” And there it is. He’ll touch on his terms and won’t give the feeling a name. He pushes up from the bed. “Want ice cream?”

“No,” you grumble, slipping down flat on the bed and stretching out your arms, eyes fluttering shut to tuck up the feeling in them. “Wanna sleep. This weather makes me tired.”

“Let's sleep then,” he says. “We can finish the rest in the morning.” He shuts off his laptop and makes to take off his t-shirt, but stops, clearly thinking better of it. 

You poke his arm. “I don’t mind if you want to sleep without it. It’s boiling.” 

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah. Nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.” 

His shoulders go all stiff for a second. Stupid.

“Aren’t you warm too?”

Yes. The sweat is starting to make your shirt stick to your skin. “No, I’m okay.”

Wonwoo shrugs off his clothes, tosses them to the chair (keeps his underwear on even though he usually wouldn’t, as some attempt at consideration for the blockades between you ever since– since before) and lays down. Your eyes meet in the half-dark for a moment, and there is something unwritten in his expression. The backs of your hands brush, and it’s still not the right kind of scary to make this touch okay. You can feel the warmth beaming out of him, and you almost tell him how lovely he looks with his skin all flushed and shiny like this. But then he turns his back on you, whispers goodnight, best friend to the wall, and you hold your breath for a moment, while you sink into the depths of your wanting. 

You can’t be the one to bring up the possibility of you, together, again. It’s too humiliating. You should let this go. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Thanks to traffic the drive takes longer than expected. It doesn’t matter. Despite burning six CDs, and stealing four from Hansol’s collection, Wonwoo has you play From Under the Cork Tree twice in the first half of the drive. For the first two hours you talk non-stop, the next is taken up speculating on and placing bets on the lives of the classmates you haven’t already reconnected with on Facebook. You spend the fourth half-snoozing, while Wonwoo hums along to Snow Patrol. He’s gently singing the wrong lyrics to Set Fire to the Third Bar, when Jihoon calls your mobile. 

“Hi Jihoon,” you murmur, and then holding up the phone to Wonwoo’s ear– “Say hi.”

“Hi Jihoon,” says Wonwoo obediently. “We’re still two hours away– shitty traffic.” 

You take the phone back, and say, “Are we meeting you there tonight or do you guys wanna come pregame with us and Wonwoo’s parents?”

Jihoon laughs. “How much pregaming are we talking?”

“I need at least two drinks before I set foot in the same room as Choi Hwangyu.”

“Haven’t you let that whole mortal enemies thing go yet?”

“Never,” you assert, crossing your heart. Wonwoo laughs. “It’s a mutual hatred that will last for all eternity.”

“You know– ‘all eternity’ is a redundant phr–”

“Oh my Godddd.”

You settle on the plan for the evening quickly. You and Wonwoo will have dinner with his parents, change into something that smells less like rental car and chilli Doritos, and Jihoon and Iseul will meet you at the pub before heading to the venue near your old school. 

You flip the phone to end the call, and Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your knee. 

“You gonna be okay? Seeing him?”

It started off as just a bunch of guys being dickheads, nothing too worthy of note. Hwangyu took it further. Snapping your bra strap in the middle of class, spilling drinks over your shirt in front of the entire lunch hall, spreading baseless rumours about boys you’d supposedly hooked up with. Once he started telling people you blew him in the chemistry lab during lunch break, Wonwoo and Jihoon stopped taking notice of your asking them to not intervene and “had words” after school. Wonwoo didn’t walk you home that day– had his friend from the year below, Mingyu, walk you instead. Jihoon told you not to ask so you never did, but just like that Hwangyu stopped giving you grief. Even back then you hated the fact that it took other guys to get him to leave you alone. Patriarchy rules even at the turn of the twenty-first century. How gross.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I looked him up a few days ago. Guess what?”

“He’s divorced?”

“Divorced thrice.”

Wonwoo laughs. “We’re twenty-six, how does someone find the time to get married to and divorced from three different people?”

“We could’ve been married already had we not spent eight years fucking around at university.” You’re laughing until you notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows pinch in the middle, a weird lopsided smile on his face, and you realise what you just said. You cough. “Not we. You know what I mean. My question was more how did he find three separate people who want to fuck him?”

“Urgh, I’d rather not have that visual, thanks.”

Snow Patrol wraps up, and you dig out the CD case from under your feet. “Okay, what next? Arctic Monkeys or My Chemical Romance?”

“Can we have Fall Out Boy again?”

“Oh my G–”

“I really liked that fifth one.” 

You fiddle taking Snow Patrol out the player and popping Fall Out Boy back in, trying not to scratch their bottoms. 

“Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner? Yeah, it’s my second favourite.”

“What’s your first?” asks Wonwoo.

“XO, the last one.” You tip your head back against the headrest, close your eyes, listen to Wonwoo sing, and wonder if it’s him or the music that makes your heart beat faster. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s fun, really. Catching up with all these people you haven’t seen in eight years, and Jihoon and Iseul, who you last saw seven months ago, and Wonwoo, who you see all the time. After your first rounds, the four of you huddle at the table on the furthest edge of the room, Iseul tells you about how her job is having her relocate to your city, and could you show her around (you will—of course you will. The idea of your old friend being there in your home makes you giddy, and Wonwoo laughs when you clap your hands in excitement.), Jihoon tells you all about his latest projects, and you and Wonwoo catch them both up on your studies. Eventually the group breaks off, Wonwoo to the bathroom, Jihoon to the bar, and Iseul spots another friend across the room, and darts off with a promise to be right back. 

You take the moment of quiet to check your texts. Mingyu and Seokmin have heard you’re in town, they want to hang out tomorrow. Your mother wants to know if you’re staying the night with her or your father (neither, you’re staying with Wonwoo’s parents, who were far more glad to see you than your own parents would be), and Wonwoo, who has messaged from the bathroom.

Wonwoo: You’re taking me for dinner after this btw.

You: Wash your hands before texting me, you pig!

There’s a clearing of a throat behind you, and you turn, half expecting Wonwoo there saying something smart in reply, but it’s not. 

“Oh. Hello.”

Your voice is anything but friendly. It seems Hwangyu still has the same unwarranted self-assuredness that pissed you off back then, because once addressed, he settles himself into the chair just vacated by Iseul and leans into your space.

You lean back. “Can I help you?”

“Did you come with Jihoon?’

You blink stupidly. He must not recognise you.

“No.”

He smirks, lazy, out the side of his mouth. 

“Good,” he says, slow. “Can’t stand that guy.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’ve grown into your looks, haven’t you? Nice dress.”

There goes that hopeful theory of him not recognising you, but what in the God awful fuck is happening? Is he trying to pick you up? No apology, not even a pleasantry to speak of, just headfirst into some backhanded compliment and a sleazy smile. These men should only exist as fictional villains, not out in the real world. 

You’re trying to gather your words. The planned retorts in your head don’t work in a situation where this is the angle he’s taking. Shit. 

“I looked you up,” he says, not looking at you. Eyes darting, nervous almost, across the room. You spot his usual friend group, they’re all looking over like hyenas. “A few weeks ago.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Wanted to see if you were single. I always liked you, you know.”

The sound of your laugh takes you by surprise. Comes out more like a bark. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

He doesn’t have the good grace to look contrite. Instead he drums his chewed up fingers on his knee, and says, “Got your attention, though.”

There is stale air around him, hair already peppered at the sides. He looks older than his years, and affected. The hate isn’t eternal, because you just feel something like pity for him. Not so much that you’d forgive the way he treated you, but enough to let it go. Enough to be able to sit here and think that at least you remained kind, and three separate women divorced him before he got within touching distance of thirty. What a sad little life.

“Are you still Jeon Wonwoo’s girl?”

You roll your eyes. About to say no, the truth, because not wanting him has absolutely nothing to do with Wonwoo, and he should know that– but a hand on your shoulder stills you. “Yeah, she is,” says Jihoon, from behind you. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. I am,” you echo, because you’re not going to let Hwangyu call your friend a liar. 

Much too slowly, Hwangyu makes his exit. Exchanges stiff pleasantries with Jihoon, and tries with Iseul who doesn’t return them (she’s a wonderful friend), and slips away to his old friends across the hall. You watch– they clap him on the shoulder, jeer at him, make faces like a twelve year old would. Some friends.

Jihoon and Iseul sit back down in their respective seats. Exchange a look, and you heave a frustrated sigh, just before Wonwoo returns from the bathroom. His eyes flick between you, catching the smell of the tension, and sinks slowly into his seat next to yours.

“What did I miss?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingyu and Seokmin are playing pool, badly. You can hear their yelling from all the way over here. Someone has started playing Boyz II Men on the jukebox. Jihoon is drunk, sings along to the words. His voice has always been pretty. Iseul joins in, and hers is less so, but it’s so fun to watch them together. 

‘I know the colour of love

And it lives inside of you

I know the colour of truth

It's in the image of you’

They’re another set of friends who could have been, but didn’t. It’s a shame they could never figure it out. You and Wonwoo clink your bottles together, take a sip, and Wonwoo lets you lean against him. His arm rests on the bench behind your back, his hand on your shoulder. He’s a little drunk, as are you, and it’s nice to be home and in all your old haunts.

You rest the back of your head in the crook of his neck, and ask him what he thinks the colour of love is. 

Wonwoo hums in thought, runs his thumb along the length of your shoulder blade. “I don’t know, I’ll need to think about it. What do you think it is?”

“It’s pink.”

“Why?”

Blush pink, soft, and subtle, and sweet. The colour of his cheeks when he’s shy. The colour of the soft sweater he wore one time, while you were walking along the river and he was happy and goofy and lovely, swinging your clasped hands high in the sky. The colour of the flowers he buys for your birthday, the same kind (your favourite) every year without fail. His corsage on prom night. The fuzzy feeling you get in your stomach when he laughs is pink. Painted clouds at sunset, lovehearts, strawberries, the Milky Way, cherry blossoms. Pink is the colour of hopeless romantics, and the colour of the Wonwoo shaped hole in your heart. 

He taps you, gentle. “Get distracted?” he asks. You nod. “Drunk?” 

“Getting there.”

“Why pink?”

It’s too much to say. “Valentines Day. Duh.”

Britney Spears comes on the jukebox. Iseul squeals loud and drags you up to dance. Wonwoo watches you, his smile beaming, and you can hardly look at him. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, when Wonwoo lays in bed (the air mattress on the floor of his childhood bedroom), he’s still mulling over your question. Your arm is hanging over the edge of his old bed, fingers close enough to touch. He doesn’t. You’d fallen fast asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

Wonwoo thinks about when you were children. Digging in the grass, plucking leaves from trees (Biggest one wins! Wins what? I dunno, a promise?), the first shoots of the tulips you and he planted in your grandfather's garden. He’s had so many shared firsts with you. There was no obligation, no forced time spent, just two kids who chose the comfort of one another over everyone else. It’s really something that you’ve still stuck like glue, all these years, as you’ve grown and reincarnated into several different people. Every time, you’ve chosen each other, even when it didn’t work. 

The colour of love is green. It’s in all those moments he felt most free. Like anything could happen. Like everything is fresh and new and an adventure to be had. It’s in the wig you wore for Halloween one year, and you made him laugh so hard he cried. It’s in the way you ground him when his heart is racing, when you drag him outside to stand in the park, make him kick off his shoes and socks and stand on the grass to feel the earth beneath his body. He always feels silly until it works. It’s in the bauble you painted for his parents when you were eight, tucked away for safekeeping in the attic, brought out every December to hang on the tree. It’s the colour of the blanket his mother knitted you years ago, that you still keep, spread out on top of your bed. His colour is in the dress you wore the very first time, and in another one, more sensible and grown, that you wore last night. His colour is all his moments with you. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 2006

“If I have to move to Busan you’ll come visit me, right?”

You purse your lips and hum loud for dramatic effect. Wonwoo throws a cushion at your face, and you laugh, swatting at him and missing by a mile. 

You’re laying down with your bare feet in his lap, while Wonwoo balances his laptop precariously on the arm of the sofa to check on his applications. The news trickles slowly, only a few people have heard back, so far. You’re almost done with your program, and Wonwoo is just about to start. People have called him a late bloomer before, but he just takes a little while to come around. Needs it to be a sure thing before he gets his head out of the sand. He’s starting to realise that in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters. 

“Say yes.”

“I’ll have to get my drivers licence,” you say, thinking possibilities out loud. “But sure, I’ll get the train in the meantime.”

You push up and lean over him to peer at his screen, place your hand on his bicep for balance. Wonwoo tries not to think too much about it.

“Where else did you apply?” you ask, scanning the page.

Wonwoo lists off. “SNU, KNUH, PNU–” 

“Cambridge?” Your voice is small, and he hates it. “I didn’t know you still wanted to go.”

Wonwoo shrugs. He does. Cambridge had been a fantasy for a while, all his adult life and then some, and the research fellow for the Keros Project couldn’t be a better opportunity. Six months in Greece, five in England. But also he doesn’t. Both because you’re his constant, and this is new ground. What if he leaves? Even if it’s just Busan– if he leaves this city, would you still be birds?

He won’t get in.

“I won’t get in.”

“But you applied?”

“Professor Lee insisted,” Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed and already sick of hearing himself talk about it. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t try. Seriously though, they only take a few applicants. It’s not going to be me. It’ll be Busan for me, most likely.”

You’re quiet for a moment, hand still on him like you’ve forgotten all about it. 

“Cambridge would be stupid if they didn’t take you,” you say, smiling tiny and false. “Not sure how often I could visit though.”

Wonwoo’s skin feels all hot. Would crawl out of it, if he could. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol’s friend, Minghao (the one from Myspace) is in the arts. It suits him. He talks at length about his various projects– painting, interpretive dance, a four man performance he’s directed that will soon be playing at some hole in the wall venue (that he asks if you’d like to see. You would.) and it’s nice to be around someone that shows their interest in you so clearly. He asks about your studies and seems genuinely interested when you talk about the impact candlelight vigils have on policy making. How the government consistently underestimates its people. It’s a rare occurrence that a date takes interest in your work. Wonwoo talks with you about it all the time, of co– but that’s not– he’s not– 

It’s just different when it’s a date. 

He’s perfectly polite. Buys your coffee and holds the door. Walks on the road side of the footpath, even. Minghao would be easy for you to like. He’s funny, and thoughtful, and takes notice. He’s bold. He’s a welcome distraction. 

But Wonwoo is still there. 

He’s pressed into every crevice of your mind. He’s your past and present and only God knows if he’s in your future. Later, you call, but of course you get the answerphone– he did say yesterday that he’d be in the library all weekend. 

“Hey, Wonwoo, it’s me. Listen– will you come over when you hear this? Doesn’t matter what time. Use your key. Okay. Okay. Bye.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s late when Wonwoo lets himself in. Heard your message just after two and walked straight out the door, rode his bike all the way here. 

The apartment looks like it always does. He’s hardly spent much time here in recent years, save for the occasional lingering in the living room before heading out somewhere neutral. Doesn’t feel right being in your space anymore, not after how it all ended last time, with water brash in his mouth. He still thinks about that. It’s why movie night is only ever at his place. So when you called and asked him to be here, to use his key, he knew something was awry. 

Seoyoung, your new-ish roommate, is in the living room, sitting on the ledge and blowing smoke out the window. She moved in about four months ago and you’ve quickly become good friends. She looks up at Wonwoo and waves, mouths she’s asleep and Wonwoo acknowledges with whispered “ah– thanks.”

Wonwoo knocks on your half open door, but you don’t stir, in too deep a sleep. You don’t notice the door clunk closed louder than Wonwoo intends. The mattress dips under his weight and still you don’t move. It’s only when he squeezes your hand that you blink the sleep from your eyes, puffy cheeks and always lovely. You stretch out like a cat, willing the fatigue away with a sigh that turns to a yawn, and Wonwoo feels immense guilt for having kept you waiting. More still for waking you up, but you wouldn’t have asked him to come if you didn’t want to talk right away. 

You pat the space next to you in silent invitation and Wonwoo hesitates. 

“I’m in my outdoor clothes.” 

“One of your t-shirts is in the bottom drawer,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes and pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard. 

Wonwoo changes in the bathroom. Washes his face and thinks about the last time he used your sink. The feelings haven’t changed, just bottled. Matured. He has a similar unease in every fibre of his body. Feels like static energy on his fingertips and he needs to rub it away. 

The silence stretches when he sinks down into the empty space of the bed. You draw patterns onto the sheets with a fingertip and stare down at the dimples you make. He wants to still your hand, to turn it over in his and ask why you called him over. Doesn’t, because you’re working up to it, can tell you’ve got tightness in your chest just by the sound of your breathing. You lean into him, sagging against his side and head tipped to rest on his shoulder. He has to stop himself pressing his lips to your crown. 

“I’m sorry I kept this,” you murmur, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Wear it to sleep, sometimes.”

He remembers it wasn’t in the bag of things you’d handed him, a couple of weeks after he left you that message on your answerphone. He figured it’d just been mislaid, didn’t occur to him that you’d tucked it away for yourself.  

“I don’t mind.” Always looked better on you anyway. 

You loop your arm around his. 

“I went on a date today.”

Oh.

“Minghao?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo nods. He could see that working. You’ve always wanted something romantic. Someone who could have nineteenth century novels written about them. Minghao seems like that type.

“He’s asked me out again.”

“Okay.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, feels like he knows where this is headed because you’ve both dated people since last time. It’s never had to be a conversation though. Movie nights become strictly group activities, any day of the week is fine. It’s okay. It’s out of respect, or whatever. 

“Should I go?”

“It’s your room,” Wonwoo deadpans.

“On the date, idiot.”

He swallows. “I don’t know. Do you like him?”

You shrug. “I could.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Wonwoo–” 

“We don’t talk about stuff like this.”

“We need to,” you insist. “What are we doing?”

There it is. The question he’s been dreading. The question he hoped you wouldn’t ask because he doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know how to take the feelings in his chest and wrap them neatly into words. All he wanted to do was just let it happen, if it were to happen at all, on your terms. Except now you’re asking him to give it a name, and his throat goes dry. He’s doing it again. Despite how he’s tried letting you go, despite keeping a respectable distance, he’s still managing to slip his way back in like this. Lately, Wonwoo has been wondering if he’s a narcissist, since he doesn’t even realise he’s manipulating the situation until it’s too late, and you’re saying what he can’t. You’re so much braver than he is. It wasn’t until week five (six?) of holding your hand that he realised he was choosing horror movies deliberately so he’d have a reason to touch you. It got to the point when the background music would feature its first minor key of many, and your palm would turn outwards, just waiting for him to clasp it in his and hold you through the scene. He’s given you a Pavlovian response. Isn’t that completely fucked?

“Wonwoo,” you plead. His heart jolts. “I won’t wait for you forever.”

He tips his head back against the headboard, eyes closed because he can’t bear to look at you while he admits it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “What I’ve been doing?”

“Nothing you do makes sense to me.”

The silence feels all thick and pliable.

Quietly, he confesses. “I don’t want you to date him. Anyone, really.”

Feels as though he’s sinking into syrup. Hard to move, hard to breathe. Hears your jagged inhale and steels himself for the ripping of the plaster. 

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” 

Wonwoo is a poorly knitted scarf. All slipped stitches and fast forming holes. One tug on a loose thread and he comes apart. 

“I want to be yours.”

He doesn’t expect your touch, let alone your kiss, gentle and loving on his shoulder. When he looks at you, your eyes are big and sad. 

“I don’t want to be your secret,” you whisper, in a tiny voice, against his t-shirt. 

This is his undoing. Wraps his fingers around your wrist and insists you’re not. You’ve never been that. It’s just– he wants to keep this private, not that he loves you, but how he shows it. Feels like it should be something sacred. You blink, startled, completely taken aback.

“You love me?”

“God. Yes,” he breathes. “Didn’t you know?”

“I thought you might– I didn’t know.” You’re crying. Silent tears spilling over, fingers plucking at a hangnail on your thumb and this is the worst. His heart aches. “You’re so quiet, how could I know anything for sure? How long?” 

“I–” He fucked up. Oh, he fucked up so badly. He rags his hands over his face, pushes his hair back while he searches for the right way to say it. “Too long.”

“After Siyeon?”

Wonwoo sighs. His thing with Siyeon wasn’t anything real. It started as a one time thing that stretched into semi-regular hook ups. She was in love with someone else, and he was pretending he wasn’t. The whole getting over someone by getting under someone else thing doesn’t work on a heartache as sour as his, and fuck anyone who said it would, actually. 

“Before?” 

“Before.”

You suck in a breath. “Oh.”

“Since we were kids, really,” he says. “Since before we ever–”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

Wonwoo laughs ruefully. “Is it? I feel like I was plain as day. The guys at school used to tease me for it.”

“I hate this,” you say after a moment, voice thick and sad. You rub at your face. Push away the still falling tears. “It should feel nice, shouldn’t it? You saying you love me and I just feel sad about all the wasted years. And now it feels like I forced it out of you, before you were ready. I love you too, you know. Have all this time.”

Wonwoo feels too big for his body. Like he’s full of hot air and could float right out of the window high high higher until he burns up in the atmosphere. Even still, there is that small voice in the back of Wonwoo’s mind, telling him he’s self-centered for getting what he needs, that he’s cruel for making you feel like this, selfish for wanting you just for himself. Stupid, for having wasted time. The alarm goes off– he doesn’t deserve it, your kindness, your patience, your love. When it comes to you he is, and always has been, a coward. But you’re still here grounding him, head resting against him, arms still linked, and you’re making no moves to push him out the door. 

“How can I make it better?”

You sniff. “You can tell me again when I’ve stopped crying. You can stay.” 

“Can I hold you?” Like you’re his, he doesn’t say.

You chew on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

Wonwoo shifts down, turns on his side and lifts the duvet for you to move into the space in front of him. You take his glasses, fold them carefully and place them on your nightstand. You slot in next to him, back to his front, his body curls around yours and you press into him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and he starts to let himself hope it could be okay. 

“Have you stopped crying yet,” he asks softly, after a while. His hand is splayed across your cotton clad stomach, one finger toying with the hem. Yours is tracing figures of eight on his forearm. 

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For a long time, you’ve imagined it would feel like fanfare. A marching band size confession if there were to ever be one. But that’s not who he is, and it’s not what you really want. It’s better like this. Whispered sweet things. His breath warming your skin. His fingers on the soft skin of your stomach, lips on your neck. 

It feels honest. 

It feels real. 

Wonwoo turns you on your back, leans over to kiss the skin beneath your eyes. One– two– Wonwoo has always had so much love in him. It’s just quiet. You place your palm over his cheek and he leans into it. Turns to press a kiss to the centre, to your fingertips, one by one. Everything feels soft and pink and fragile. 

“Wonwoo?”

He makes a soft, curious noise. Lips still pressed to the tip of your ring finger.

“Kiss me?”

Every time holds meaning, but now it’s morphed, reincarnated into something new. Wonwoo loves you properly, and this time he’s said it out loud. The way he kisses makes everything go hazy and light and it feels like sunset. Slow and deliberate and feathered across your skin. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, kissing him open mouthed, and his body goes molten against you. The weight of him is exquisite. 

Wonwoo loves like moonlight. Comes in cycles, and yes, this time it’s clearer than others, but it turns out he’s always just there even when he’s not, even when it goes dark and things turn ugly, he’s still there holding your hand. There is moonlight in his eyes, now, shining and shimmering. With tenderness, Wonwoo runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek, your bottom lip, the pulse point on your neck. You slip a hand beneath his t-shirt, touch the skin there and sigh over the way he presses against you. Your hand moves down and he stills you. 

“This is embarrassing,” he murmurs. “I didn’t bring any–”

“I don’t need one if you don’t,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill now.”

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Okay.”

“Don’t you want to?”

Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, you can feel his eyelashes tickling your skin. “I always want to.”

“Then touch me.” 

He does. Works deft fingers over your middle, watches the way the goosebumps raise as he takes your warm body from your clothes. Soothes his big hands over your skin to warm you. You don’t tell him you’re already burning. He mouths over the swell of your breast, pebbles the nipple between his fingers, asks if it’s okay, like this. It’s okay. Anything he wants is okay. You tell him that– that he can do anything he wants to you, that you’re his to do as he pleases with, and he groans, a small disbelieving sound. 

“Don’t say things like that.” 

You don’t ask why. Wonwoo has always been possessive, but it’s not something he likes about himself. Hates to share but doesn’t like to take either, feels some kind of shame about it. Wears the word selfish like a chain around his neck. And so he doesn’t take at all, tries to stay content with nothing. You tried to tell him once, it’s not selfish to want things. It’s not self-centred to have your needs met. You deserve good things, too, Wonwoo. And he looked at you, both forlorn and skeptical, said something about how caged birds can forget how to fly. He never seemed to get that he’d only ever imprisoned himself. Tonight you’ll give him your body, push his shame away with your hands and your mouth, and let him have this. 

You fist your hands in his hair, drag him up by it just to crush your lips against his to kiss him messy. He groans again, a little louder, and it’s this you’ve missed the most. The way he forgets himself when he’s touching you. The way he lets go. You wiggle underneath him, let his body shift so he’s caught between your legs and you can feel how he presses against your core. You nip at his lip, toy with the waistband of his underwear. “Off,” you say, and Wonwoo complies. The t-shirt follows straight after, and his body is back on you, looking at you like you hung the moon. 

He brings a hand between your bodies, taps you almost where you want him, asks if he can touch you. Please. A finger dips inside, an open mouthed kiss, his length, hard, pressed into your thigh. Wonwoo likes things wet, and sloppy. You like whatever he likes. He gathers up the wetness inside you, smears it over your clit, brings his fingers to his mouth, closes his eyes as he tastes you on his tongue. God, what the fuck. 

“Missed you,” you say, and he kisses you deep. Licks into your mouth, pushes two long fingers back inside your slick heat, and curls them over the sweetest spot. You pull off his lips to gasp. 

“Can we keep doing this?” Wonwoo whispers against the corner of your mouth. “Will you kiss me anytime you want? Baby, say yes.”

You nod, head hazy, swimming in the moment. Baby. The ache in your chest, once dulled but never gone, is pounding. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo holds you like you’re about to disappear, grips your waist tight with his free hand, fucks into you slow and messy with the other. You whimper as he plays with your clit, spread your legs wider so he can see, if he wants, but he’s watching your face, watching your mouth form a silent o. You’re so pretty, he tells you. So pretty always but prettiest like this, when it’s just the two of you. Watches your eyes go glassy, watches you come apart for him, feels your pussy clench around his fingers and commits the way your body shudders to memory. He doesn’t wait for it to pass before he kisses you again, takes your whines in his mouth and eats them. They taste saccharine sweet. 

He slots between your legs, rests his cock against your core, pressing languid kisses to anywhere he can reach without moving from this spot. Nips at your collarbone, laves his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck. Will leave a mark there, one day, when you’re his. A small part of him says that you’re his now, always have been, but it’s not really true, is it? Wonwoo needs the conversation, needs the lines drawn and the expectations laid out. Needs you to be sure that it’s him you want. Needs to know he’ll be able to give you what you need. He hasn’t, always, and that was part of the trouble. Wants it to be different, this time, because being with you is one of the few things that makes him feel whole in his own skin. 

Right now he wants to feel you like this, chasing friction and needing more. He’ll give it to you, would give you anything in this moment, just wants you needy first. It starts with you wrapping your arms around his back, running your fingertips down his spine, lighting little fires in their wake. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his jaw, and tell him you need him inside. That you want him to fill you up. Fuck, if he could do this forever–

He wraps long fingers around your ankle, bends your knee to press your thigh to your chest, gives him better access like this, and it’s then he rolls against you, his cock dragging along your clit. He’s always loved the way you sound. Loves the way you get wet for him. Wonwoo loves you. So much. 

“Love you, too, Wonwoo.”

He groans as he slots a hand between your bodies, fists his cock and slides into your slick, tight heat. It’s agonising, he thinks, the way you tighten around him. Wants to go to sleep this way, wrapped up in each other like this. He knows if he asks you’ll let him, but he wants you to want it too. Maybe another time. This time there’s going to be more. He knows it.

“Need you to move,” you sigh. “Move for me.”

He does. Fucks into you slow, shit, baby, you feel so good. He gets in deep, feels the tension burning in his guts, gasps into your kiss when your cunt goes impossibly tight and wet around his cock, loves when your nails dig into his skin, when your moan comes out muffled and broken. 

He pulls out to look down at his cock slipping inside you, pushes in as deep as he can again and you arch your hips to meet him. He rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit. His body is alight, the perfect amount of heat and pressure and you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice rasps. Your lips are pink and swollen. He wants them back on him. “So wet for me.” 

The pressure of his hands on you– it wavers. Digs in hard in one moment and become the ghost of a touch the next. It’s like he loses himself and then remembers that you’re a flower, soft, and delicate. You won't break, because you’ve never been the least bit fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hurt. More so he doesn’t want to let himself claim you. Can’t let anyone know he knows you like he does. 

“Leave marks on me, Wonwoo,” you say, reading his mind. You run your fingers over the top of his, where they rest upon your middle. “I like it.”

He did once, at the end of the first time. Sucked a deep, purple bruise beneath your neck for everyone to see. And he loved it, loved knowing he put it there in the dark, and loved how it deepened into your skin a day later, knowing that every time you looked in the mirror you’d be reminded. Loved it– until the brakes were slammed on, and he had to watch it deepen still. Watched your friends tease, asking ‘who’s loverboy?’ just for you to say oh my god, no one, shut up. The next day you’d covered your mottled skin with make-up, so like you he pretended nothing happened. And all too soon it faded, much faster than all the rest of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all, had he known he was no one. 

But now you’re telling him to. Wanting clouds his judgement. It’s a dream, maybe, but dreams have never felt like this, you were always just out of reach. He’s all shallow thrusts and quickened breaths, and you take his hands to show him where you want his mouth. 

“Here,” you say, pressing his palm over your breast. Here is good, he thinks, as he mottles the flesh with his lips. Private, just something for the two of you. He’ll ask for a picture in a few days, jerk himself off over it, probably. You thread a hand through his hair, pull on it (his cock twitches inside you, embarrassing) to angle his head up your body. You look so happy, smiling soft, and watching him through your eyelashes. God, why didn’t he get his shit together before? 

“Here, too” you say, directing him to your collarbone. Wastes no time leaving a small mark. He likes it, looks a little like a love heart. There’s still a chill in the air this April, you could easily cover it if you need to, he wouldn’t mind this time. But then you say here, and this time you’re tipping up your jaw to give him access, pressing his fingers to the column of your lovely neck. He stills inside you, and you make a small noise of discontent, and angle your hips to draw him in deeper. 

“Please, Wonwoo,” you beg, eyes big and shining. You touch his bottom lip, wet with spit. “Need it on me. Wanna be yours too.” 

He uses teeth, this time. Sinks into your body and groans against your neck, you press kisses into his hair as he fucks you. Hard breaths, sloppy thrusts, the sound of wet skin and your broken noises. Wonwoo whimpers into your neck as you pulse around him, sucking the deepest bruise, fuck fuck fuck. “Gonna come,” you breathe. “Are you close?” He nods, laves a soothing tongue over the ache, makes it shine. 

“Harder,” you plead, pulling at his hips to drag him against you. “Make me sore.” And it’s fucked up that he wants to. Has this morbid, fascinating thought of you feeling him for days afterward as you go about your life, a heavy, aching reminder that he did this to your body– but maybe it’s okay, if you want it too? He feels the pressure on his skin, in his bones, of your need for him. He thrusts deep and fast without warning, even the breath he takes is sharp, and the noise– fuck, the noise is obscene. You come with a gasp, eyes fluttering like you want to keep them open but can’t, too lost in the feeling. He whispers sweet praise in your ear as he comes too, and you kiss, lazy and open mouthed, at his cheek. His sticky release seeps out of you around his cock, and he fucks it back in, head clouding and body taught with overstimulation.

After a moment, when he’s caught his breath and your body goes molten, he shifts his weight and starts to pull out, but you drag your listless limbs over him to hold him there. “Stay,” you ask quietly, all gentle and loving and shy. “Just for a little while.” 

Words are inefficient, here. Can’t tell you all the ways in which he loves you. Just places those feelings on his lips and presses them to your temple. Hopes you know what you mean to him and hopes he means the same to you. Wonwoo welcomes this arrow through his heart. 

When it’s quiet, and the air in the room is all still and heavy, you murmur against his sweat-sheened skin, “It’s never like this with anyone else.”

No. Nothing could ever be like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

May 2006

You’re home for the weekend, and today you're taking a day trip to Dadaepo beach, the south side of Busan. Wonwoo is driving and the windows are down and you’re listening to music and you’re in love. For real, this time. No second guessing, no wondering if he loves you back, because it’s out in the open and it’s tangible. He holds your hand all the time, and it’s so nice not to have adrenaline coursing through your veins before he knots his fingers with yours. He’s driving like this, hands clasped together in your lap. 

Iseul and Seoyoung got close so fast, and they’re singing old songs together in the backseat. Mingyu’s too long body is squished between them, looking utterly perplexed at how he ended up in this car with these strange, loud women. 

Later, you lay out the picnic you’d packed. The others are in the water, in the distance you can almost hear Iseul and Seoyoung shouting happily at Mingyu, and him yelling back. Wonwoo lays stretched out on the blanket like a cat, half dozing in the sun, face covered by the book he was reading earlier. He’s stroking your knee absentmindedly. 

“Talked to my dad earlier– he asked after your applications,” you say.

“Should find out the rest soon,” he replies. He’s already been accepted at KNUH, but that’s his back up. 

A couple of seabirds soar high overhead, can hear them calling to each other, flying so close their wings almost touch. They go like that together, far out above the ocean, and you watch them go until they’re just specks in the hazy blue.

“It’d be nice to live here,” you muse, looking at the way the sunlight dances on the water. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo smiles soft, half-hidden under the book. “Yeah it would.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Happy birthday,” Wonwoo whispers into your skin. He’s half-asleep still. Breath warming your neck and fingers slotted into the waistband of your pyjamas. Not to go further, just to touch. 

You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, more alert, having been awake a little longer and waiting for him to stir. “Thank you,” you whisper back, smiling wide. “When do I get my flowers?”

“Patience is a virtue,” he mumbles. 

“One I don’t have,” you say into his cheek. 

“Liar.”

“Did you hide them in the bathroom?” You shift, ready to go get them yourself, but Wonwoo holds you tighter, dragging you back in. 

“You’re not getting your own flowers.” Wonwoo pushes up from the bed. Hair messy and face all scrunched up. God, he’s lovely in the mornings. “Stay there.”

You suppress a giggle, touching his bare thigh just to touch. 

“I like when you’re bossy.” 

He kisses your forehead. You put his glasses on for him, wonky because he just looks so cute like that. He grumbles.

He pulls on his grey sweatpants from the night before, doesn’t bother with a shirt, to fumble his way out of his room in the barely-there morning light. He comes back in about five minutes later, singing the birthday song, voice soft and slow with sleep, tray in hands, two coffees, a bowl of fruit to share, a funfetti cupcake with one pastel green candle, blush pink tulips pretty in a vase. 

He makes you blow out the candle, sets the tray on the nightstand on your side of his bed, and flops back in beside you. He curls into your side, arm over your middle and drawing you close, eyes already shutting. You smile, touching the petals and making birthday wishes that all of this carries on, even as you get old. 

“They’re pretty, thank you, Wonwoo.”

“Pretty flowers for my pretty girl,” he says simply, like it doesn’t make your heart sing. “Your real present is later.”

“You already got me my present,” you protest.

“S’different now,” he says through a yawn. 

You grin. Things are different. There still hasn’t been a conversation, nothing defined– you should do that, soon– but it feels like you belong to each other, more so than any other time before. The two of you are swimming into open sun-dappled waters, and it feels warm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

June 2006

Wonwoo sits on the edge of his bed, the envelope thick with papers lying forgotten on the floor. He drags his free hand over his mouth, reads the letter again in disbelief, because it can’t be real. It shouldn’t be. 

“I shouldn’t have applied.” His voice is strained. Hurts to hear. 

Of course he should have. 

“You couldn’t have known.” 

“I’m not going.” He meets your eyes, stricken, and you know he’d mean it if you even gave him an inch.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” you sigh. “You’ve got to. It was made for you.”

The letter is crumpling in Wonwoo’s fist. He’ll want to save it, probably. A memento of the start of his new chapter. He should save it. You take it from him, smooth out the creases, pull a heavy book from your shelf and press it over the paper. You won’t cry, not here in front of him, but your eyes feel too wet. He’d only feel some awful boundless guilt and it’d just make everything worse. You rub at them. 

Wonwoo moves close. Tugs at your belt loop to bring you between his legs, presses his forehead into your sternum, and you cradle his head in your arms. 

“It’s okay,” you insist, soothing a hand over his hair, reassuring yourself as well as him. “What was it your dad used to call us? Do you remember?”

He nods. You tug him by the chin to look up at you. “Tell me,” you say as you touch his neck, feel his pulse quicken, and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Birds of a feather,” he breathes.

Wonwoo pushes up your top, presses open wet kisses up your middle, bunches the material under your arms and drags the cup of your bra down rough. 

“That’s it,” you say, voice thick. “That’s it, Wonwoo. We’re birds.”

Takes your nipple in his mouth, makes it wet with his tongue, pulls off just to watch it pebble in the cold, slick with spit. 

“You need to go,” you say. Your throat is dry. Deep in your mind, the cruelest part of you, says it was purposeful, him applying for something that’ll take him away from you, right on the precipice of it all. Before lines can be drawn, while the boundaries are still blurred. He’s not like that, really. It’s just your projection, you remind yourself. Doesn’t stop it from hurting because two short months isn’t enough, but you’ll never be the one to hold him back. Not when he’s been working so hard, not when he holds himself back more than anyone. You fist your hands at the nape of his neck. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

He pulls at your hips, fingers digging so tight they hurt. It’s good. It’s awful. 

“I can’t do a distance like this,” you admit, carding your hands through his hair. “A year is too long. Might be more.” His clumsy, desperate hands fumble with the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs so you can kick them off. You slide into his lap, wrap your legs around his waist. His mouth moves up your body, clawing and aching and needy, teeth nipping at your collarbone, sucking purple into your spit-sheened skin. Slips a hand between you and hums pleasantly at the wetness on your underwear. Circles his fingers over your cotton-covered clit. “How long have we got left?”

“Three weeks,” he says, between bites. His eyelashes are wet. 

You nod. Okay. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got three weeks, and then we’ll be friends again. We can do this.”

Wonwoo pulls your underwear to the side, slips a finger over your wet, wanting cunt. “Friends don’t do this,” he rasps, sinking his finger in, curling just enough to make you keen. He’s so hard, you can feel the denim-clad bulge against your body. “Friends don’t touch each other like this.”

“We can,” you sigh. “If we want.” He wrenches at your clothes and kicks them to the floor, leaves you bare and he’s still wearing too much. 

You push him back on the bed, drag his hands from your body to pin them at his sides. He looks at you, wounded and desperately turned on. You turn your back on him, spread your legs over his body to let him see you, wet and needy, pull on his belt and shove his jeans and underwear away just enough to free his hard cock. 

“You know I want more than that,” he admits, breath warm against your clit. He hisses as you take him in your mouth, whines desperately as you pull back and swipe your tongue over the head. Let the spit bubble between your lips and work it over him, because this is how he likes you, sloppy and messy and wet. He licks into you, all tongue and teeth and soft lips against your core, pressed deep, getting his face wet with you, drags your body down tight against his mouth, arms wrapped around your hips and fingers digging into your flesh. You moan, pornographic, around his cock. Wonwoo arches his hips, fucks rough into your mouth, chasing the heat. 

Wonwoo is greedy, sometimes. You love this part of him, when he lets it out. Wants your release fast, it seems. He moves between sharp bites at your thighs, marks pressed into the juncture of them, secret and lovely, heavy sucks over your clit, all while working you open with long, thick fingers. Makes you come unexpectedly fast, shuddering over him and pulling off his achingly hard cock with a broken moan. “You’re so wet, baby. Wanna be inside you.”

You nod, dumb and lovestruck and hazy. He grabs at your wrist and tugs, pulls you back over him and tight against his body, kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue. You tug at his shirt, drag it awkwardly over his head and his glasses get pulled off with them, they clatter to the floor, but he’s pulling your breast to his mouth again and nothing matters but this, right now. 

Right now, you sink over him slow slow slow, let him feel all your tight, wet heat before he gets needy, before he fucks up into you hard, like he wants to become part of you. Like he wants to crawl inside and make a home there. You watch his chest rise and fall, touch his skin as best you can between the lack of space between your bodies, lay your palm over his heart and feel it beat for you. He calls you beautiful, and you say it back. Says he likes the way your eyes roll back, that he loves how wet you get when he kisses your neck, when he calls you his pretty girl. Baby, fuck– you take me so well. He reaches behind your body, fingers splayed over where you join, feels the way your cunt hugs him. Groans as you grip his length with your pussy, hisses when you dig your nails into his chest as you come– everywhere, everything tight tight tight. 

Wonwoo runs soothing hands down your back as you sag against him, tells you he loves you, asks delicate and concerned if you want to stop because you’re crying, and when you hold him closer, tell him no, you need this– he puts you on your back and fucks you hard enough to make you forget about it. Presses your body into the mattress and lays his entire weight on you. Wonwoo buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispers that you mean everything to him, and you nod, hold his body and let the fever set in. He comes with the deepest, most languid stroke, holds his cock tight inside and fills you up. Asks desperately if you can feel it. You can. Yeah, yeah I can feel you. Feels so good. 

Much later, you lay facing each other in the quiet, tears already shed and conversation put on pause. It’s too hard to talk about being friends, just now. He kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips, and you let him. Too sad to move, too in love. Friends don’t mean I love you the way you do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

August, 2006

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:13

Hello from Naxos, 

I got here from Athens a few days ago. I stupidly left my laptop in one of the lecture halls (I think) and no one has handed it in to the office, so I didn’t see your emails until now. Sorry about that. I feel like I’ve been living in a daze since I left home. Can’t keep my head on straight.

I don’t know how to describe this place. It’s beautiful. It’s hot. My room doesn’t have air conditioning and the sweat makes the sheets stick to my skin even in the middle of the night. The air hangs still and it’s thick in my throat. I think you’d hate it. And even then I’m sure you’d want to be held to sleep while complaining about the heat. I’m in the internet cafe now, and it’s so nice and cool I might pay for an extra hour just to sit here and feel like a person again.

Tomorrow we’re visiting Keros for the first time, and I don’t know how to feel. Whenever I imagine stepping off the boat the roof of my mouth goes dry. Is that excitement? I don’t know. I do know that I’m not sure I fit in here with the others. They’re quite similar to you, in the coming from a well off family regard, but they’re completely unaware of how they sound. I don’t think they realise how they flaunt it. When I first got here they talked about taking ‘the boat’ down to Santorini and asked if I wanted to join them. I said I’d need to check how much the ferry costs, and they looked at me like I’d sprouted another head right in front of them. Turns out they took someone’s dads yacht for the weekend. I didn’t go. I think you’d know how to talk with them. You’d know how to relate to them in some way that wouldn’t come across awkward or fake. I mean that as a compliment.

You asked me what I’m thinking about and right now it’s that time you and I dug out those old coins in your grandparents garden. Do you think your Grandfather buried them there for us to find? I’ve often thought that that small thing brought me to where I am, to what I’m doing, and I wonder if it was real? I miss that garden a lot. I miss us in it.

Am I complaining too much? I am, aren’t I? I think it’s the heat. 

How is your summer at home?

What have you been doing?

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:18

Mum and dad say you’re welcome to visit them before you go back to the city next month.

I miss you.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 4th August 2006, 18:52

Hello to Naxos,

I’m sure you’ll be in Keros by now, so I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. It looks lovely in the photographs on Google but I hope you’re taking some of your own for me anyway. I want some photos just for me, please, Wonwoo. I hope you’re looking at the sea and thinking that I’d like the colour of it. 

I don’t know how much I’d enjoy the company of your colleagues though. They sound stuffy and out of touch. Is there anyone you actually like yet? Tell me about them. 

I’m in the garden right now. I’m quite positive Grandpa buried the coins for us because there was mud all over his knees, don’t you remember? Granny scolded him for washing his dirty hands in the kitchen sink but she said the smile on your face made her forget about it. Just because it was engineered doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, you know? That your joy wasn’t real. Don’t you feel joy now, being exactly where you’ve wanted to be for the longest time? 

It’s been almost two months since you left and you haven’t sent one single photo of a cat, and I know for a fact that Greece has many. Have you spent all your time off holed up inside? Go out for a drink. Make some friends. Stand on the grass with your feet bare. It’ll do you some good.

Summer at home is as it always is. I saw Mingyu and Seokmin at a bar a few days after you left, Mingyu said to say hi but I told him to do it himself and gave him your new email address, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Mother has been down, I think Dongho cheated on her again but she won’t say anything. I haven’t done much else besides sleeping and shopping and playing games. Don’t tell anyone I said so but it’s boring without you here. 

I don’t think I’ll stay for the whole summer, actually. Iseul and Seoyoung are saying they want to visit the States. I’ll probably go with them. Iseul’s parents have a little place in California. I’ll take my laptop though, email me every time you think of me.

Tell your parents I’ll visit in the next few days, I’ve been craving your mum’s kimchi jjigae. 

PS - I miss us in the garden too. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 7th August 2006, 19:36

Keros was definitely something. I worry I built it up in my head too much, you know? Thought I’d feel more moved than I did. One of the leads, Edward, from a village in Wales I can’t pronounce the name of, is walking us through the project for the next few weeks. If I could learn half as much as he knows for the time I’m here, I’m sure I’ll get by for the rest of my career. I stood in the ruins of what was a home built over 2300 years ago and wondered what the people who lived there must’ve felt about it. Were they happy? Did they think the island too small? Were they jealous their neighbour had a better view of the ocean? Did they start sleeping with their best friend (again) just before moving to a Mediterranean island hahaha?

Should we talk about us yet? I worry if we leave it any longer we’ll just start pretending it didn’t happen again.

I did take some pictures on the island. Shall I post them on Facebook? There’s this small cove you would’ve liked that had these tiny iridescent fish that swam up so close to my feet that I thought they’d bite them. There was one cat outside my window but it was dark and the one photo I got of it is so blurry it’s not worth showing. I’ll find more to take photos of. 

Thanks for giving Mingyu my details, he’s already emailed me. He said you were looking well. I’m sorry about your mother. 

I won’t go for that drink you suggest because all the would-be drinkers seem more interested in snorting lines off each other's chests, and I don’t have the spare cash for all that. I have met some people - Matteo and Emma. Matteo is from Naples and Emma is from London. Emma reads, and she said she’ll lend me her copy of The Little Prince when she’s done with it. I haven’t told her I’ve already read it.

California sounds like it’ll be fun for you. Knowing Iseul her parent’s “little place” has eight bedrooms, a tennis court, an olympic swimming pool, and a live-in chef haha. How long will you go for? 

PS - on second thought I don’t know how you would’ve felt about the fish and the feet. 

PPS - if I emailed you every time I thought of you then I’d hardly ever leave the cafe.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 8th August 2006, 17:52

Should I have brought it up?

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 9th August 2006, 06:28

Hello from LA,

Sorry for the slow reply, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

Wonwoo, I don’t know what there is to say about it all. Do you? 

I’m trying very hard not to be pathetic but the fact is that despite whatever state our on and off hook up thing is in, I still want us to be in each other’s lives. I don’t think you’re going to be in love with me forever, are you? You’re my safe space and I like hearing your thoughts and I feel like being your friend makes me a better person. We have good sex, great sex, but we’ve never managed anything solid. I mean, I know that you left because of the fellowship and because I encouraged you to take it, but things between us always seem to end just as soon as it gets real. 

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always going to be friends. You’re going to marry the girl next door type that doesn’t ask too many questions. She is sweet and knits you scarves for Christmas and prefers doggy style so you don’t see her face when she comes. She isn’t me– the selfish, obnoxious girl from three streets across, who beat you in the spelling bee when we were seven. You’re probably going to have three children, and definitely become very accomplished in whatever archeologists are accomplished in. And I am going to have at least four husbands, one child who’ll grow up rolling their eyes at me, and I’ll become infamous for whistleblowing the government for…. something gross and scandalous. Like listening in to everyone’s phone calls. We’ll holiday together and our children will grow up like cousins and when we get drunk and our spouses go to bed I’ll go “remember our last night before you left for Greece? Remember that night? You put your wet fingers in my mouth and told me ‘bite down when you come.’ I think about that all the time.” You’ll be so mortified your ears will go red. You’ll probably spill your drink.

I’m laughing my ass off just imagining it. Isn’t it funny that you’re only bold enough to say things like that when we’re in bed? It’s like you need to be cocooned up with someone in order to let your inside voice out. God, you’re so impolite when you fuck me. 

But don’t worry. You were my best friend long before you ever touched me like that. Every time we do this you tell me you just want to be friends, right? So let’s be friends. I can do platonic if that makes it easier for you.

Anyway. The update is I visited your parents (they probably already told you) and your mum made the BEST japchae for me. They love me sooooo much, I’ve got no idea why. I’m sure you’re very jealous and that sustains me. Now I’m in LA for the rest of the month. Iseul’s place is only six bedrooms, actually! No tennis court or live-in chef but the pool is admittedly gigantic. Please see attached photo. I look great, right? I’m sure you’re nodding. Maybe while I’m here I’ll find husband numero uno. If I'm going to have four I should start working on that ASAP. 

We’re okay, Wonwoo. 

PS - don’t you dare upload those photos to Facebook, send them to me and me alone. Also send me one of you because you’ve been gone so long I’ve forgotten what you look like. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 10th August 2006, 20:39

Hello to California,

Is that really what you think? That I fall out of it so quickly? That we started sleeping together again, and you think I didn’t feel fucked up over leaving? I’m starting to wonder if it was worth leaving at all. I’m glad we’re friends but do friends kiss the way we do? Are friends allowed to do that with each other? Does it make me a bad friend if I looked at the photo you sent and thought how pretty you are and let my mind run away wondering how you’d look if you were in my room here. I almost thought about printing your photo off but is that perverted? You’re fully clothed but I feel like a pervert. You do look great. I love that colour on you. 

I can’t imagine this life you’re dreaming up. I can’t imagine marrying some faceless person. Can’t imagine anything for me beyond what’s happening today. I can see you with four husbands though. I don’t mean that in any type of way, just that you find it easy to find people who love you even if they don’t exactly fit.

If you’re going to uncover some government spy operation let’s get started on the theories right now. If they’ve been listening to phone calls then it stands to reason they’re probably reading emails and texts too. Do you think they’re reading ours? Do we have our very own spy?

What is your first husband going to be like? The antithesis of me? Or maybe someone so strangely similar that all of our friends whisper about how weird it is? Don’t you think it’s messed up that we’re talking about this?

Please see attached a couple of photos of the island, one of me in my room, for your eyes only. Don’t go showing them to Iseul and Seoyoung. They’re not as good as the ones on my film camera but you’ll have to wait until I’m home for those. 

PS - can you download Skype? Efraim, the guy who owns the cafe, is installing it on all the computers, he says we’ll be able to video call. I’m free on Sunday after 7PM, that’s 9AM for you. Are you free?

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 11th August 2006, 12:05

It was worth leaving because this is what you’ve been working for your whole life. And it doesn’t matter that we started again because as long as we’re both single it can pick up whenever we want. I know you care for me in your quiet way. I know you’d never hurt me with intent. It’s fun, and we’re young, and we know it’s easy with each other. It doesn’t have to be more than that. Maybe we shouldn’t have said the L word, though, don’t you think? I try not to think about it. It would have been more sensible not to. Hindsight blah blah blah. 

We can be whatever kind of friends you want. I don’t mind that you think about fucking me. You did, right? When you saw my photo? I’d quite like it if you did. I like thinking about your cheeks getting hot and having to adjust your jeans in the middle of the cafe. Did you feel the need to hide your screen?

You’re probably right about the spies reading our emails too, I’ll note that down somewhere offline. Have you considered that our spy may be Efraim? After all, he has easy access to the computers you use every evening. Maybe you should consider getting a laptop of your own. It must be costing you a small fortune going to the cafe to email little old me every day. Dad is getting a new one soon, shall I ask him to post you his old one? Don’t be weird about accepting it, it’s just a laptop.

My first husband is so so so handsome. Grossly rich because of generational wealth, he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of being self made. I need to start strong, you see. A little shorter than you, so you’re not entirely emasculated haha. He probably knows how to sail. I bet he drapes sweaters across his shoulders like those guys in Ralph Lauren ads. I bet he’s played Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar and doesn’t realise how cliche it is. He’s probably doing it right now. I hope he’s not conceited. That’d be unbearable. Though I suppose we’d need a good reason to divorce. 

How are Matteo and Emma? What are they like? Did you tell them anything about me?

Seoyoung says hello. Iseul said she thinks you need a haircut (sorry, she peeked over my shoulder when I read your email) but I don’t. I think you look hot with long hair. Send me more photos of you? Take a shower first and think about me. Leave your clothes off. Shut your eyes and imagine I’m with you. I’ll open them in private.

We’re going to a party in Malibu on Saturday. Iseul’s cousins (Joshua and Kevin– they’re cool, you’d like them) are family friends with some big shot Hollywood producer so maybe I’ll meet some celebrities! Maybe I’ll meet my husband! If you send me a photo before then just know I won’t look at it, I need my head in the game. I’ll call on Sunday morning and tell you all about it.

PS - don’t open the attached photos in front of Efraim. It’s okay if you print them.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 12th August 2006, 22:47

God. You’re right about getting another laptop while I’m here (I’m not taking your dad’s one, I’ll save up for one by myself) because I had to wait until Efraim went to the bathroom before printing your photos. I nearly broke a sweat wondering if he’d come back too quickly and see me holding them like some kind of sick freak. You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Your husbands won’t know what to do with themselves.

Yes, I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Do you think about it too? I’m guessing by your photos that you do. Did you think of me eating you out when you touched yourself? You probably won’t read this email for another twelve hours but just know that I failed miserably not getting hard in the back of the cafe. I had to spend ten minutes catching up on the news back home just to stop remembering being inside you, how wet you get when I kiss your neck. What am I, a teenager?

You should’ve come here for your summer trip, rather than LA. Why are you going out tonight looking for someone else when you could have been here. I’m jealous. I miss you. 

I’ll send you your demands before we call tomorrow. I want to see your face when you open it.

Matteo and Emma are great. They’re funny, and well read, and they know more mythology than I do, if you can believe it. Matteo is a good cook. He made lasagne for dinner the night I last emailed you and it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I wish you could try it. If he ever wanted to open a restaurant he absolutely could. If you wanted to take him as one of your husbands I wouldn’t be opposed. It’d give me more reason to have dinner at your house. Emma has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. 

They both know about you. We work together here a few nights a week, so they’ve seen me writing you. I told them we’re best friends, that you’re a little bit insane despite being one of the most level headed people I know. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth. I told them that you’re smarter than I am, and that you’ll probably take down several governments one day. I told them that you miss me terribly. And that you understand me better than I understand myself, and that I can hardly understand you at all. 

Emma asked if we were ever together, and I didn’t know how to answer. I almost said not really, but I don’t know if that’s true. Is it true? Matteo changed the subject before I could answer anyway. He wanted to know who bowser80 was. On that note I’m begging you to choose a more sensible email address, if only so Efraim doesn’t think I’m sending vaguely horny emails to a Super Mario character. He probably has the wrong impression of you. 

I’m really looking forward to speaking to you properly. Your photos are- well they’re obscenely hot. But I want to see your smile. 

Talk soon. Don’t fuck your husband-to-be on the first night, he doesn’t deserve you.

PS - I’m not sure if Efraim is our spy, actually. I just watched him pick his nose and wipe it under the desk. I would hope someone trained in espionage would have better decorum. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 13th August 2006, 18:56

Don’t open these until we’re on the call. 

Can’t wait.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 14th August 2006, 09:08

I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been looking at your photos again since I woke up and I fear I’m never going to leave my bed. 

Wonwoo, I’m being very serious when I say you need to get a laptop again as soon as possible because Efraim absolutely cannot read or hear the things I want to say to you. God, Wonwoo, I need to suck your dick inside out. I need you inside me.

How long have you got left in Europe? Is it forever?

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 14th August 2006, 17:31

I can’t stop thinking about you either. I forgot the sound of your laugh for a while and now after hearing it I’m worried I’ll lose it again. Let's keep calling, so we stay real for each other. For the sake of my sanity please say less about sucking my dick. It’s only Monday and it’s a personal goal of mine to make it through the week without rocking a semi in this cafe.

On the topic of buying a laptop, I’m picking up a part time job. The stipend doesn’t stretch as far as I’d hoped. Efraim is hiring, and I asked if working here means I can read everyone's emails and he looked so confused I was almost convinced. Perhaps he’s a better spy than we thought. Of course working here means more opportunity for talking to you, which sweetens the deal somewhat. 

It does feel like it’ll be forever, doesn’t it? I won’t be able to come home to visit until March. I wouldn’t be opposed to you visiting me here during your winter break. Would you like to?

Say yes.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

December 2006

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 30th December 2006, 09:40

Hi baby,

My palms are sweating but I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just us, isn’t it? I haven’t been this nervous to see you since before school the day after we slept together. The first time, I mean. We were idiots, I know that much. 

I’m borrowing Matteo’s car to come pick you up, I’m nearly ready. Please excuse the mess in it, he lives like a pig but he’s so endearing Emma and I forgive him anything. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him tonight. Emma can’t make it until New Years, she sends her apologies- I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’ll say it to your face.

By the time you read this, it’ll be tomorrow morning and we’ll have already had one whole day together. You’ll ask to use my laptop to check your emails, and I’ll still be half asleep in the bed next to you. 

Have I kissed you yet? 

I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you as soon as you get through customs. I’ve been playing out how it’ll go. I’m going to set your bags down on the floor and take your face in my hands and kiss you right there in the middle of the arrivals lounge. Even as I’m typing all of this out, I know it won’t happen like that. I’m going to wave awkwardly when I see you coming through the doorway. I’m going to be hit with a rush of nostalgia when I catch the smell of your shampoo when we hug hello. I’m going to look at your lips and think about the taste of you, but then I’ll feel the eyes of other people on us, and they’ll be wondering if we’re together, and then I’ll start thinking too much and accidentally leave it too late, and you’ll be handing me your bags to carry. I’ll feel foolish and thoughtless for not taking them from you in the first place. 

I’ll kiss you without an audience. I hope you don’t mind. 

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 31st December 2006, 06:15

Hi Wonwoo, 

I like when you call me baby outside of the bedroom. Are you trying it on for size?

Don’t worry, you were a real gentleman at the airport yesterday. Took my bag and opened doors and everything. Five stars. It’s sweet knowing you were nervous. You didn’t look it at all. I thought how confident and self assured you seemed, like you knew all the answers to every question ever asked. I’m kind of in awe of you. The way we talk online has me forgetting what you’re like in person. How quiet you go, how the comfortable silences have me wondering what you’re thinking, how deliberate you are with your words. You say sometimes that I understand you better than anyone but I don’t think I do. You must think that your expressions give away your every emotion but they don’t, Wonwoo. You have this huge inner world I know nothing about and your emails give me a peek at what’s inside. You’re a mystery to me, the same way everyone is a mystery. 

Even now, you’re fast asleep (I’m sorry I didn’t wake you to ask to use your laptop, but you don’t mind, do you? I wanted you to rest.) and I have no idea what you’re dreaming about. Is it me? I hope it is. I like how you sleep next to me, did I ever tell you that? You’re like a koala. I like how you reach for my hand when I think you’re already sleeping and draw lazy figures of eight across my palm, with your chest against my back. I like the way your hair is even longer now. Messy and soft. Wonwoo, you’re so so so handsome. You look like an artist. You look like someone Jane Austen would write about.

I liked that you kissed me in private. I liked that you kissed me at all. I liked that you held my hand when you introduced me to your friends, even though you were quiet as ever. Were you feeling shy?

I’m looking in the mirror now and I like the marks you left on my neck. They’re so dark! I’m going to need a vat of concealer to cover these up if we leave your room today. I’m going to steal your scarf. I should complain about the mess you made of me, but I like that you’re secretly possessive. Don’t tell anyone I told you that haha. 

I like the way you touched me last night. The way you pressed my hips into the mattress and licked over my clit. The way you twined our hands together and rolled into me. If I close my eyes I can still feel it. Your teeth on my jaw. You, thick and hard, so deep inside me. Your skin felt good against mine. Were we always that good together? Is it better now because we haven’t seen each other for so long? I was so wet I’d be embarrassed if it were with anyone but you. Fuck, I want you again. 

You don’t know that I’m wearing your t-shirt right now. Would you be bothered? Would you like it? 

Wonwoo, would you mind if I woke you up? I want you to fuck me in your t-shirt. I want you to open your tired eyes and be glad I’m in something that smells like you. Reach under the hem and find me without underwear, already wet and wanting. I want you to fuck me harder than last night. I want you to fuck me so deep I can feel you in my throat. I want to feel the vibrations of your groan against my chest. I want it to hurt so much that I still feel you there when I leave. 

I’m going to send this email and wake you up. Sorry it’s so early, baby.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 31st December 2006, 07:53

Good morning,

You’re in the shower. I’m laying on my bed wondering how I’m going to survive this week. We’ve always been good together, I think. But I’ve never, ever seen you like that before. In a good way. The best way. 

Baby, you know I still love you, don’t you? I’m going to say that to your face any second now, so you will already know by the time you read this. Do you love me too?

Keep wearing my t-shirts. Take that one home with you so you can wear it when we Skype, and I can remember the morning you ruined my life. That one looks better on you anyway. God. We’ve got five days left and I’m already hating the thought of you going home. Is it insane to ask you to stay longer? Probably. You’ve got work. Tonight I'm going to kiss you at midnight and make a wish.

I love you. 

I hope you say it back.

PS - it won’t be too long before I’m home. Please wait for me. We can be birds again.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 1st January 2007, 08:29

I love you too.

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always birds.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider telling me what you liked via a reblog so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you have any questions, please ask!! it gives me life to talk about these babies. ily, goodnight!

prequel: joke me something awful.

taglist: @noona-neomu-yeppeo @starmy-143 @haaruki @channieschubbycake @minahaeyo

@mingiboye @kkaetnipjeon @lleercy @itsnotnaomi @ateez-atiny380

@blvked19

[helenanell]

A Breath of Life || Challengers

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Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.) 

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

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The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to. 

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep. 

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it. 

 Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered. 

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real. 

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water. 

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone. 

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again. 

And your prayer was answered. 

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life: 

“So, when can I play you again?”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world. 

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you. 

Tashi had breathed life into you.

 Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear. 

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

 How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

 You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought. 

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin. 

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in. 

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands. 

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

 “Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music. 

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm. 

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over. 

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach. 

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach. 

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form. 

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her. 

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you. 

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

 Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.” 

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you. 

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display. 

 Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear. 

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear. 

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass. 

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you. 

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile. 

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is. 

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria. 

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face. 

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

 “You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table. 

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?” 

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently. 

“Do you love her, Art?” 

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.” 

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her. 

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.” 

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

 “I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

 You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you. 

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

 His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

 Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

 Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth. 

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi. 

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.” 

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek. 

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.” 

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?” 

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him. 

But you don’t move. 

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together. 

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin. 

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you. 

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back. 

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious. 

Why won’t he follow you? 

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art. 

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.  

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong. 

You walk through the stands until you come across Art. 

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised. 

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares. 

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.” 

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone. 

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him. 

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly. 

 Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away. 

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence. 

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain. 

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!” 

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.  

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away. 

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you. 

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for. 

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka. 

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.” 

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury. 

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs. 

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head. 

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over. 

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet. 

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

 It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door. 

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs. 

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top. 

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

 Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication. 

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs. 

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most. 

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to. 

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to.  You want him. 

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure. 

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you. 

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him. 

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names. 

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around. 

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

 You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him. 

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“ 

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert. 

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol. 

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

 You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes. 

“Do that again.” 

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

 Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side. 

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back. 

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips. 

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next. 

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art. 

Art.

 Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him. 

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you. 

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move. 

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck. 

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force. 

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real. 

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive. 

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room. 

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t. 

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away. 

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world. 

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered. 

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life. 

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him. 

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come. 

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old. 

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered. 

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art. 

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either. 

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you. 

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you. 

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room. 

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him. 

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him. 

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch. 

You get down off the barstool.

 As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down. 

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak. 

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them. 

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture. 

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?” 

“I don’t know Art, can you?” 

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him. 

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be. 

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

 But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do. 

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.” 

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?” 

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds. 

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him. 

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him. 

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly. 

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.” 

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.” 

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him. 

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question. 

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?” 

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship. 

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. 

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer. 

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you. 

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head. 

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck. 

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean. 

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined. 

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most. 

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

 “Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. 

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to. 

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly. 

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.” 

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.” 

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you. 

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up. 

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

 His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin. 

“Lay back.” He instructs gently. 

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre. 

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations. 

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets. 

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.” 

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait. 

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head. 

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs. 

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.” 

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you. 

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. 

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever. 

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity. 

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs. 

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck. 

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping. 

“Is this alright?” 

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch. 

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision. 

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

 As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick. 

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.” 

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts. 

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi. 

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world. 

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip. 

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum. 

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead. 

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place. 

Someone was knocking on your door. 

And then you hear her voice. 

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

 “Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

 In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you. 

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

 The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door. 

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things. 

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

 “You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously. 

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade. 

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again. 

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

 Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too. 

Only time would tell.

[bucketbueckers]

HIIIII SEXY

if ur taking requests can i request smth angsty for paige ? i was thinking maybe if you could do something based on ilyis by gracie abrams where reader is in love w paige but doesnt think paige will ever like her back cause paige is always flirting w azzi and then paige comes over and acts all flirty with reader and reader blows up at her and is storms out and paige forces her to admit her feelings cause all along paige liked her but she didn’t know if reader liked gworls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

and it ends happily PLEASEEEE I BEG

I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, teensy bit of angst, girls who hate communicating, reader might be a lil mean but we ball

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: You’ve been in love with Paige Bueckers for years, just another one of the countless moths drawn to her flame. You’d made your peace with only being her friend long ago, but it’s not until a well-timed blow up at Ted’s makes you realize it was mutual all along.

notes: as requested and in honor of finishing my last fuck ass exam 🫶 thank you sm for the request and im hoping i did this justice for you anon!! im sorry its a lil short 😓 but as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Ted’s was supposed to be a welcome distraction to cap off a hectic week. Between two back-to-back away games, constant traveling, terrible naps on bumpy bus rides home, and homework that just seemed to keep piling up, you were ready to unwind and tackle the next week with a clearer mind. However, you couldn’t seem to relax, and the jealousy blooming in your chest like hemlock as you stared at Paige and Azzi whispering to each other wasn’t doing you any favors, either.

The team had invited you out with them, intent on celebrating another regular season conference win. You’re one of their graduate assistants, having served as the team manager for a few years before the position opened up, although you’d built incredible friendships with the girls over the years. Well – most of them, seeing as your brain and your heart couldn’t quite agree on how you felt for Paige. Her freshman year was your first year as team manager and she went out of her way to make you feel welcomed, greeting you every day at practice and inviting you out to team get-togethers.

At first, you’d kept it together. You were strictly friends, not even considering anything else. By Paige’s sophomore year – your junior year – you’d realized that she was beautiful. Like, a dangerous beautiful where you’d find yourself staring at her, even when she wasn’t doing anything more than watching film on her iPad. During her junior year, you were finally able to put a name to your confusing feelings and discovered that you were falling for her – hard – somewhere in between ACL recovery and her corny jokes. You realized it was love at the end of her junior year when you told her that Coach agreed to bring you on as a graduate assistant and she almost broke your spine hugging you. Now, nearly a year and a half into your Master’s program, you’re still hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers and dreading the day the NCAA tournament begins – because the end of the season means the end of you and her. Because she’ll be on the first plane to Dallas and you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to find your courage and confess to her.

Ted’s was supposed to be a distraction. But it’s not, because the drink you’re sipping on makes your throat burn every time you swallow, and all you can think about is how you and Paige are a ticking time bomb that’s set to explode in April, and all you see is Paige looking at another girl that’s not you, and all you feel is the sickening mix of jealousy and shame that courses through your veins – jealous because all you want is Paige; shame because she’s your friend and you hate the way she makes you feel. You hate that your love makes you a little insecure and you hate that it feels like she’s choosing someone else over you.

Jana, who’s sitting next to you, throws an almost absentminded arm over your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into whatever conversation they’re having at the table. KK is yapping and you barely catch the gist of it – something about Coach making them run suicides and how the new protein powder she’s trying gave her a tummy ache, but the heat of Paige’s gaze on you makes you glance over at her. Her brows are furrowed, eyes hardened as she stares at Jana’s arm around your shoulders like it’s personally offended her.

What confuses you even more is how Azzi notices. She sighs, an exasperated sort of noise, and stands – not without flicking Paige harshly on her forehead and muttering something about “Talk to her” as she slides her way out of the booth and towards the bathroom. Paige’s cheeks are a little red as she rubs her head forlornly. You’d probably laugh if you weren’t feeling so green.

You go to take another sip of your drink, needing to occupy your hands and your mouth if you wanted to appear somewhat put together tonight, but you frown when you realize you’re empty. Catching Jana’s attention, you motion to your cup and she nods, removing her arm and allowing you to make your way to the bar.

You don’t think too hard about your drink order as you rifle through your clutch for your card. What you do think hard about is the all too familiar voice saying, “I got you. Can I get another Shirley, please?” as Paige slides her card across the bar, her free hand finding your wrist like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Paige,” you deadpan, an amused annoyance lacing your tone. “I can get my own drink.”

She grins ineffably at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in her eyes. It’s almost enough to make you forget why you’ve been so off all night. “Doesn’t mean you should,” she retorts.

“Oh?” you ask. “You making decisions for me now?”

Paige shrugs coyly. Her hand trails from your wrist to your waist, tangling in your belt loops – not pushing or pulling. Just holding. The touch makes you freeze. You and Paige had always been close. She was a touchy person, but never in public like this. “Just the important ones,” she murmurs. “So I know you’re taken care of.”

You blink at her, mouth suddenly dry. The sound of glasses scraping against the hardwood counter startles you. Paige thanks the bartender as she retreats, leaving the both of you alone at the edge of the bar, and you reach for your drink to occupy your hands as your mind spins. As unsure as you are about Paige returning your feelings, you’re not dumb. You’ve been flirted with before, been around Paige enough to know what her flirting looks like. The gentle confidence in her voice, the way her eye contact is so intense that strangely, it forces you to focus on her because otherwise, you’re sure that she’d find something she didn’t like if you couldn’t face her. The physical contact and the way she’s leaning into you. She’s flirting with you. Under any other circumstance, you’d probably be jumping for joy, but not now.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Azzi making her way back to the table. You make direct eye contact with her. She glances down, taking in your proximity, and she smiles at you. It sobers you up instantly.

“What the fuck are we doing?” you ask Paige, setting your drink back down on the bar and yanking her hand off of you. She blinks, her jaw falling slightly and confusion twisting her brows. “What are you doing? What, Azzi walks away, so you go and find someone else to keep you entertained? The one person who would run back to you anyway?”

“I – what?” Paige asks, hurt lacing her tone. She reaches out for you again but you take a step back, your thighs hitting the stool behind you. “I don’t understand what you mean. What does Azzi–”

You don’t realize you’re tearing up until you register the burn in your throat and the way your eyes sting. “You flirt with Azzi in front of my face all night. She leaves, and you wanna follow me up here, talking about taking care of me? You wanna touch me and buy my drink, ignore this weird push and pull thing we have, and then walk away like it means nothing to you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, you laugh despite the hurt swelling in your chest. “Sometimes you can be such a dick.” You wipe your eyes, trying not to lose your mind when your thumb comes back smudged with mascara. At the heart of it, sure, you’re sad, but the most pressing emotion is anger. You’d rather not be a choice at all than be a second choice.

The both of you pause, just staring at each other, until guilt and realization blooms simultaneously on Paige’s face. She murmurs your name, her voice cracking a little like what you’ve just said has changed her life, but you don’t let her reach out for you as you turn on your heel and walk out.

You know you can’t leave – Aubrey drove you and you’re not built for walking home at midnight. You lean against the railing, your head in your hands, knowing that Paige will likely be on her way. The two of you weren’t one for arguments. On the rare occasions you got carried away, apologies were swift. Guilt of your own bubbles in your stomach – you blew up for no reason, allowing your emotions to get out of hand. Now, you know that you and Paige will have to have another difficult conversation, and you’re not even sure if she’ll still want to be your friend afterwards. This is something you might not be able to come back from.

You feel her next to you before you see her. She leans against the railing, giving you space, and it’s in this devastating little moment that your anger comes back. It’s muted, not directed at her, but at yourself. You’re angry because as much as you want to be angry with her, you’re not, and all you really want is her. It’s selfish – you’d hurt her feelings in the bar, barely thirty feet away from your friends, but your body doesn’t care about that.

She breaks the silence to ask you, unsurprisingly, “Do you like me?”

There’s a million responses on the tip of your tongue. You consider sarcasm, but you feel as though the weight of this conversation needs something a little more genuine. Maybe genuine communication could have saved the both of you from feeling like this. No more cop outs, is what you tell yourself, so you exhale and admit, “I love you.”

You’re not sure what you’re holding your breath for. Maybe rejection. A small part of you holds out for Paige’s agreement. You’re unprepared for the way her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into her body, and despite the shock, you sink into her anyways, your head falling onto her chest. It feels like acceptance, like forgiveness. “I didn’t know you liked girls,” Paige confesses, sounding a little sheepish.

At that, you groan, resisting an eye roll. “I literally have a pride flag in my Instagram bio,” you mumble. “You want my coming out in writing too? ‘Dear Paige, I’m gay. I’d apologize but you probably should have known anyway. Love, me.’”

“You’re annoying,” she huffs, but you can hear the amusement in her voice anyway. She tightens her hold on you. “I probably…should have done that a little better. At the bar. Don’t want you thinking it meant nothing to me. It does. And I just–” Paige trails off a little, looking for the right words. “I was really scared. I’ve always been worried about doing too much, scaring you off, and losing you forever. I thought…maybe I could drop hints and let you figure out what you wanted, but I never stopped to think about how that would feel from your end. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For calling you a dick and making those accusations. I was scared and I let it consume me.”

You can feel the tentative smile Paige presses to your temple. “Truce?” she asks, and you nod, your fingers tangling in her shirt as you finally let the tension in your body dissolve. “For the record…there’s nothin’ going on with me and Azzi. She’s been telling me to ask you out for years. She was the first person I told when I thought I was in love with you.”

You pull back a little, meeting her eyes. The earnestness and honesty is clear as day, but you refuse to get your hopes up. “You love me?” you ask, not only to clarify, but also because this is something you’ve spent countless hours thinking about, wondering if it was even possible. To have it so close within reach…you need to be sure.

Paige, in typical Paige fashion, smiles crookedly at you and says, “You want that in writing, too?” She clears her throat dramatically. ‘To my favorite grad assistant, I’m in love with you. I’d apologize, but–”

“You are so fucking annoying,” you seethe, but there’s no real malice in your voice, your smile far too wide to be anything but over the moon. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times – how you’d respond to Paige confessing, or even how your own confession would sound. You’d never planned for it to happen this way. Maybe it was something that was supposed to be a spur of the moment thing. Maybe something out of a rom-com involving rain. Never an argument like this. The realization was never something dramatic with some cinematic soundtrack in the background. It was simple, almost like something clicks into place quietly. It’s messy, but it’s yours. And that’s enough for you. “So what happens now?”

Paige hums, leaning against the railing as her thumb brushes against your jaw gently. “Well…you can let me buy you another drink. Maybe split some fries. And, I don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in…but maybe you could be mine, too?”

You raise a brow, resting your hands over her shoulders. “Oh, really? Is that everything you want?”

Paige grins at you, her eyes flicking down momentarily before finding yours again. Her expression softens. “Not everything,” she admits. “But I’m trying to do this right. I wouldn’t want to assume.”

You roll your eyes, not missing the subtle tease in her words. When her hands drop to your waist, finding your belt loops again, you don’t freeze up. If anything, you melt into her. “Whatever you’re thinking…I don’t think it’s that much of an assumption.”

“Yeah?” she echoes. “‘Cause I’m still thinking about the fries.”

Huffing, you cup her cheeks in your hands, her skin warm against your palms, and you stand on the tips of your toes as you lean in to kiss her. She laughs, although she responds with a mix of softness and eagerness that makes you want more. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, but you pace yourselves, taking it slow and sinking into the feeling.

When you part, Paige brushes her lips across your temple, her arms tightening around you like she can’t believe she has you. And, maybe, the truth is you’ve always been a little bit of hers, just like she’s always been a little bit of yours. That is all you could ever need.

[windixie]

10 things I hate about you ⟢ ꒰ frat boy! gojo x reader ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ pairing ✧ college au . frat boy! gojo x reader . based on the film '10 things I hate about you'

summary . satoru gojo is the usual frat boy that one can think of when you're asked to think of, well, a frat boy. he loves to sleep around and be a womanizer. he swears he's been in every single girls bed from college, but it seems he hasn't gotten into yours. his friend offers to pay him to ask you out and get into your pants in the span of a month. at first he refuses, but who is he to turn down money despite the greedy bastard being rich as hell? what he doesn't expect is to accidentally fall in love with you and forget of his past morals.

⟡ genre/tag . fluff, angst, mentions of starving, enemies to lovers (sort of, you just hate him) college au, gojo is a manwhore ! a bit of suguru x reader and ofc reminder this is based on '10 things I hate about you' so there will be many similarities !

⨾ words . 7.1k

NOT PROOFREAD.

a/n : wrote this after watching 10 things I hate about you for the first time ever. I actually rewatched in a few more times while writing this ! knew I had to write about this right away with my glorious king satoru. also a thank you to my friend for helping me out again !

nav . here !

gojo knew who he was from a young age. setting his goals straight, which were to sleep with every girl he could get his hands on. or his dick into.

he made this a goal the second he graduated high school and got admitted to the states best college, one that was known for having the largest fraternity parties. and so far he has a body count of... well he lost count. charming girls was easy, all he had to do was woo them with a shine of his pearly whites, and his 9-inch dick.

"im surprised your shit hasn't ever gotten infected" suguru remarked, lighting up the cigar that was placed on his pink lips. the two were juniors in college, but they've been close since freshman year when gojo joined into the life of partying.

"easy. I wear condoms." this made suguru's pierced eyebrow lift up as he glanced at the white haired boy.

"thought you went raw."

that made gojo chuckle as he adverted his attention to his friend instead of his phone where he was texting a girl he's had his eye on for a while. the cheerleading captain. if things went well tonight, he will for sure have a chance to pound into her on his bed with a new bed frame after breaking his last one. take a wild guess.

"nah, as if I'd ever give them the full experience."

when I said that this school was widely known for their frat parties, I meant it. there is one every Friday, and every Friday you turned down your friends offer to go out with her. sure you attended some parties, just not any fraternities.

"cmon, you never come with me! you're always so busy doing nothing" bianca grumbled as she dramatically flopped onto your bed, making you jump a little. "and I will continue to be busy doing nothing" you shot back as you cleaned off the dust on your neglected guitar. "not even for an hour?" "nope." "not even for me?" "absolutely not, can't risk seeing my ex."

"what about for choso?"

now, by all means you definitely did not have any romantic feelings towards the emo boy. regardless of being a bit alternative yourself, you had no interest going after boys with similar tastes and style as you, not after your past relationship. choso was the lead guitarist of a band you've known for years. they perform once in a while at small or big events. this party being one of them. you've been wanting to ask him for guitar tips, but the man was quite reserved.

"for real?"

"mhm." she lifted up her head from the pillow propping her on her palm. "you should go, maybe to get the chance to talk to him. they lost a back up guitarist last week-"

"yeah I know." you interrupted

"maybe you could fill in that spot."

you went quiet for a bit letting the idea sink in for a bit before lifting up your head to look at her, slowly placing down your fender guitar, that was now looking brand new, on the floor next to the amplifier. "well, maybe I can."

meanwhile, in the comfort of the frat house, gojo was absolutely losing his mind. he has a hook up in less than an hour and nothing is going according to plan. "hey. hey! this is not the beer I asked for you guys to buy!" he shouted from across the room as he saw his friends carry in a cooler full of heineken instead of bud light which he claimed was the best beer created.

"you're stressing out man, calm down." suguru's hands met with gojos shoulders massaging the knots of stress that were forming. "course i'm stressed, am going to be deep inside the cheerleading captain if the party impresses her, can't let this opportunity just slip away."

"she's chopped." shoko chimed in as she walked past the two boys carrying a cooler herself. "well yeah but like, its a huge deal alright?!" he threw his hands up in the air in despair. "where the hell is that band?"

"they're on their way, should be here in twenty."

"yeah well the party fucking starts in twenty!" he bit back. his anxiety was hard to miss. just then as if it was divine intervention, choso walked in dabbing suguru up, exchanging a few pats on the back. "haven't seen you in a while man."

the guitarist that left the group? that was suguru. he ditched the band simply because he wanted to focus more on his party life after being influenced by satoru. and somewhere along the way he lost interest in that dumb dream he had on becoming a rockstar or whatever. that obviously didn't sit well with the other band members, but choso could care less, not like suguru was contributing anything to the band in the first place since choso's guitar always outshined suguru's.

“mhm, thanks for coming, you guys can go set up over there” he pointed at the stage they set up.

“will do.”

you rarely wore dresses. not that you didn’t like them, they’re just not your go to option to wear. but there’s no way you’d ever say you hated the one you were wearing right now. it was a pretty vintage one that bianca was lending you for tonight after you finally agreed to accompany her to the party.

“see you look gorgeous” bianca placed her mascara wand down to look at you up and down admiring how her dress fit you perfectly. “i like it” you hummed looking down at yourself.

“come on, we’ll be late.”

the loud music filled the cramped building as you made your way through the crowd clinging onto bianca’s arm for your life. people danced, drank, and made out in every corner you’d look at. the whole place reeked and the flashing lights and loud music made it very overwhelming. gojo wobbled down the stairs fixing his white locks, pushing them back panting as he threw himself on the couch where suguru greeted him with a red cup.

“well?” the sweating boy gladly took a sip of his beer grunting. “had to cover her face in a pillow. her expressions were pissing me off.” his long limbs stretched out. suguru chuckled as he cracked his neck a bit listening to the song that was playing carefully. “oh shit, i wrote this song.” “don’t care.” satoru mumbled. “well, guess i can say i’ve fucked every girl in school.” as if that was anything to flex about.

that’s when sugurus eyes landed on you from across the room, a smirk crept up on his face noticing how out of place you looked.

his pretty ex girlfriend.

you and suguru dated all throughout high school. after joining college, he was ready for new things, such as sex. but you weren’t which led to your breakup and fucked your best friend at the time out of spite. you lost both your boyfriend and best girl just from not being ready to get your virginity taken away.

“what about her?” he asked pointing at you. satoru followed his finger before his eyes found you as well. “who the hell even is that” he could barely make out your figure through the colored lights and his blurry vision. “so you haven’t.”

bianca served you a drink which you were definitely not going to consume, before she excused herself to find someone to dance with.

“here drink this. i’ll be back alright? choso is right over there, use this time to talk to him.”

before you even got the chance to even let out a word, she left. you felt abandoned as she left you in the kitchen all alone. bringing up the cup to your lips, you took a sip before cringing at how god awful it tasted.

“not a fan of heineken? told those bastards to bring in bud light but they never listen” you hear a voice behind you, making you turn around to meet eyes with satoru, the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. the bet was simple. he had exactly one month, until november 20, to make you fall for him and fuck him. with a whopping 300$ waiting at the end for him, if successful.

“you get into her panties in a month, and i’ll pay you.” your ex offered. “why?” gojos eyebrows furrowed. “what’s in it for you?”

the whole thing was suspicious to him at first. suguru never gets in the way of gojos sex life. never telling him who to fuck or who to avoid fucking.

“mm just cuz.. she’s difficult. you like a challenge don’t you?”

reluctantly, satoru agrees. “how much?”

“300.”

“bet.”

“oh sorry don’t think we’ve met before. i’m satoru” he offered a sweet smile, showing off those pearly whites that could have a girl soaking wet in 10 seconds. “oh.. okay.” your response made him still for a second.

“i want you to go out with me”

“huh?”

“go out with me.” he repeated which only made you scoff at the boy’s advances. “sorry not really interested.” a grunt left his mouth before continuing. “i can take you out some place real nice, places you’ve never been before.”

“like the 7/11 in broadway?”

he froze for a second before chuckling shaking his head while doing so. “well, no..” his pale fingers reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you like picnics, pretty?”

“not really.” his hand got smacked away by yours. “ill prepare you the best dishes you can imagine.”

“im seriously not interested, thank you though.”

he stood there, dumbfounded, as he watched you walk away. this was going to take a while.

you didn't even have the opportunity to talk to choso, which was the whole reason why you wanted to go to the dumb party in the first place, because bianca came running towards you ordering for you two to leave this instant after finding the boy she was talking to fucking another girl.

the way you met bianca was from her showing you around the college campus when you transferred, become your only friend so far. and you knew that this boy she was in a talking stage with was really, really her type. that night you spent comforting her, allowing her to soak your shoulder with her tears and her barely audible tantrum, as well as thinking about the boy that wanted to desperately go out with you. what was that about?

────୨ৎ────

gojo could've sworn he left dissecting frogs back in high school, but here he was again, poking around at the laid back the diseased amphibians internal organs. "no way am I doing this shit." with a mutter, he placed the tweezers down gagging, shaking his hands in disgust before pulling out his cigarette box, sliding one out placing it in between his pretty pink lips, far too pretty for a man. "smoking in class? you'll set the smoke alarm off." suguru scooted closer to his friend. "how'd it go yesterday? did you get her number or..?" gojo exhaled, no smoke yet, just resignation.

"nothing happened. she wasn't interested" the black haired boy scoffed, not comprehending the words that were coming out the school's playboy. " you're satoru fucking gojo, this should be easy as hell for you!"

“well how do I make her fall for me?” he brought up the lighter up to his cigar huffing it slowly before blowing it towards suguru, in which he looked down at gojo unimpressed. “you can start by putting that,” he took ahold of the cigarette before crushing it down against the table, which left a nasty dent on the cheap laminate. “down.” he ordered flatly, staring as gojo whined like a kid who just got denied candy from the check out isle. “she doesn't like boys who smoke.”

��..how do you know that?”

suguru paused in deep thought. "I overheard her telling her friend that, the one that has the white pearls around her neck all the time. they were talking about their types or something." he shrugged. "anything else she said about her type?" gojo asked intrigued as if he was about to take a test on you specifically.

“she likes pretty guys.”

“are you telling me im not a pretty guy?”

As if divine intervention occurred, the door creaked open, pausing the chatter between the two boys. there you were. wearing a cute frilly outfit as you made your way to your desk. suguru shot gojo a pointed look before walking away. the sight of you made gojo straighten his posture suddenly hyper aware of every detail of himself. quickly running a hand through his hair and gulping, his adams apple bobbing. he shot you a smirk as you got close.

"hey.. wanna traumatize this frog with me?"

you looked down at the poorly dissected frog then back at him, the boy from the party. "looks like you've traumatized it enough." your response made him blink. well, at least you were giving him full sentences now but your sarcasm hurt his ego a bit. "if you give it a kiss, im sure you'd bring it back to life." the boys blue eyes met yours. "or you can kiss me instead.."

you let out a small chuckle. "like that'd be any different."

"just sit down.." he pushed a stool for you to sit down on. you were reluctant but you sat down, sliding off your bag to set it down next to you before slipping on a pair of gloves provided by the lab you were both currently doing, or about to do. "girls would kill to place their lips on mine"

"oh im sure.." you picked up the scalpel, carefully inspecting the frog. "are you seriously this bad at dissecting?"

"baby im a lover not a scientist." gojo brought a hand up to his heart dramatically.

shooting him a glance, you continue poking around the organs. "you don't even qualify as the first one.." he snorted at your sass, lips twitching in a cute crooked grin. "I beg to differ" he brought his hand up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "go out with me, please."

"hold the damn frog still before I poke one of your eyes out instead"

"yes ma'am."

suguru watched from afar with a serious look placed on his face.

────୨ৎ────

the wandering page is heaven itself. a cute shop tucked right around the corner of the school full of second hand books and cd's. its tyour go to spot where you usually buy your cd's for your collection that was placed neatly back at your dorm. you entered, the bell placed on top of the door notifying any workers of your entrance quickly making your way to the music disc section, crooked shelves full of cd's. you're surprised to see many new arrivals.

some were year old music, and some were rare old ones from the 2000's. you reached out to grab a few, a soft smile plastered on your face as you scanned the labels. so deep into it, you didn't notice the bell chiming again.

"excuse me, have you seen any cd of the cranberries?" the smooth voice behind you asked. "oh sorry I don't work here-"

"found out through her instagram stories, she enjoys listening to this Irish band, the cranberries."

"what's her insta?" gojo looked up from his phone, pausing his game.

"uhhh, shit can't find it anymore but anyways. use that information how you want" suguru grabbed his hair, making a messy bun out of it. "got it."

halfway through your sentence, you took a good look at who was behind you. satoru. "oh, it's you." your eyes narrowed as they focused on him. the boy slid his glasses on the crown of his head. you didn't know he even wore those, well you barely knew him. still, you'd be lying if you said you didn't find it attractive. "are you stalking me?" you asked defensively.

"what? no no, I guess this is just destiny" his eyes lowered down to the cd in your hands. "frank valli? isn't that guy like, ancient?" you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. the plastic creaked at the way your hands gripped it tighter. "I wouldn't say that."

satoru chuckled tilting his head a bit. he sure has some nerve.

"didn't realize you were into boy bands."

"not a boy band"

"right, got it."

you pushed past him to head to the cashier. shit.

────୨ৎ────

"you're not going to get anywhere if you keep teasing her like that." suguru knew you hated when people would make fun of your interests, even if it was just a harmless joke. the edge on his tone wasn't unnoticed by his friend. "she's so.. difficult." gojo muttered, half to himself, as he threw a basketball up in the air before catching it as it fell back into his hands.

"hes weird. real weird." you explained to bianca who was so intrigued by the sudden love interest that appeared in your life out of nowhere. "no way the satoru gojo is wanting to take you out!" without hesitation, you threw a pillow at her, which landed right on her face. "don't say it like that!.. hurts me a bit" with a groan, you allowed your hand to drag over your face. "cmon its just that.. he's not known for asking girls out. he just gets on with the freaky ass stuff."

you gave her a flat look. "I feel so special."

"what else does she like? since you know soooo much about her."

"well.. apart from the cranberries, she likes the Marias. they're performing near us, take her there. im sure that'll definitely make her warm up to you. and once she does, go for it." gojos face faltered, his expression turning a bit more thoughtful as he sat up.

"seriously?"

"mhm. take her."

"... pass me my computer. let me order the tickets."

"well I think you should give him a chance. he's very handsome." biancas eyebrows wiggled. "girl you can have him, I don't want him." you replied, which only earned a groan from her. "I don't want any boy who thinks the whole world revolves around him because he's a frat boy with a body count of two hundred"

"if you really didn't want him, you wouldn't be talking about him every five minutes."

her comment really shut you up.

────୨ৎ────

you weren't expecting to see two tickets slip right into your line of sight while you were halfway through placing some textbooks in your locker. the bold blue letters read, 'THE MARIAS' "hi pretty.. got these for you and me." your eyes widened at the familiar voice. the white haired individual really had a habit of sneaking up behind you didn't he? "you.. you got-" you stammered, blinking at the sight of the tickets, then back at him.

"got these for you and me." he repeated himself, both his voice and gaze softening. not sure to be flattered or continue being suspicious, you slowly accepted one of the tickets, taking it from his pale hand. "you really don't give up huh?"

"id never give up on you. how many times do I have to tell you sweetheart, I want you. so allow me to take you out, yeah?" his voice never stuttered. but your heart did.

"one date." you said firmly as you lifted up your finger, finally agreeing to his advances. his charm was different.. it was bold, yes, but real. "don't push your luck, im only accepting because its the marias. im not even going to ask how you know I like them."

"because I like you." there was short pauses between his words allowing each syllable to sink in. like he meant it.

"one date, for now." he said placing his lips on your cheek lightly, making you freeze. "ill pick you up at seven.. here give me your phone number."

you had no idea why you were allowing him to win a point at this game he was forcing you to play. but you were definitely not going to complain now.

"alright I gave em to her." the proud boy with a grin stretched from ear to ear, walked up to where suguru was.

"told you it'd work."

for some odd reason, suguru couldn't help but feel a deep sense of jealousy. you were his girlfriend for years. and his dumb actions ruined all of it. but if he made you realize that no one would ever love you like he did, you'd for sure come crawling back to him.

later that night, in the comfort of your un-made bed, you sat cross legged staring down at the new contact. satoru with a stupid blue heart next to it. of course he'd type in his name like that. "just one date.." you repeated to yourself. a silent warning to yourself, him, and the universe.

satoru : hi ml, wear something cute yea? and something easy to take off ;)

you stared at the message. any past thoughts of him not being that bad quickly vanished. obviously, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of your reply, so you left him on read. guess that hurt his feelings because a few minutes later he texted again.

satoru : im joking baby :(

you threw your phone onto the night stand, like it burned your hand. you couldn't decide what was worse, his sad excuse of flirting, or the fact that your lips were twitching in a just barely visible smile.

"going on a date I see?" bianca grinned as she watched you put on the last bit of blush on your cheek. "lemme guess, you finally agreed to gojos attempts?"

"yep. just one date though. only because he bought me concert tickets."

her eyes widened. "no way! to see who?!"

"the Marias."

"oh, if that isn't true love right there, id not know what is."

you chuckled. "did you confront your talking stage?"

"fuck no" she groaned. "just blocked him everywhere, im not giving him any time of my day so he could explain himself to me." her body fell on your bed, bouncing a bit. "did you ever talk to choso?"

shit. that's what you've been forgetting.

"ill get around to it."

you both met up to where you agreed, which was just outside the girls dormitories. the second he saw you, his heart fluttered.

you looked, no, you are gorgeous. why was he just noticing this now?

"...hey" a smile crept up on his face. he was dressed casual while you wore a pretty jean skirt with a shirt from the band. "hi" you returned the greeting.

"you're so beautiful.." you'd be lying if you said you weren't flustered. if you were to lie, the dark tint of pink on your cheeks would say otherwise. "lets just go."

with a chuckle, he led you to his car. a model of the year, typical for a rich ass boy like him. being the gentleman he was, he opened the passenger door for you before closing it as you settled yourself down.

he made his way over to the drivers seat. "you ready babe?"

the concert was beautiful. the music reached your heart it made you tear up, of course some songs made you recall your past relationship. gojo couldn't help but admire you from time to time. watching as your pretty mouth sang along to the unknown lyrics.

"lets take a picture pretty." he said out of nowhere. "a picture?" he nodded before pulling out his phone snapping a few pictures of you and him throughout the night, mostly of you. you did the same, filling up your gallery with endless pictures and videos.

as the night came to an end, he drove you safely back home, both of you discussing the songs you enjoyed being performed the most.

"I think I enjoyed back to me the most"

"no way! paranoia was clearly the most enjoyable."

he rolled his eyes. "yeah well I think what I enjoyed the most was seeing you sing. you're gorgeous baby."

"you already told me that like twenty times."

"and ill continue to tell you for the rest of my life and beyond that." his words made your stomach twist. not in a bad way. definitely not.

it was quiet for a bit before you spoke again. "yknow I want to be in a band." gojos eyebrows rose up in surprise. "that so?" you nodded. "my ex boyfriend was in one." the mention of you having a dating history didn't sit well with him. he kept reminding himself that this was all just a bet. so why did it bother him?

"mm so you're saying im not going to be your first boyfriend?"

"you're very confident to know if I even want you as my boyfriend."

the radio played soft melodies through the quiet moments between the two of you. "my friend was in a band too, he quit tho"

now it was your turn to be surprised. "oh that's cool."

"I want to join chosos band, that's the one-" before you could finish, he arrived at the side of the sidewalk that led to the girls dormitories. "choso.. I know him. ive got connections and I have no problem recommending you to him darling."

"you'd do that for me?"

"course I would."

".. counting down the seconds to go on another date with you soon love." he spoke quietly. his soft voice made you smile. and before you knew it, you were leaning into a kiss with no control over your body, like it was possessed by a curse or something.

gojo froze. he was torn between kissing you back or not. "lets save this for another time."

your heart sank as you pulled back.

opening the door, you left without a goodnight. or a kiss. once you were out of view, satoru dragged his hands down his face groaning. he's grown attached to you without knowing it. and he's hurt you with denying your kiss. he was getting what he wanted. well, what the bet said.

he knew he had to fix this somehow. he couldn't just let you lose all feelings for him when he was so close.

the next day, upon walking to campus, he paid a couple of band students, winking at them. what was he up to?

────୨ৎ────

you were outside sitting on the first bench closest to the field scrolling on your phone.

you were annoyed.

no. pissed. pissed at how he dodged your kiss like it meant nothing and honestly you have every right to be. because why is he hesitant to kiss you when he’s the one that was so desperate. is this some sort of sick joke?

if he wanted to feed into his ego by making you fall for him. well he got it.

but if he wanted you. he wouldn’t have flinched.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a microphone starting.

“can't take my eyes of off you..” he murmured into the microphone, his eyes locking on yours. you blinked once. and then again - unsure if you were seeing right. before you even got a chance to process it, the band that was right next to you began to perform filling the field with the familiar tune of ‘can’t take my eyes off you’. his body stepped forward, then another, until he broke into a dance. you let out a few chuckles of disbelief as you watched him make a fool of himself.

“i love you baby!” you wanted to crawl into a corner and die from embarrassment. “and if it’s quite alright, i need you baby..” his finger pointed right at you.

a crowd formed, recording as the schools biggest frat boy performed for a girl they’ve never seen before. you brought your hands up to you face covering it in embarrassment as a flush appeared. he was so off key now, yelling out the lyrics as two police officers approached him. he made a bee line towards the bottom of the bleachers, dodging any attempt of getting caught. as he finally reached you, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“oh pretty baby..” he panted as the chorus died down. your hands shot up grabbing the collar of his shirt before smashing your lips onto his for a short, but sweet, kiss, before he was taken away by the officers.

“i love you baby..” he said as he got dragged out the field by the hold of the officers.

and part of you knew that his words were truthful.

────୨ৎ────

detention was awful. well not really, but for satoru it is. sitting in silence for an hour is straight up torture. he would rather take death than one more second of this.

he was unaware of the faint tapping on the window next to him until you accidentally tapped too hard, ducking your head just in time. he was close enough to look down and see you there. he looked up to see the teacher too busy typing away at her computer, probably writing that inappropriate novel everyone says she writes, before looking back down at you. you waved your hand, gesturing for him to escape.

'I can't..' he worded which you just rolled your eyes at.

'come on!'

he sighed looking back at the teacher before he slowly opened the window. he stood up as the teacher got distracted by tapping on her window now. he took this opportunity to jump out, landing harshly on the grass. before he could let out a groan of pain, your hand covered his mouth.

"come on."

you both made a run for it, away from the school campus.

"did you see that my love? I was like a ninja!"

"you sure didn't land like one."

he grinned before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "you like the performance I gave ya?

"..yeah, my favorite part was you getting caught." he lightly shoved you away before hugging you again.

you both were laying in bed at his dorm, enjoying each others presence. "so.. you going to tomorrows frat?" he asked softly as he rubbed your back. "I dunno.. last time I went I didn't like it."

he needed you to go. he only had three more days to fuck you. "it'll be fun.. just come with me." his persistence made you furrow your eyebrows. "why are you forcing this on me?

"im not forcing you. is it too much for me to ask you to come join me at my party?"

"dont talk like that to me." you propped yourself up on your elbow looking down at him. "what. what is is going on huh?"

he scoffed. "nothing!"

"well its obviously something if you keep on-mmph!" his lips on yours cut you off. you obviously allowed him to mold his onto yours.

"just want to show off my pretty doll to everyone.. so come tomorrow"

he was running out of time, after all.

────୨ৎ────

at the end, you agreed to accompany him. after reaching the frat house, you searched for the bathroom needing a pee break after drinking too much water earlier. after countless doors being opened, and getting flashed, you finally secured yourself some privacy.

you came back from the bathroom, rounding the corner, just in time to hear a laugh.

"can't believe you actually pulled this off man." the voice was one you haven't heard in months. another voice cuts in. "yeah yeah whatever, it stopped being a bet weeks ago suguru."

your heart drops.

no, no no this can't be happening.

drunken laughter chatting about how you thought this actually meant something. that you meant something to satoru.

"so you dont want your prize?" you quickly approached the two voices. your entire world stopped as you saw satoru, and your ex suguru.

"are you fucking kidding me?" you stared at him, feeling so many emotions all at once. anger, betrayal, and even denial. your mind was processing what you just heard. you wanted to hear it wasn't real, that he wasn't only after you because of a bet and that he actually likes you. but you knew you were better than that, you couldn't help but connect all the dots. the coincidence that he came up to you at that frat party, the same one you knew suguru was in. the way gojo knew your interests. the way he knew your type.

it wasn't fate. it was orchestrated.

there was horror written all over gojos face. "no baby.. baby listen to me." but you refused, shaking your head. you refused because the following words were going to be the confirmation that you dreaded to hear. without another word, you turned away pushing though the crowd. "y/n!" he shouted, but you didn't turn back. as you made your way down the hall, his hand wrapped around you wrist, "please, PLEASE listen to me!" in which you yanked back.

"it was all a bet huh? set up by the one boy I hate the most. I knew I shouldn't have trusted you! you're just like every other frat-" you were interrupted by his lips molding against yours. no matter how much you wanted to melt into it, you didn't. your hands landed on his chest, pushing him off you before wiping your lips. the boy stood there, stunned, as his sad blue eyes watched you walk out.

"babe.."

that night your phone was blowing up. call after call, text after text- all from him.

satoru : y/n please.

satoru : call me, return my calls lets talk pretty.

satoru : it was a bet, but believe me when I tell you that I truly love you.

satoru : I love you. say it back baby. please I need you. can't lose you, im sorry love please don't leave. fuck suguru for all I care.

you were debating if you should just block him for good, finger hovering over the red block button. but you simply put your phone on dnd and headed to sleep recalling the horrible events of tonight. tear stains were placed on your cheeks, mascara ruined, just like how your life felt. ruined.

Bianca had tried, she really did. she tried her best to comfort you, but she understood you needed space. the sweet girl provided you with extra blankets as well as water, she even rubbed off the remaining makeup on you. she as well received some texts from satoru. her response?

'fuck you.''

satoru hasn't felt this horrible since he accidentally flushed down his sisters goldfish back in first grade. but it wasn't the same.

the goldfish didn't hate him. you did.

and he hated himself for how he made you feel. he hated himself for doing this to you. but god was he grateful to have taken on that bet. not for the money, but for you. because of the bet, he met such a wonderful girl who he was completely smitten for. too bad that the girl now hates his guts.

the weather matched how gojo felt. he looked like hell.

his iconic shades and stupid grin weren't present. his usual outfits was replaced by a simple white t-shirt with sweatpants. the confident boy was now just a regular burnt out college student who looks like he missed out on eight hours of sleep to study for his physics final. he hasn't eaten since yesterday, deciding his body didn't deserve to be rewarded with food.

he ignored the glances from other students. people who idolized him were staring with widened eyes. no way was that satoru gojo. some of his frat bros came up to him, hitting his back, laughing at whatever the hell they thought was funny. suguru included.

satoru swore he began seeing red.

"you never told me she was your fucking ex." he muttered dangerously. suguru let out a sigh, leading gojo away from others. "hey, we made a bet. don't see why you're mopping about it. I wanted to show her that really no one would love her like me. anyways here, you ran out yesterday couldn't give this to you." he pulled out the prize promised from the beginning. those damn 300$.

satoru pushed the money back to sugars chest. "I dont want it." all the air was knocked from sugars lungs for a second. gojos fist collided with sugurus cheekbone. sugurus eyes widened and a few gasps could be heard from the scene. his gaze following satoru watching as he walked further and further away.

the boy was desperate to see you. he needed to find a way to prove himself to you. to prove that his feelings were real.

you didn't show up to your classes that day, deciding its best if you stayed in bed scrolling through your phones gallery wanting to delete every picture you've taken of him.

satoru : good morning angel, you've got every right to hate me. but im not giving up on us, not when you're everything ive ever wanted. talk to me mkay?.."

Bianca thankfully walked in which quickly made you forget about his text.

"hey girl.. know this is bad to bring up now but.. choso wants to talk to you later at the frat he's playing at. something about letting you into the band."

for the first time in a while, you felt happy. you knew who recommended you to him.

"you know what happened last time I went to a frat.."

she chuckled a bit. "ill make sure that son of a bitch doesn't approach you. ill be your personal guard dog madam."

the familiar smell of beer, weed, and other shit you didn't want to know, came to you. the same smells you encountered on that night. biancas arm was around yours tightly, keeping watch of your surroundings. "alright, we got emo boy on stage. frat boy at 10 o'clock"

"I dont think that's 10 o'clock.." you muttered which you were quickly 'shh' at. "okay coast is clear."

you took in deep breaths reminding yourself that you weren't here for gojo, you were here because you might have a chance to join your ex boyfriends band. he caught your eye for a second, offering you a small nod.

bianca nudged you, urging you to go talk to him. "if gojo dares to even approach you, ill smash his empty head with my beer." you weaved through the crowd, getting closer to where choso and the others were setting up. "hey stink. haven't seen you in a while." you recalled the old nickname the bandmates gave you all those years ago.

"hi choso.. you wanted to talk?" he hummed, nodding, as his fingers adjusted the chords that were plugged into his guitar. "you still got that fender?" your heart stopped for a second. "great, lets meet up every Thursday, ill teach you and we'll let you into the band."

"you're serious?"

"yeah. confused why you didn't just ask me in person. had to hear it from your new boyfriend."

just as you felt your stress go away, any memories of gojo leave your mind, they came back immediately. "oh.. no no he's not my boyfriend." you explained. "ah, right. you still got my number?" he asked in which you shook your head. "nope, suguru made me delete any contacts that were of a guy."

a half chuckle half scoff escaped his lips. "course he did."

before you could discuss any more details, a voice behind you appeared. for the 100th time in the past month. "wow.. you're glowing."

gojo.

the sound of his voice sent shivers throughout your body. you turned to see him.. disheveled. the bags under his eyes gave away his lack of sleep. he looked miserable. still stupidly hot of course.

"what the hell do you want."

"I want to talk.."

bianca was running across the room, ready to jump on him. "get away from her asshole! you got ten seconds!" gojo looked down at her with a confused look before looking back at you. with a bit of hesitation, you agreed. "fine."

in a secluded area, the same spot where you had your "break up" you ordered him to talk. "I messed up. so fucking bad. I took the bet, yeah. thought I could.. woo you. but believe me when I said I had zero idea suguru was the ex you talked about."

"to me you weren't a bet baby. everything about you felt raw. you kept rejecting me and god, that made me want you even more."

you didn't speak, allowing him to finish letting out his emotions. "and I hated myself for liking you, for falling for you like a fucking idiot. because it meant it wasn't a bet anymore, it was love. and I hated how I took that bet. I hated your stupid hair, and the way you played guitar. I hated the music you listened to, your dorky smile. I hate the way your voice softens when you talk about the shit you like. I hate that I dont know every detail about you down to you favorite childhood movie. but.. I hate how I don't hate you at all. and I hate how I dont regret doing the bet at all, because otherwise, I wouldn't have met you."

his voice was raw. the emotions he had going on began to flowing down his cheeks. you began to remember why you fell for him in the first place because even though he was an entitled frat boy, he already had the key to your heart with the way he talked to you. "..you can't just fix this with recommending me to choso's band.."

"I know." he whispered.

"..and you lied to me." you continued, but at this point you were just playing with him.

"I did. but im not lying now. I stopped lying weeks ago."

"why?"

"because I fell in love with this really awesome girl."

you looked up at him for a while, taking in his apology and confession. there was no longer a frat boy in front of you, he was cracked open showing who he truly was. just a sweet boy who wanted your love.

just satoru.

"you love me?" you asked.

he nodded, rather quickly. "absolutely"

"..and if I dont love you back."

god, he'd kill himself. "then, that'd be fine too." he watched as you stepped closer. "if I asked you to stay away from me forever-"

"I will do that too." he promised.

"..but you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't." he placed his lips on yours, feeling as your arms wrapped around his neck as his found your waist, deepening the kiss.

"dont screw up again satoru."

"fuck, just kiss me."

and that you did.

ending a/n . hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing ! this was my first long fic.. never doing ts again.

[sturnsdarling]

I can make you feel better

Chris has been in a mood all day, and theres only one thing that will get him out of it

vibe check: giving moody!chris head (somebody sedate me), angst?, fluff

1.5k words

A/N: this fic won the poll so this is my gift to you guys. moody!chris is my sweetie baby and i love him, okay love u bye

love and cigs, merc

Chris had been in a terrible mood all day, from the moment he woke up to now as he huffed his way around the house, storming down the stairs and slamming his door shut, startling you as you laid mindlessly scrolling in his bed.

He pushed his boots off and headed straight for the bathroom, doing nothing more than shooting you a forced smile as he walked past you sprawled out on his bed. The shower turned on, and you stared at the white wooden door, the skin of the inside of your mouth locked between your teeth. you hated it when Chris got in a mood like this, not because of anything other than the fact that you knew he hated the feeling of being miserable, especially if there wasn't a specific reason.

He'd barely spoken a word to you since he woke up, telling you he was going to be filming all day and that if you wanted to hang around you could. you practically lived at his by this point so, you being there wasn't a hinderance to anyone, and you knew that when he got home, he'd need you. so you stayed.

The shower water shut off and after a moment he padded out the bathroom, slightly wet with his hair hanging over his face and a towel round his waist. He walked over to his dresser, aggressively opening the drawer and pulling a pair of calvins out just before putting them on. He used his towel to dry his hair slightly, rubbing it over his head with a flat palm and a scrunched face. you couldn't help but watch him, his energy so hollow he was almost unrecognisable.

you shifted to your side of the bed slightly as you watched him pad over to the bed, preparing to slump down into his sheets. he hit the bed with a huff, laying face down in his pillow as he let out a long, deep groan. your hand came to his back, and you started to trace small circles around the freckles littered across his skin.

"you okay, my love?" you said softly.

he said nothing, only hummed.

"do you wanna talk about it?" you pressed, moving your hand up to his hair to twirl his wet curls around your finger

he shook his head into his pillow, shifting into your touch slightly.

you continued peppering gentle touches all over his skin, his body visibly relaxing under your presence. he scooted over slightly, taking his long arm and wrapping it round your waist, using his grip on you to pull you under him, burying his face in your stomach.

you complied with his silent instructions and let him manoeuvre you under him, "whats up, Chris, you're so quiet"

"I said I don't wanna talk about it" Chris snapped, talking into your skin

you recoiled, "I'm just trying to help" you said, defensively

"well, don't" he said, still putting his full weight down on you, his actions needy but his tone annoyed.

you huffed, not bothering to reply, knowing you'll only get shut down again.

Chris let out a deep sigh into your skin, shifting slightly to hold himself up, looking at your offended features.

"i'm sorry, baby" he said, placing his large, soft hand to your cheek, "I'm just having a really shit day"

"so then talk to me, tell me whats wrong" you cooed, pressing your cheek into his hand.

"theres nothing to talk about" he shook his head, "It's just one of those days" he shrugged, dropping his gaze from yours, tone still flat and somewhat annoyed.

you furrowed your brows, watching as he sunk back into you.

your slight annoyance at him quickly faded, being replaced by sympathy. it was rare Chris got into a mood he couldn’t get himself out of, so him being so visibly wound up was agonising to watch. Normally you’d let him talk it out or leave him alone until he felt better but, neither of those felt like viable options tonight so, you settled for a different method to make his bad day a little better.

"I can make you feel better, if you want me to?" you said, tracing slightly firmer touches up and down his back as you did.

"how?" he mumbled into your skin, after a brief pause

you smiled, shifting out from under him and telling him to lay on his back. He complied with a huff, laying his head down into his pillow with a deadpan face that quickly changed when you crawled on top of him.

"I'm not in the mood for sex right now, baby" he said, almost speaking into your mouth as you went to kiss him

"who said anything about sex, moody boy?" you hummed before placing a tender kiss on his pouty lips.

he kissed you back on reflex, only for you to break the kiss as you began to litter pecks over his cheeks, down his jaw to his neck. he let out a small sigh that sounded like relief, relaxing into the bed as you worked your way down his body, back arched, giving him a view of your ass as you kissed down his neck, over his chest and down his stomach.

his breathing got heavier as you began to place open mouth kisses along the line of his boxers, his head falling back slightly as your fingers dipped under the band, tugging them down to kiss around the base of his stiffening cock. you hummed at the sight of his dick slapping against his stomach, a twinge of pride in your chest at how easy it was for you to get him hard.

you helped him out his boxers, leaving him bare as you threw them across the room. you placed small pecks up his shaft, kissing his tip with a press of your tongue when you reached it. Chris' stomach tensed at the feeling, a small whimper leaving his throat as he locked eyes with you from your low position on his bed.

"I'm gonna make you feel all better, okay, Chris?" you said, your voice low and seductive as you began to pump his hard cock in your hand.

Chris nodded, his moodiness being replaced by an ere of desperation as you tore your gaze from his, looking down to his cock with a small smile just before licking a long stripe up the shaft.

a long, breathy moan left Chris' mouth, his head fully resting back into the pillow as you wrapped your lips around his tip, collecting the pre-cum on your tongue, using it as extra lubrication to push him down into your throat slowly.

you began bobbing your head, using one hand to pump him slightly as you worked his tip, lapping at it in your warm, hollow mouth. Chris was already a mess, his hand tangled in your hair as he moaned and groaned, his stomach tensing at the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him.

"you're so good to me, ma" he whimpered, "what did I do to deserve you?"

you took him all the way down your throat, locking eyes with him as you did, pushing him as far down as you could take it. the feeling of your throat constricting around his tip ripped a guttural moan from him, using your hair as a squeeze toy as you began to fuck your own throat with his cock.

"oh, fuck" he groaned, his grip still tight in your hair but letting you control the pace.

you began to bob your head up and down once more, bringing a soft hand to his constricting balls, cupping them in your palm and caressing them with gentle touches.

Chris couldn't control the noises that were leaving his throat, and it was making you feel crazy. you loved having him like his, pleasing him just how you knew he liked, making all his worries wash away with nothing but your gentle care and warm mouth. you set a steady pace, working his cock with your hollowed mouth and soft touches. you felt his balls tighten in your hand, listening to his murmured praises as they slipped from his mouth effortlessly.

"you're so good, baby, so good to me" he cooed, "you're gonna make me - gonna make me cum"

you hummed around his cock, keeping your steady pace for a moment just before picking it up, taking a brief pause to collect your spit, letting it drop down onto his tip before wrapping your mouth back around him.

"fuuuck" he drew out, his hips involuntarily bucking up into your mouth as he chased his high

"can I cum in y’mouth, please ma, let me cum in your perfect mouth" he wined, hips still bucking up into your throat as you locked eyes, nodding around his cock.

with a tight stomach and a loud, uncontrollable moan of your name, he unloaded his cum into your mouth, fucking his load into your throat as he stuttered and shivered at the feeling. you kept your mouth around him until you felt his balls relax, pushing your head down to his pelvis once more before pulling off him completely, swallowing his warm cum with a smile.

Chris returned your smile, shaking his head with a low groan at the sight of you happily swallowing his load, any semblence of a bad mood suddenly gone from his being. he held out a hand to you, welcoming you onto his chest. you complied, crawling back up to him before tucking yourself under his arm. Chris tutted, grabbing your face with a strong hand and making you kiss him. it was passionate and caring, his way of saying thank you.

you hummed into the kiss, only pulling away when Chris did.

"do you feel better?" you smiled, batting your lashes at him.

Chris nodded, "so much better, baby" he said, just before placing another short kiss on your upturned lips, “thankyou”

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[channieschaoscorner]

Tipping Point - Stray Kids x female!9th member reader

Pairing: ot8!Skz x 9th member reader

Summary: You and Chan had worked together for so long, it’s only natural that you have your arguments.

Genre: Angst, fluff at the end, slight reader x chan if you squint hard enough, choreographer reader and producer Chan go head to head but we still love them, bad language and insults in an argument

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on my first imagine! I have a few ideas for some more 9th member fics but please message if you have any ideas or anything you would like to see!!!!! Also apologies if there’s any typos, I do proof read my work but I’m not perfect lol

Prequel: First Meeting

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

The music blaring out of the speakers bordered on obscene, it didn’t matter though. It was late enough that barely anyone was left in the building, and if they were then they were far too preoccupied with their own work to care about what others were doing. Your phone blinked in the corner with unread messages and calls, ignoring them as you could guess who they were room all you did was check the time. It was late but you were still too wound up to even think about heading home, that and you still had far too much work to do on this choreography. It was nowhere near what you needed it to be, but then again if it was what you needed then you wouldn’t even be here. You’d be at home either in bed or tucked up on the sofa with the TV on being piled on by the boys (Felix, it was always Felix.)

You groaned and hit play on the song again, listening to the starting beats and tried to visualise where the boys could be standing. The vocals started and you checked over your notes, trying to come up with the positions on who needed to be centre and who would be coming forward at that specific time. Ideally you’d have another person here that you could place and work around, another choreographer, Minho, even a backup dancer. You’d take anyone at this point if it meant you could get more than 4 hours sleep tonight.

You rewound the song back to the first chorus and stood up, mentally thanking yourself that you’d remembered your tripod so at least you could film what you’d come up with properly and didn’t have to balance your phone against your water bottle just to watch it inevitably fall down as you were in the middle of dancing, like it had done so many times before.

“And 5, 6, 7, 8.” You counted yourself in out loud in an attempt to get used to the counts for when you’d have to teach the boys tomorrow or technically in the morning as it was well past midnight at this stage. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to come up with choreography the night before you had to teach it but you didn’t enjoy doing it. It wasn’t your fault, not that you’d ever tell. You’d only got the song a few hours ago from Chan, who’d held onto it for far longer than promised. You knew it wasn’t done out of malice, he was always so worried about new music that he wanted to keep it for as long as possible until he was sure it was perfect.

Unfortunately for you though this meant your deadline was fast approaching and you hadn’t even heard the finished song. Fast forward through plenty of excuses to staff about trying to perfect the dance and politely asking Chan about the song, you’d run out of time. Which then resulted in the blow out at dinner.

You winced thinking back to the harsh words exchanged and swallowed down the uncomfortable feeling in your chest before hitting play and record one more time.

────୨ৎ────

*Earlier that day*

The dorm was loud, it was on a normal day but today was particularly boisterous. You bit back a laugh as Minho swatted and shooed Felix and Seungmin away from the stove with threats of an air fryer that left Hyunjin thankful he hadn’t offered to help. You hopped up and sat on an empty piece of counter space to watch the chaos unfold in front of you. The screams that came from the other room made you wonder how setting a table could cause them but you chose not to investigate, effectively leaving Han to fend for himself. It was rare over the past few weeks that you’d all been able to sit down and eat together, between so many different schedules you’d become too used to eating at random times and running past each other in the dorm. Hence why Chan had suggested tonight as a day for you all to cook and sit down to eat together.

“It’s been too long since we ate together like a family, we’ll have dinner, movies, snacks. It’ll be good for us after how busy things have been.” He suggested. It was a good suggestion, you’d all agreed quickly to it. There was just one problem.

Chan was nowhere to be seen.

You’d noticed his absence earlier but said nothing, hoping that he was just caught talking to someone and would appear through the doorway, laughing about never being able to leave the building on time.

No such luck.

The boys stood silently around the table as you helped Minho carry in dinner.

“We can hang on a few more minutes, I’m sure he’ll be here soon” Relief flooded in the boys features as they didn’t want to eat without their leader, neither did you if you were being honest and you weren’t looking forward to making the call about when to eat. Eat now whilst dinner was warm and miss Chan which would hurt his feelings or risk waiting for him, possibly all night, and have the dinner they worked so hard on go to waste?

Time to introduce yourself to a rock and a hard place.

“I can try ringing him?”

“Good idea Innie.” You didn’t mention the plethora of texts and missed calls he already had off you that were either sitting unseen or being ignored. For his sake, you hopped it was the first option.

Changbin sidled up to you, “I left him working on that song again, he said he was only going to be 30 minutes and he’d leave straight away.”

You sighed, not surprised that he was working late again. You loved him but being a workaholic and a perfectionist was a combination that sometimes left the rest of you in the firing line. You lifted up your glasses to rub your eyes, already feeling a stress headache start up.

“No answer but I left him a message, maybe he’s just caught up with someone” Jeongin tried halfheartedly.

You had to make a decision, “Ok guys, go put a show on. We can leave this covered up for a bit and it’ll stay warm and we can wait a bit longer for him.”

They filtered in front of TV, slotting into their regular positions which to any outside was a mess of legs, blankets, and insults before everyone got comfortable.

“You don’t think he’s coming do you?” Changbin hadn’t left your side.

“For his sake, I hope he does.”

────୨ৎ────

You weren’t happy to put it mildly.

“Come on guys, let’s eat.” You prolonged this as long as you could but you couldn’t tune out the sound of their stomachs and you weren’t about to let their hard work go to waste. They followed you back to the table and sat down as you held your hands out for their bowls. You worked with Minho going round the table to serve up the food, leaving yourself last.

“Ok, who has news? I want to hear about all of your weeks, I feel like I haven’t seen you all in so long. Tell me everything.” You tried to keep your tone light but you could feel the disappointment hovering around the table like a shadow.

Hyunjin caught your eye, “Well, last week I-”

The door slamming shut cut him off.

“Sorry I’m late, I got caught up with some stuff.” Chan walked in looking frazzled, his eyes taking in the table of food. “You weren’t gonna wait?”

Silence.

“We’ve been waiting Chan.” Your tone was short. “We’ve been waiting so long the foods nearly gone cold, you’d know that if you checked your phone.”

“No need to take my head off, I got caught up working on a song”

“Don’t get annoyed with me, you’re the one who wanted us to have dinner together.”

“And I’m here now so let’s eat. Let it go.”

You ground your teeth, biting back an answer in an effort to follow his words and ‘let it go’.

“Did you at least get the song finished?”

He nodded.

“Great, can you send it over to me? I still need to sort the choreography out and-”

“Jesus Y/N, I just got in. Can you wait 5 minutes before you start nagging at me again?”

Your jaw dropped, “Nagging you?”

“Channie hyung maybe you-” Changbin tried to interject but it was no use.

“I’ve just got in and you want the song right now?”

“I don’t want it right now but I need it. I needed the song last week if I’m being honest, you’ve held onto it for so long that I’m making excuses for why the choreography isn’t done.”

Chan waved you off, “You’ll get it done, it won’t take you long.”

You scoffed at his words, “I love your confidence in my ability to choreograph a full song for not only us but the backup dancers too in one night but I could do with a bit longer than that Chan.”

“Fine you want the song? I’ll send it to you right now.” He dropped his chopsticks on the table and stormed off.

You clenched your fists and groaned.

“Do you want one of us to go or?”

“No Binnie, it’s ok I’ll go.”

You followed Chan into his room and shut the door behind yourself. “Don’t storm away from the table like that.”

He didn’t even turn around, “I’m not a child, don’t chastise me.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

He spun around, “Me speak to you like that? I walked in through the door and you were already pissed at me.”

“Because you missed dinner, they’ve been cooking all afternoon and you were late. No text or call, we had to guess when you were going to show up. You let them down, they were excited to do this. I let them out of dance practice early and everything today.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes now.

“Well for that and because I still don’t a song to teach them.”

“Oh for god’s sake, I’m sending you the fucking song now.”

“Don’t fucking swear at me!”

“Don’t be such a bitch then.” He slammed his laptop closed and pushed back out past you into the hallway.

You followed him shouting, which made the rest of the boys jump when they heard the loud voices. You were arguing in English now but they could pick up on enough words to know this wasn’t a happy conversation.

“If it’s such a panic for you then start working on it now, shouting at me about it won’t make the dance for you.”

“Oh you are such a-”

Chan got a look in his eyes, almost daring you to finish your sentence. “Such a what?”

“A cunt.”

Felix choked on his water resulting in Hyunjin slapping him on the back.

You didn’t wait around for his reply, you all but ran to your room to grab your dance bag and flung clothes into it along with headphones, a tripod and your notebook. You had to get out of here before this got even worse. You needed out of the dorm and the practice room was your solace. You went back to see the boys staring at you, still at the table not one of them daring to move and that made your chest ache. The food was sitting untouched and you took a deep breath.

“Eat as much as you want to, box up what you don’t. Leave the dishes in the sink, I’ll deal with them later. Please go to sleep at a reasonable time, I’ll be back later.”

You made for the door, ignoring the conversations behind you.

“Y/N wait!” Felix chased you, holding something delicately in his hands. The smell hit you first, he’d boxed you up dinner to bring with you. “You didn’t eat.”

The uncomfortable feeling in your chest shifted slightly. “Thank you.” You took the container off him to put at the top of your bag.

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“Not yet.”

“Well don’t walk back on your own if it’s late, ring me or get a taxi. It’s not safe walking around so late on your own.”

You nodded and gave him a hug. “Go back in Felix, you still need to eat.”

He hugged you back and turned around, ready to join the others back at the table.

“Felix? Don’t tell Chan where I am, I’m in no mood for him.”

────୨ৎ────

The dorm was unnaturally quiet now, a startling comparison to earlier on. The table had been cleared and kitchen was spotless as the boys washed, dried and put all the dishes away. You’d told them you would deal with it later but it didn’t feel right to them to leave a mess behind for you to clean up, especially knowing you wouldn’t get in until the early hours of the morning if you past behaviour was any example to go by.

Chan stood silently watching them clean up, he contemplated leaving without saying anything but couldn’t ignore the fact that you weren’t with them.

“Where is she?”

No one answered.

“It’s late, if she’s out on her own then you need to tell me.”

“She’s not out, she’s fine.” Felix answered.

“So then where is she?”

“She doesn’t want you to know.”

“What?” Chan faltered, he’d known you for years and you’d had disagreements before but you’d never been so annoyed that you actively hid where you were from him.

Felix debated his next words before deciding to say them, “You were an ass to her earlier.”

“I know but-”

“But nothing, she’s been making excuses for weeks now about not having any choreography to show just to give you more time on the song and it’s not the first time. If she doesn’t want to see you now then it’s because she’s under pressure to make the dance and figure out a way to teach it to us before she gets into real trouble over this without dropping you in it and because you hurt her feelings over this. You need to apologise to her.”

With that, Felix left Chan in the kitchen alone as when he left the others followed him. No one felt the need to add anything else, Felix had pretty much covered everyone’s opinion. Felix was right, Chan needed to apologise to you and based on what Felix had said and how well he already knew you, he had a pretty good guess at where you were right now.

────୨ৎ────

*Present*

You flung your notebook in the direction of your bag, too annoyed by the spacing to carry on. You were calling it, there was no way you could figure out this part of the dance without someone else here with you. You had a rough idea of what needed to be done but there was only so much spacing and marking you could do with your water bottle and hoodie, until you got another dancer to help you then you’d need to finish it here. At least you’d got a good amount done, you could teach the chorus at least and parts of the verses tomorrow, and then you could grab Minho and Hyunjin to help you mark out the spacing if they had time in the afternoon.

You were coming up with a plan as you left the practice room, feeling considerably calmer than when you arrived. You newfound peace though was instantly disturbed when you saw who was waiting for you in the lobby.

“Hi.” Chan waved.

You stopped and stared at him.

“Felix didn’t tell me where you were, I guessed.” He was desperately trying to fill the silence, and your staring was starting to make him nervous. “And I was right. I mean, obviously I was right. You’re here and I’m here.”

“I don’t have the energy for you right now.” You spun on your heel and headed straight back to the practice room.

You could hear him following but chose not to acknowledge him, you weren’t lying when you said that you didn’t have the energy for him. You knew he wouldn’t just let you walk home without talking about what had happened so returning to the practice room was the next best thing. He respected your time enough that if he thought you were working, he wouldn’t interrupt you.

So, despite wanting nothing more than to head home and crawl into bed before your alarm was due to go off in a few hours, you set your phone back up with the speaker and pulled your notebook out again. If you were going to be forced into staying here to avoid speaking to him then you might as well be productive.

Chan slid in through the door and took a seat at the back of the room, you stared at him when he did but said nothing. It was a win in his book that you didn’t instantly kick him out when he came through the door. It was technically Stray Kids official practice room but between the two of you, he’d known it as your practice room for years. Memories of the two of you as trainees being the last people in the building were circling around his head, he thought back to meeting you for the first time and it looked something very much like this. Stumbling upon the room, wondering who was still here at 3am and hearing the music blaring out a speaker, finding you in the centre of it, sweaty and worn out but still had enough energy to smile and introduce yourself to him.

The guilt was creeping up from his chest and attempting to claw itself out as he sat and watched you. He lost count of how many times you consulted your notes, started and restarted the song at different parts, recorded what you were doing, tried to figure out placements. He knew what went into choreographing obviously but seeing you burnt out when you should’ve had this done weeks ago made his stomach clench. How many times had you had to do this? Felix had said this wasn’t the first time, how many times had you covered for him and pulled an all nighter just to get a dance finished so he could have more time on a song?

“What?” You asked, without realising he’d been staring at you.

His mouth opened and closed, words failed to find him. An apology didn’t feel like enough, how could he start an apology about this without acknowledging all the pressure you’d been taking for him.

“If you’re not planning on leaving you might as well come here.” You directed him to a space on the floor that your hoodie currently held. You kicked it to the wall, and moved him slightly into position. “Don’t move too much, I need to figure out if something works. Just move on the spot like you’re singing.”

He waited until you hit play and counted him in, he did exactly what you asked, moving slightly on the spot to give the impression of singing as you moved around him. You repeated this a few more times in different positions, clearly trying to figure out if it could work as a group. Chan waited for more instructions and followed your prompts as you moved him around the room and back again deciding against that.

“Does it normally take you this long?” He asked quietly as you crossed something out that you’d wrote earlier.

You shrugged. “It depends on the song or how I feel. Some stuff is quicker to figure out but the spacing and background move when someone is singing is harder. Or if it works whilst you’re singing. It just depends. Can you stand here?”

He nodded and moved to where you were pointing.

“I’m sorry.”

You glanced up at him.

“I didn’t realise how much pressure I put you under by giving you the track so late.”

You shrugged again. “It is what it is Chan, you get put under pressure by us and the company all the time. Giving me the track a few days late isn’t a big deal.”

He caught your arm as you stepped past him, “It is to me, especially when you’re here until 5am because of it.”

“Us being here until 5am is nothing new.”

“This is different.” He insisted.

You kept your eyes on his hand that was still wrapped around your arm, the skin was burning under it and your face was burning under his gaze.

“Chan I don’t care if you hand me a song on the day it’s due and I have to come up with a choreography on the spot. I can live with that, I can live with pulling an all nighter if it gives you more time and you need it. What I don’t want is for you to throw it in my face like it’s no big deal or that what I’m doing means nothing. I like what I do and I know I’m good at it, we both know it’s the main thing you brought me into the group for, I just want to be appreciated for what I do.”

“I do appreciate what you do. I could never stay here all night trying to figure out who dances in what bit and steps where and moves when. I’d go insane.”

You cracked a smile, “And that’s why you produce and I choreograph.”

He let go of your arm and wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close. “Are we good?”

“We’re good.” You mumbled into his chest. “And I’m sorry I called you a cunt.”

He laughed properly at that.

“It’s fine, just don’t say it again in front of the others. I don’t need them learning that one and accidentally dropping it in an interview. That’s the last thing I want to make an apology for.”

You both decided to call it a night then despite knowing you had a few hours before you needed to come back, Chan picked your bag up and slung it over one shoulder.

“You still need to make it up to the others as well, they really wanted to have dinner together.”

“I know I will.”

“Thank you.”

Chan decided to ring for a car to get you back to the dorms quicker. The quicker you got back then the quicker you were able to get into bed and sleep. You didn’t make it that far though, once you settled into the back of the car and tiredness hit you, it was all you could do to stumble into the dorms and collapse on the sofa.

That was how you were found by Felix anyway, who had woke up to his own alarm that he’d set the night before knowing you’d be in too late to be responsible getting the rest of them up. He smiled at the sight of the two of you draped over each other, knowing someone was definitely going to wake up with pins and needles. He settled though for taking a photo of the two of you (kept to himself though so he could use it for his own gain on another day) and did what you always did first and turned on the coffee machine, knowing the noise would wake you up and he wouldn’t have to. He’d save the embarrassment of finding the two of you snuggled up for a moment when he really needed it.

[w2soneshots]

i’ve can’t stop thinking about an idea i have in my head, is it possible for a george fic but and if your are missing your family and getting really upset and george comes to comfort you?? in inside btw!!

Cameras off -George clarkey

words: 0.6k+

warnings: angst/comfort.

notes: thank you for the idea girly, this is cuteee! I did write it as a shorter blurb since I’ve already done one INside fic (though it ended up being a little longer than expected)😌🫶🏼. Enjoy!!💘

The group sat in the living room, now not as many as the beginning of the week but it was still loud. Your head ached as PK started shouting -unintentionally- about something you weren't paying attention to, though in that moment it was the last thing you needed.

You got up without a word and took yourself into the makeup room, where all of the girls get ready in the morning. Sitting on a stool, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your emotions as the thoughts in your mind started to consume you.

"Hey?" A hand on your back startled you, causing you to jump slightly. "Sorry, you okay?" George asked quietly, a softness to his voice that you hadn't heard before.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice. "Do you wanna go outside? The team will let you if you need a second." He was being so sweet and it was just making it harder for you to hold your tears back.

"Yeah, can you come with me?" You asked, without thinking. They usually didn't let two people go outside at once, to avoid interesting conversations not being filmed.

"y/n and George to room nineteen," the intercom voice spoke before you could say another word. You looked at each other. "Come on." He reached his hand out for you to take once he'd stood up. You took it and he lead you to room nineteen, everyone else still sat chatting away in the main area.

One of the welfare people stood outside the door once you entered the hallway. "Hi," the kind woman began, "Tobi saw some of your conversation, if you need to you can go outside with George. They won't show any of this if you don't want them too."

You let out a slight breath of relief. "That'd be great," you replied quietly. "Okay," she nodded, "follow me." She lead you and George to the private terrace then checked you were okay one last time before telling you to take as long as you needed.

The both of you sat on the outdoor sofa they had and you breathed in the fresh air. "So, what ails you?" He asked in a doctory voice, lightning the mood. "Just- I'm just overwhelmed I think. There's no peace and I like my alone time, you know?" You looked to him.

"I completely get that," he reassured you, "there's a lot of big personalities. Plus, being filmed constantly doesn't help the situation." You nodded, looking down at your lap then you spoke again, "it's also so awful not knowing what's going on outside, like if everyone's okay." A tear slipped down your cheek.

George felt for you and he was feeling the exact same. He shuffled closer to you and slowly put his hand on your knee. "Want a hug?" "Yeah," you whispered tearfully before leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and after a few silent sobs you calmed.

"Sorry," you mumbled as you pulled away, wiping the few tears you'd left on his hoodie. "Don't worry about it. Feel better?" He kept his voice soft and calm as he spoke. "Much, thanks for being my therapist," you smiled as you tried to make yourself look normal and like you'd not been crying.

After a few more minutes of quiet you felt ready to go back into the house. Just before you opened the door you went to kiss George on the cheek -to say thank you- but he turned and you ended up kissing his lips. "Oh- that- oops." You both burst out laughing, nether of you were mad about the kiss.

The last few days you spent most of your time together, wether it was sat next to each other on the couch, switching beds so that you slept in the corner next to his or him spending his morning at the makeup table talking to you while you got ready.

You fancied George and he fancied you, so when you finally got out of the house and he asked you out obviously you said yes.

[dokyumms]

patience

pairing: ot13 x fem 14thmember!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 2.5k

cw: cursing, teasing/nagging, drinking (they go to kbbq), emotionally sensitive reader, reader crashes out, reader is stupid as fuck 💀

synopsis: the members tended to make fun of you all the time, and normally you were fine with it, but now, you just couldn't take it anymore.

a/n: IM BACK GUYS - with another request ! although i feel like this sort of strayed from it. but i hope you still enjoy this kings. anyways, sorry i've been so busy, i have an exam coming up so i've been studying a lot (+ doing other assignments). i hope this could possibly make up for it ?

you were one more annoying comment from blowing up.

from debut, you knew that you were going to be prone to teasing, being the youngest member and all, and you'd actually been holding up pretty well. that is, until now.

it started with a filming day for 'going seventeen', seemed simple enough, fun even. i mean sure, the day before, when you found out the group was chosen to play mafia, you started contemplating your life, but you were used to it by now - or so you thought.

you were all seated in a row as a speaker explained the rules, something everyone had heard a few too many times by now, so you just tuned it out, opting to mentally prepare yourself instead. the members were definitely not mean, at least in the serious sense, but when it came to these things on camera, they could sure be annoying. the worst part? it was only because you just had to have an untimely birth, born only a couple months after dino.

after a couple minutes, the round started, but before you could even get up to go look for the cash, you were immediately accused, "hey doesn't y/n look a little suspicious already?" you turned in the direction of the voice to see jeonghan, looking at you with a smug grin as he pointed an accusing finger. "we haven't even done anything!" you argued back with a hint of laughter. he just smiled, waving you off before he went to go look for the cash. it was going to be a long day.

by the third round, you were frustrated. normally, you never took these things seriously, but you had literally investigated jun and he was one of the mafias! unluckily for you though, every time you tried to tell them, they dismissed you, "you know what? let's just vote y/n out, mingyu said he was the police already anyway?" and somehow every other member was convinced by minghao. you end up voted off without a second thought, shaking your head when the speaker tells everyone that you were in fact, not the mafia.

and guess what? the game ended with mafias mingyu, jeonghan, and jun winning. you watched in (not so) disbelief as they threw the money all over themselves. "you couldn't get us out y/n～" they sing-songed, dancing around you. it was like they had some personal vendetta against you. you just rolled your eyes, scoffing.

but it was all in a jokingly manner (you thought?), one mafia game would not break you. besides, there was still team dinner, something you were looking forward to the entire day.

you sighed in relief, greeted by the smell of korean barbeque as you walked into the restaurant. you were all seated at a circular table, surrounding a grill. "we should make the biggest loser in mafia order for all of us," seungkwan suggested. the table roared in agreement. unsure of who exactly this 'biggest loser' was, you nodded along until seokmin pointed it out, "hah! y/n why are you agreeing? unless you wanted to order that badly?"

you tilted your head to the side, confused, "but wasn't hoshi the first one out?" it seemed like for a moment, the members took your comment into consideration. then hoshi intervened before anyone could say anything, "but you're the youngest～plus, i just got killed off, none of the members actually believed you and you were voted out- that seems to be a bigger loss than mine!" He flashed that dumb smile afterwards. You groaned when the rest of the members nodded in agreement, tilting your head back as wonwoo patted your shoulder empathetically.

you hated ordering for everyone, always tripping up on your words in a rush to get through 14 different orders. not wanting to be a party killer though, you reluctantly agreed.

the waiter came a few minutes after the decision was made, asking for drink orders. you got through them fairly quickly, but then he asked if everyone was ready to order food and they all nodded. having most of the members' usual orders remembered, you told him whatever you recalled. then you got to a side dish that vernon really liked and you blank out, totally forgetting the pronunciation in korean.

the awkward silence was loud as you tried to piece the syllables together, finally getting out some very foreign-accented version of the word. you grimaced at your tone before quickly getting out the rest of the order. after the waiter left, there's about 10 seconds of quiet before the members burst out laughing.

"did you forget korean or something?" joshua teased. the rest of them continued to chuckle, adding other senseless comments. to you, this wasn't funny at all, but you knew their teasing didn't come with bad intentions, so just you excused yourself to the restroom after the laughter died down.

the face in the mirror wasn't pretty. you were red from embarrassment and your ears were hot with humiliation. you knew the members, they weren't mean, so why were you so upset? tears welled up in your eyes, not necessarily out of sadness, but you were overwhelmed. you splashed water on your face, thanking the power of waterproof mascara before patting it dry. it was fine, this was just some dumb moment you won't remember in 10 years, you thought to yourself before heading back.

by the time you had sat down, most of the food had already gotten there. wonwoo seemed to notice your long absence. "are you okay, y/n?" he studied your expression, trying to look for the answer. "yeah, lost track of time looking at myself," you said, almost cringing at how snarky your response was, but it was the best you could come up with. he just shook his head, "you're impossible," you grinned before shoving a piece of meat in your mouth.

the rest of dinner went well for the most part. someone brought up your side dish crisis every now and then whenever vernon ate it, suddenly making you thankful for the alcohol you ordered; the burn in your throat distracted you from whatever they said.

the next day, you were not so thankful for the alcohol, realizing too late that you had practice the next morning. you tried to ignore the pounding in your head, doing the bare minimum to get ready for the day.

as practice began, you couldn't tell if it was the border-line hang over that made everyone so irritating today, or just themselves. you were just stretching, preparing for the next couple hours of dancing when minghao came up next to you. "why do you stretch like that? you look kind of dumb," he commented. "you mean me doing a side lunge looks weird?" you were confused, but he just shrugged before going on his phone. that was odd, but that's just minghao being him, you thought, a little self conscious after the sudden poke.

then jeonghan came by to grab his water bottle that was near you, "hey little miss 'i don't know korean', how's that hangover?" you felt your eye twitch, could they not let that go? "hah, very funny, and i'm fine" you responded, trying not to sound too hostile. he just smiled smugly. "hm, if you say so," he said

2 hours later, your headache got worse if anything. after a run of 'super' you tried to get a drink, but dino stopped you. "what do you think you're doing? we're going again," you knew dino wasn't asking, he was telling you. if you didn't know him personally, you would've thought he was the oldest whenever it came to practice. either way, you were thirsty as hell, deciding he couldn't get that mad at a sip of water, you reached for your bottle. "what, did you forget korean again? come on, let's go!"

alright that was it.

"you know what? maybe i did forget korean!" you shouted. the whole room seemed to freeze, dino's mouth was open, but nothing came out, shocked by your sudden tone. everyone instinctively turned to seungcheol, their leader, but he seemed dumbfounded too. well, it was too late to turn back now, you thought.

"how many times has someone mentioned that in a sentence? can yall just leave it alone already? you think i'll just take everything because i'm some dumb maknae, don't you!" something in you knew you had to stop, but all the pent up anger in you just kept spilling out. there was a familiar feeling in your throat as you shouted, tears welled up in your eyes again.

"can yall just- just leave me alone!" you spat out, not being able to think of anything else to say before you ran out of the room as fast as possible, embarrassed and mad- at yourself. that was definitely not supposed to happen. voices called out after you, but you didn't stop. the adrenaline took you to some local park that you'd seen a couple times before.

you stopped to catch your breath, feeling more tears fall as you realized just how screwed you were. all of your stuff was still at the building; you didn't even have money on you. but you were not going back there, not after that full blown mess you made. the park wasn't all to unfamiliar though, with enough luck, you should be able to make your way back home. tired, you sat on a bench, watching the children play happily as couples went on their walks. you yawned, not realizing how tired you were till now.

looking around, you took note of how many people were there. you had a mask and cap on at least, so maybe a nap wouldn't hurt, or not even a nap. you would just rest your eyes...

*tap tap tap*

you rubbed your eyes- oh shit- you actually fell asleep here? suddenly aware of your situation, you practically fell out of the bench. "hey, take it easy," said an old voice, you looked up to the person who'd presumably woken you up. it was an old woman, a grandma even. she had her arms out, as if she was waiting to catch you whenever you woke up. i just noticed you were asleep here; it's getting late, you should go home soon." she said softly. she was right, the sun seemed to be setting already. most, if not all, the children were gone, leaving you, the woman, and a couple of teens at the park. you felt a sudden pang of fear, if this lady had just gotten here, that meant you were alone, vulnerable to the world.

as if she could read your mind, the woman put a hand on your shoulder, "don't worry, my daughter was watching over you earlier, but she had to go to work, so she called me to check on you," she explained. it was honestly a miracle. "do you need help getting home? i could point out the directions," she offered. you were about to decline, feeling like you knew the way before looking around again. maybe it was how fast your heart was racing or how dazed you were from sleep, but you felt like you couldn't think properly, at least not enough to know the direction. you nodded your head, telling her you lived near a popular shop. she gave you some basic directions.

you thanked her multiple times, honestly you were about to get on your knees, but she just waved you off. "it'll only get later if you keep thanking me, go home, child." saying goodbye, you raced home, recalling her instructions.

when your eyes caught onto some familiar buildings and signs, you let out a sigh of relief. glad that the woman hadn't lied to you. your pace slowed to a walk as you made your way to your apartment, making a full stop when you recognized two figures walking near the convenience store next to it.

you made them out to be seungcheol and mingyu, looking around anxiously. having a sudden realization that they were probably looking for you, you cowardly made your way toward them, not forgetting what you'd said earlier that day.

mingyu's eyes widened at the sight of you, "y/n?" he shouted, a little too loud for a public setting, running in your direction. you didn't get a chance to say anything before he engulfed you in a bear hug "holy shit y/n, where were you? did you know you left your phone at practice? we were so scared," he kept rambling as seungcheol came up behind him. "everyone else is at your place" he explained. "we're all sorry, y/n. we should stop joking like that..." he mumbled, almost embarrassed. it was a surprise, to see your leader look so shy.

"don't worry about it, let's just go home," you decided, raising an eyebrow when they immediately grabbed both of your hands. "just making sure you don't run away again," mingyu explained. you smiled, letting them drag you toward your apartment.

you were a little scared at the sight you were met with when you entered. people were everywhere, scattered amongst your living room in some frenzy. everyone seemed to gasp when they saw you. shy from the sudden attention, you felt like sprinting right back out the door, but seungcheol pushed you in.

after waving down nearly 50 apologies and "we were so scared"s, you went towards dino. he was a nervous wreck, sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap and his eyes looking everywhere but near you. you knelt in front of him. "dino," he didn't budge, looking straight past you, "chan, look at me," you held his face, directing it toward you. he looked like he'd been crying. "i'm not mad at you, i promise," you said in an attempt to soothe him. "i'm sorry y/n, i-" you cut him off with a kiss, an impulsive move for sure, but it did the job. "i know, i know. it's really okay,"

he didn't seem convinced, but he eventually caved in, giving you a hug. you heard the members in the background, complaining about how they didn't get a kiss, but whatever. "hah! she must love me more than yall," dino called out before wincing in pain when you pinched him.

you finally showered before sitting on the couch, sandwiched between jeonghan and wonwoo. everyone decided to sleep over, various sleeping bags, mattresses, and blankets dispersed among your living room. seungkwan argued with hoshi for a long time before choosing a movie before deciding on some new marvel movie you had heard of once of twice.

wonwoo came closer to you, giving you a soft kiss on your cheek. "you know, we were such a mess without you. don't leave us again." he whispered. "i can tell, look at the state of my living room," wonwoo chuckled and pulled you closer along with the blanket, ignoring jeonghan's complaint of how his legs were cold now.

"we all love you a lot, y/n."

"i know, i love you all too." you responded.

yes, your members could be dickheads every now and then, but sometimes it was worth it.

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

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

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[nanaslutt]

i’ve been thinking about this for a while and i don’t write so hopefully you’ve got me (o^^o)

mma!toji x reader filming the nastiest sex tape and it gets leaked…

MMA!Toji Fushiguro x Reader

pt.2

contains: fem reader, crack, PT!reader, oral(f&m receiving), Toji eats it from the back, ass eating, ass slapping, choking, rough sex, dirty talk, consensual filming, exhibitionism if u squint, voyeurism if you squint, rough sex, ass play, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, secret pining (Toji), angst at the end :3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Toji had just finished an intense practice fighting session with some old friend from out of state, Shiu. Although Toji had emerged victorious in the end, Shiu had roughed him up quite a bit, leaving you to clean up his mess and make his body feel all right again. Toji groaned when you pressed too hard on a sore spot on his back. "Hush, you only have yourself to blame." You said, rolling your eyes at his dramatics.

This big mammoth of a man could take the heaviest hits from other heavyweight guys but he couldn't take some little woman pressing on his shoulder? "I didn't ask for your input- ugh-" He retorted, wincing when you pushed hard on another sore spot, trying to rub the knots out. "Your groans say otherwise." He huffed, a pout forming on his face as he let you work your magic on his body. "Fuckin- go easier- fuck!" He groaned, tilting his head to the side to scold you.

"Do you want to feel better or not? Have I ever left you unsatisfied after a session?" You said, wrapping your arm around his head as you gripped his chin and pushed it back in front of him, "and keep your head in front of you would you? gonna fuck up my work." You chastized.

The two of you had gotten quite close over the couple of years you've been by his side taking care of his physical health. He loved that you didn't take shit from anyone, including him. So many members of his team babied him and let him walk all over them, which wasn't so terrible, but you had a backbone, and that drew him into you; literally. Quite often the two of you found yourselves in the bathroom of some random fighting facility, bodies pressed together, his hand slapped over your mouth to keep your moans down as he fucked his massive cock into you at a brutal pace.

These rendezvous had all started when he hurt himself very badly in a match against a previously undefeated champion; he won of course; but he severely compromised his body in the process. You dragged him into the PT room and scolded him, yelling at him for having too little care for his body and overall health, getting in his face as you shoved his chest and said something along the lines of 'maybe I should just fuckin' leave since you ruin all of my hard work fixing you back up anyways!'

The room went quiet, save for your panting when you finished scolding him; and suddenly, a scene straight out of an enemies-to-lovers book happened, as he crashed his lips into yours and fucked you real good that night with his fucked up body. Ever since the two of you had been sneaking around and hooking up whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"Bitch." He mumbled under his breath. "Toji Fushiguro I have all the paralyzing pressure points in your body memorized like the back of my hand, call me a bitch again." You sighed, moving your body in front of him to lay him down on the table so you could move on to stretching his thighs. "It gets my dick hard when you threaten me." He retorted, smiling at your deadpanned face as you folded his heavy leg at the knee and pushed his hip into his body, resulting in a loud pop to sound through the room.

"Ohh I love when you do this." The man groaned when you pulled his leg back and stretched it out for him, laying the appendage down on the table as you started from his calf and massaged up his thigh. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to." You responded under your breath, making him laugh. He groaned lewdly in appreciation once more when you repeated the action on his other leg. "Fuuuuck doll just like that." You slapped his thigh lightly a couple of times as you sushed him. "Stop that, people are going to think you're getting off in here." You eased up on your rubbing, sliding your hands back down his calf.

"Well, we could be." He suggested, raising his eyebrows at you. You smirked at him, hopping up on the table as you straddled his lap, placing your ass right against his crotch, where he was already sporting a half-chub, his big hands came to grip the sides of your hips, humming in satisfaction as you leaned down to his ear and whispered, "This is sexual harassment." Into his ear.

He let his head fall back against the table with a groan, his hands falling limply agaisnt the sides of his body as you slid off of him and plopped yourself back down on the floor, dusting your hands off before you dug your palm into his hip. "Haven't let me fuck you in weeks, that's sexual harassment." He complains, pouting as you undo the knots in his hips. "I don't think you know what that word means, but anyway, you didn't need to be distracted with the huge match you just had." You explained, lifting the bottom of his shirt to reveal his sharp v-line as you rubbed your thumbs along the muscle there.

"It's over now tho, isn't it, mama?" He countered, his hard-on now being at full attention as it tented up the front of his too-thin shorts. "Toji, you still have 20 more minutes of PT." You tried to reason, but you couldn't disagree that him fucking you right now sounded good. You really had missed his dick over these past couple of weeks, but if you didn't stand your ground, he sure as hell wasn't going to; Toji Fushiguro would fuck you in the middle of an alleyway if you let him.

"Great, my dick's been feelin' a little sore, work 'yer magic right here~." He smirked, sitting up as he grabbed your hand and moved it over to his dick, helping you palm it through his pants. "Toji.." You whispered, dropping your gaze to his crotch as he kneaded his larger hand over yours on his crotch. "What? 'yer whole job is to make me feel better right? Make me feel better baby." He said, smirking down at you as he bit his lip between his teeth.

You sighed begrudgingly, swatting his hand away from yours as you palmed him over his pants, wrapping your hand around his clothed length as you stroked him steadily. "Yeahhh~ that's the shit I need." He said, tipping his head back once more against the bed. You felt your face heat up as you listened to his deep and quiet moans from working over his pants. You quickly pulled down his training shorts and gripped him properly, pulling his massive girth out into the open air.

Standing at his side you leaned over his dick and gathered a wad of spit in your mouth before you let it drip onto his cock. His abs clenched and his breath hitched when he felt it hit his sensitive tip. "Dirty girl." Toji laughed, tipping his chin down to stare in amusement at how your hand looked dwarfed by his cock. You rolled your eyes, trying to not let your arousal show as you leaned down and kitten licked his tip, letting your eyes flutter shut before they looked up at him from under your lashes.

He smirked at you, biting his lip as his hands instinctively came down to gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail, holding your hair away from your face so you could work with no distractions. "You're so thoughtful." You said sarcastically, making his toothy grin spread itself wider while you stroked his cock and took his mushroom tip into your mouth, and suckled on the head. "Dont want my favorite girl to ruin her pretty hair while she's suckin' my cock~" He cooed, his jaw dropping as you took his length deeper in your mouth and started bobbing your head, stroking what couldn't fit in your mouth as his hand holding your hair followed your movements.

"God you take it so- fucking- well-" He praised between bobs of your head, pushing down slightly each time you went down. "Can I take a video, doll? You look so- fucking pretty right now." Toji groaned, reaching for his phone as he waited for your approval. The two of you have made ammature movies for yourselves before, the lewd videos never leaving the privacy of your own camera rolls, so you had no reason to decline this time, you trusted him.

Looking into his eyes you did your best to nod your approval with his cock still in your mouth. "Good girl." He praised before he unlocked his phone and soon after the chime of the video starting sounded through the room. He let his groans fall more freely from his lips; he knew you liked listening to them when you were alone in your bed pathetically fucking yourself on your fingers. "Look at the camera baby." He cooed, biting his lip as he watched your lust-filled eyes flit up to look into the lense. "Yeahh, so fucking pretty, keep you're eyes right there~"

Toji pissed you off a lot, and sure maybe you played up your irritation toward him sometimes-- but it was almost impossible to stay mad at him when the two of you got down and dirty. The movies you made could easily be perceived as a married couple having sex from the way he spoke to you in these moments. "Wanna take it deeper for me? Show off your skills baby, show 'em how good you take my cock." Toji encouraged. He would never share these videos with anyone, but he knew you had a bit of an exhibitionist streak in you. If anyone actually saw these videos, you wouldnt be so thrilled, but the fantasy he painted that someone was watching excited you in a way.

You listened to the man underneath you, grabbing his sack with your free hand you massaged his balls in your hands as you sucked his cock deeper into your mouth, your eyebrows scrunching together when it hit the back of your throat. "Godd, you take such good care of me-" Toji groaned, the camera shaking and making you fall almost out of frame when his head couldn't resist tipping back at the stimulation you were giving him.

He felt the coil in his stomach tighten, his balls starting to get ready to release his seed, but not if he had any say in it. As much as he loved the idea of painting your face with his cum, you had recently gotten an IUD inserted and the two of you were having a lot of fun with your newfound freedom with it-- in the sense that Toji could now cum inside you and neither of you would have to hold your breath until your period eventually made its appearance.

He dropped his chin back down to watch you work, smiling at the fact that when he did you were still looking up at him so eagerly, humming around his cock. He pulled your makeshift ponytail up, yanking your warm mouth off of his cock as your tongue hung out in the air, a string of saliva connecting from your wet appendage to the tip of his twitching cock, making him throb freely in the air. You smiled dopely at him, biting your lip with a giggle before you spoke. "Couldn't take it Toji?~" You teased, wiping the strand of spit from your lips with your thumb before dropping your hand and stroking him off while you waited for him to speak.

He laughed through a moan when your hand wrapped around him and started stroking quickly, combined with the massaging of your hand on his sensitive balls, it was making him feel drunk. "Didn't wanna waste my load on your face when I can fuck it into your cunt instead." He retorted, looking through the camera to make sure he was capturing the expression on your face. "Yeah? Wanna fuck me?" You teased, tilting your head to the side as you stuck your tongue out and attempted to bring it back down to his cock, resulting in him yanking on your hair, pulling you away from it.

"Whore." He laughed, releasing your hair roughly, making your head jerk to the side as he sat up and slid off the table, setting up his camera quickly on the table in the corner of the room before he made quick strides over to you and gripped your neck in his hand, your smiling face giggling up at his massive frame as he wrapped his other hand around your waist and pressed your bodies together, connecting your lips in the process.

The kiss was sloppy- full of tongue and teeth as the two of you groaned and whined into the kiss, all the while his hard, unclothed cock was rubbing against your tummy over your clothes. He humped his cock against you while he bullied his tongue into your mouth, resulting in a whine from you, vibrating against his lips. You slithered your hand between your bodies to grab his cock, meeting his needy thrusts with your rough strokes as the two of you kissed each other hungrily.

He pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours, deep breaths filling his lungs as he squeezed your throat in his strong grip, his eyes falling shut, allowing himself to really feel your hand jerking him off. "Feel good when I touch your cock Toji?" You whispered against his lips, resulting in a groan from the man. "You gettin' the relief you wanted so bad?" The hand around your throat constricted your airway, making you smile lustfully as tingles shot down your spine.

"I will when I get inside this cunt." He responded, pressing your lips together once more- making you whine against them before he spun you around in one swift movement and pressed your torso down against the massage table by the back of your neck, his other hand coming down to press down right above your ass as he rubbed his hard cock between your clothed cheeks. The camera had a great view of everything, and it was sure to pick up what was going to happen next.

Both of you panted loudly into the room, you wiggled your ass back against Toji's cock, trying to feel him more against your body. Suddenly all of the stimulation was gone, he pulled your pants and underwear down in one swift movement, the cloth pooling by your ankles as he kept his hold on the back of your neck. "Don't fucking move baby." He instructed, watching you nod from where your head was smooshed into the cushion of the table.

He let the hand on the back of your neck smooth down your back as he dropped to his knees, using both of his big hands to spread your ass cheeks apart to get a good view of your dripping folds and puckered hold before he left a heavy smack on the fat of your ass, resulting in a yelp from you. "Shhh, don't want the team to know you're slutting yourself out for me right now, do you?" Toji laughed, reaching his thumbs down to your pussy lips as he spread them open and watched your tight little entrance clench around nothing.

"Unless you do, wouldn't be surprised." He teased, bringing the pad of his thumb to rub slow circles against your clit as he spoke, "Keep yourself quiet or don't, I don't care." And with that, he dove into your cunt. Immediately he started eating you out like a man starved, his nose pressed against your wetness as he sucked your clit into his mouth, shaking his head back and forth as he spread your cheeks apart and kneaded the fat in his hands. You pressed your hand against your mouth, trying to conceal your moans the best you could as your knees pressed together, your hips wiggling back on his face.

"Fuck! Ngh-" You groaned into your hand, raising your torso and arching your back in the process as you reached your free hand back to rake your hands in his soft hair, pressing him harder against your cunt as he ate you out. He left another mean smack against your ass, a muffled yelp could be heard echoing in the room as he did so. He was being so noisy, slurping loudly and growling against your cunt as he slurped up and swallowed as much of your pussy juice as he could.

Anyone with half a brain could figure out what was happening in your treatment room with all of the sounds slipping under the door. What you didn't know is save for the desk lady on the opposite side of the building, Toji's sparing establishment was completely vacant. He had sent everyone home just before he went to see you for his PT-- Toji wouldn't tell you that though, he was enjoying listening to you attempting to keep yourself quiet.

He pulled away, the bottom of his hand covered in your slick as he rubbed two large fingers through your wetness to coat his fingers to ease the slide into your cunt when he ultimately stuck them in. "Pussy is so fucking loud, 's like you want all those perverts to hear~" Toji teased, slowly slipping his fingers into the tight ring of your cunt, slapping a heavy hand down on your already red ass in the process. You yelped, squeezing your eyes shut as you wined and cursed into your palm, your hot breath creating condensation on your skin.

"Bet you'd like that huh? Thinking about the team standing outside the door jerking off to your cute moans and wet fuckin' pussy makes you wet doesn't it?" He continues teasing, thrusting his fingers to the hilt as he started up a pace into your cunt, spreading your cheek apart so he could get a good view of your pussy swallowing up his large fingers that clenched and pulsed around them at his words. Your hand dropped from your mouth, biting your lip as your hand in his hair gripped hard in his strands, turning your neck to look back at him with a flushed face- the two of you making eye contact as he spoke.

"S-shut the fuck up and eat my pussy." You breathed, making a hearty laugh leave his lungs before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the skin of your ass, "That's my girl~" Toji wasted no time delving back into your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth as he pounded his fingers harshly into your sweet spot, his moans vibrating against your cunt, making your eyes roll back in your head as your jaw dropped, your head turning to face forward again as you let it fall against the cushion of the table.

Each time he shook his head back and forth against your folds, jolting your clit around in the process, you curled your toes in your shoes, holding your breath before letting out a loud moan when he stopped shaking his head and went back to his usual pace of sucking your folds. You didn't care about the team hearing you anymore, the chances of them being on this side of the building was slim anyway. It had been so long since you and Toji had done anything like this, so you couldn't find it in yourself to care anymore as the pleasure took over your brain, especially with what he did next.

Toji was a nasty man, a filthy fuck, downright dirty in everything he did. His actions, words, even the way he fought. So it was no surprise to you when you felt his head pull away from your cunt, and felt his soft lips suck against the rim of your ass. "Ohmyfuckinggod-" You slurred, your jaw going completely slack as he ate your ass out while continuing to fuck his fingers into your pussy, zeroing in on your sweet spot. "You like that?" He moaned against your rim, darting his tongue out to lick and suck on it, "Like when I eat your ass?" He groaned, quickening his ministrations when he felt your cunt start pulse around his fingers more frequently.

"God- Yes- Holy fuckkk- Dont stop Toji d-dont stop!" You wined, pressing him into your ass as your hand slid down to the back of his neck. He hummed against your rim, sticking his tongue out as he licked agaisnt your hole, pressing it slightly harder into it when your hips tried to thrust back against it. "Ohmygod- c-cumming gonna c-" Your voice raised in pitch as he quickly brought you to your orgasm.

He moaned when he felt a stream of liquid start dripping out around his fingers, his hand coming down to stroke his cock rapidly as he fucked you through the first waves of your orgasm. He couldn't take it anymore, standing up hurridly, he replaced his fingers with his cock faster than you could comprehend as you rode the last waves of your orgasm out on his dick as he started up a brutal pace.

He wrapped his arms around your limp torso and held you against his body, using one of his hands he gripped your chin with his wet fingers and turned your neck to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss. The whiplash he was giving you an out of body experience. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he slotted your tongues together, the wetness from your pussy juices all over his chin being smeared on your own face as he fucked your cunt brutally.

Pulling away he let your body fall back down to the table, your hands bracing you on the table as he held your hips in an iron grip, holding a majority of your body weight up as he stood behind you and fucked into your warm cunt roughly. "Godd- missed this fucking cunt-" He laughed incredulously through a maon, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched his cock disappear in and out of your cunt, a thing ring of cum forming on the base of his cock.

"Fuck fuck fuck- I love you're f-fucking cock-" You moaned, the camera picking up the way your eyes rolled back in your head every time he thrust his girth into you. 'ah-ah-ah''s being fucked from your throat when words didn't fall from your lips. "Yeah? Missed me too huh?" He laughed, briefly pressing his hips flush against your ass and he rolled his hips in circles, his head tipping back before he continued his brutal pace.

"Y-yes-ss~" You replied, the word coming out choppy as he fucked you slower but harder, making your legs shake uncontrollably as you let him take full control of holding the bottom half of your body up. "You're so nice to me when I fuck you, 'should keep you on my cock all the time." He laughed, soaking in the sounds of your shameless moans echoing throughout the room. He wasn't so sure the desk lady couldn't hear you anymore.

You tried and failed to reply as another sudden orgasm caught you and Toji alike off guard. "Oh F-fuck" He laughed, his thrusts losing their rhythm as your cunt tried to milk him. Your moans went quiet as you started to cum, your jaw just hanging open as you rode it out, all the while Toji kept fucking into you, working you through it. "Almost got me with that one." He laughed, letting your arch go as he let your body rest more against the table.

One of his hands abandoned its grip on your wrist as his thumb came to circle your puckered asshole. You whimpered loudly at the stimulation, still very sensitive from your recent orgasm as he didn't even think about letting up his thrusts. He let a glob of spit plop down onto your hole, rubbing it around with the pad of his thumb as he slowly started pushing it inside, making your eyebrows scrunch together.

"Tell the camera how much you love when I play with your ass." He instructed, watching with a slack jaw at how eagerly your hole swallowed up his finger to the hilt. "F-fucking love it Toji-" You whined as he started thrusting his thumb in and out of the hole. "Love it so m-much~" You cooed, starting directly into the camera, knowing he was going to watch this back later and jerk off to it. "Yeah you fucking do." He growled, feeling his balls tighten signaling his own impending orgasm.

"Bet you'd like it getting fucked with another cock here a-and in your little pussy at the same time huh?" He stuttered, the idea spurring him on as it worked him up to his own high. "Takin' a load in your cunt and your ass together-" He bit his lip, his thrusts losing their rhythm completely as he continued babbling to himself as you wined underneath him. "Tell the camera what you want." He encouraged.

You cried out, trying to look into the lens as loud whimpers were fucked out of your throat, his thrusts and thumb making you feel braindead, "W-wan get fucked in my a-ass and my pu-ssy-" You said, barely registering your own words. "W-wan you to fill me up-" You begged, to no one in particular as you spoke to the camera. "That's fucking right- gonna fill up your pussy right now baby, you want that?" He babbled, his deep voice raising in pitch slightly as he used your warm cunt to bring himself to the edge.

"Want me to cum inside you?" he groaned, squeezing your cunt around him to the best of your ability to aid him in reaching his high. "Yes- T-toji cum inside me! Please baby- please-" You cried out, moan after moan of his name getting fucked out of your lungs before his hips stilled against your ass, followed by a deep groan. "Ohmygod-" He grit through his teeth, bringing his hips back every so slightly and fucking them into you as deep as he could as he shot rope after rope of his hot cum inside your walls, groaning and gasping as he did so.

You giggled through your moans, "Yesss- fill me up baby, give it to me." You encouraged him, relaxing your cunt when he let out a shaky breath as his hips stilled against you. Toji let the aftershocks of his cum zap through his body, his abs clenching and body jerking before he pulled out slowly, popping his thumb out of your ass in tandem, making the both of you hiss in overstimulation as his softening cock hung heavily between his legs. "Gotta show the camera this shit." He said, pulling your ass apart to look at the cum stuffed in your cunt before he let the skin bounce back into place as he walked over to grab the camera.

Walking back over to where your tired body laid against the table breathing heavily, he turned the camera around and pointed it at your cunt, pulling your pussy lips apart so he could watch his thick cum drip out of your pussy in thick globs. Using his thumb he swiped up his cum and stuffed it back into your cunt, making you whine quietly before he pulled it back out, the camera capturing the way his thumb glistened with the remnants of his seed coating his thumb.

"Hey." Hey spoke to you, making you turn your head back to look at him. He grabbed your arm and spun you around, you pressed your ass against the table for leverage as you stood in front of him on shaky legs, your flushed face looking up into the camera. Without a word, he pressed his cum coated thumb against your lips and grinned as he watched you take the appendage into your mouth and suck off the cum.

"Good girl, such a good girl." He praised, watching your pretty face take his finger to the hilt before he slid it out of your mouth with a pop. You swallowed before sticking your tongue out to the camera with an 'ahh' sound, a smile on your lips as you showed 'everyone' how you had licked it clean. He gripped the bottom half of your face and squished your cheeks together, shaking your head back and forth as you smiled into the camera. "Give them a nice smile before you go~" He cooed. You pressed your teeth together and shut your eyes, giving the camera a big dopey grin while he continued shaking your face back and forth.

The video chime sounded again, indicating the end of it. He placed his phone on the PT table next to you, before he leaned in and connected your lips together, moaning quietly against your mouth as he kissed you passionately. Toji always got so clingy after sex, not that you minded, it just made you laugh from the stark contrast between his usual demeanor. "You feelin' good?" He asked, pulling away from the kiss but keeping his hand around your chin.

You nodded, "The cum dripping down my thigh isn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but I could be worst I suppose." You shrugged. "Looks fucking hot though." He said, raising his eyebrows as he dropped his gaze to see the trail of his cum that made itself about halfway down your thigh. "Get me a towel, pervert.. and put your cock away." You smirked looking down between the two of you at the heavy appendage and shoving his chest lightly to encourage him. Both his hands slid down to your waist to caress the skin there for a moment as he raked his eyes over your body before pulling away and stuffing his girth back into his boxers before he walked over to the counter to get you a towel.

"Never make me go that long without fucking you again." He said, kneeling in front of you as he started wiping the cum from your legs, spinning you around and pushing your lower back down so he could wipe your cunt and ass clean of the wetness, making you hiss uncomfortably. "We'll see~" You said, yelping when he pulled up your pants and left a slap on your already bruised ass, resulting in a glare from you.

--

Later that night Toji had just finished his shower, shaking his damp hair around in the towel, he walked up to his glowing phone that was placed on his nightstand. He had received a text from some number he didn't recognize, the preview of the text being an article header that read, World champion MMA fighter Toji Fushiguro gets humiliated in fight against- "What the fuck?" He said out loud, his big ego not being able to ignore this, he grabbed his phone, quickly unlocking it as he clicked on the link that would take him to the article. "Who humiliated who now?" He mumbled to himself, waiting for the article to load.

His phone flooded with error after error messages, it seemed the more he clicked ignore, the more they popped up. "The fuck is going on?" He groaned, shaking his phone in an iron grip, starting to grow irritated. Suddenly his phone went black, a grey loading icon showing on the screen before it shut off completely. Toji wasn't exactly the most tech savvy person in the world. Staring at his phone in confusion he sat down on his bed and tried to click all the buttons on the side of his phone, waiting for his phone to come back to life.

"The man was snapped out of his stupor when the grating jingle of an incoming call screeched through his laptop speaker, along with ding after ding of incoming messages. He rested his phone on the side table again before he slid his laptop over on his knees, opening the device his manager's name splayed big and bold on the screen, along with 10+ hidden messages from you, and more incoming from other members of his team. "Seriously what the fuck??" Toji cursed watching the call time out before it quickly started ringing again. "You better have a good fucking reason to be blowing me up so late." He growled, waiting to hear his managers voice.

"What the fuck are you posting on Twitter right now Toji?!" His manager screamed through the small speaker of his laptop. "What the hell are you curing at me for?" He responded, feeling the veins in his forehead pop out. "Toji, I don't know what you think you're doing but you need to take those down immediately." The panicked voice echoed into his bedroom once more. "Can you shut the fuck up for a second? My phone got a bug or some shit a second ago I haven't been on Twitter you fucking prick." He yelled back, waiting for his manager to yell at him once more but all he heard in response was silence.

"What do you mean you got a bug?" The voice came through, quieter. "I don't fucking know man, some number send me a link to a stupid fucking fake article and when I clicked on it my phone killed itself." He said irritated, throwing his hands up in the air as if the person on the other line could see him. "So you haven't been on Twitter tonight?" The voice spoke again after a brief silence. "If I have to repeat myself one more time you're fucking fired," Toji growled into the speaker. The line went quiet, too quiet, and for far too long, Toji actually started getting worried.

He couldn't help but notice the messages from you were still blowing up his laptop one after the other, waiting for his manager to speak, he clicked on your chat.

"Toji fushiguro what is going on, why is everyone blowing up my phone?"

"Oh my god.. Toji stop please,"

"You said you would never show anyone what is wrong with you? How could you do this to me?"

"Toji I see you posting this shit, fucking answer me right now!!"

"I feel sick, please stop, Toji please."

The rest of your messages were filled with curses and audio messages of you screaming at him and pleading for him to delete the videos. Toji felt his heart sink to his stomach when he registered what was going on, he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Toji, stay there, the team is on our way over we're going to fix this." Toji couldn't even respond as he scrolled over to Safari and pulled up twitter.com, noticing his name trending on the search page, fuck. "In the meantime stay off Twitter, don't make any statements just stay put." His manager calmly spoke.

The dark-haired man's screen lit up with the video of the two of you from earlier that day flooding his timeline, filled with comment after comment and retweet after retweet of people trying to figure out who you were. "Fuck." He whispered under his breath, his speaker picking up the sound as his manager tried to calm him down. "It's alright, we sent someone to go check on (you) they'll explain everything to her, we will fix this, stay put Toji." The voice explained.

Toji dropped his heavy head in his hands. He had spent the last almost two years trying to form some sort of relationship with you and when he finally felt like he was getting somewhere with you this shit happens? You were never going to forgive him. The sounds of your choked cries and curses through your tears would echo in his head forever.

He had to fix this, he had to, he couldn’t let all of his work be for naught. The jingle of his keys could be heard through his manager's speaker as he rushed through traffic trying to make it to Toji's house as fast as he could. "Toji don't do it, don't fucking go anywhere, TOJ-" His voice cut off as the dark haired man slammed his laptop shut, grabbing his jacket hanging off the side of his bed he made a b-line for the door of his penthouse.

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ fame's shadow .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Vil Schoenheit x insecure gn! reader

𓏵 695 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, established relationship with reader, angst, hurt/comfort

kind of a self-indulgent post bc this sickness is making me feel things （；￣＾￣）feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

It started with a single article.

“Vil Schoenheit’s New Muse? Mystery Student Spotted by His Side!”

You’d laughed when you first saw it, showing Vil the grainy photo of the two of you walking through Main Street after classes. He’d only sighed, brushing it off with the ease of someone far too used to the tabloids. "They’ll get bored soon enough. Just ignore them, darling."

But they didn’t.

Soon, there were more headlines. “Ordinary Nobody Caught in Vil’s Spotlight!” “Rising Star Vil Schoenheit and Their Unworthy Partner—How Long Will It Last?” Comment sections filled with snide remarks, nitpicking everything from your appearance to the way you stood next to him.

At first, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. Vil loved you. He chose you. That should’ve been enough.

But the comments stuck.

"They don’t even dress properly. How embarrassing for Vil."

"Must be nice riding his coattails."

"Do they seriously think they can keep up with someone like him?"

You stopped mentioning the articles to Vil. He was always so busy—filming commercials, practicing for his next show, overseeing the Pomefiore dorm. Every moment you had together felt precious, and the last thing you wanted was to add to his stress.

So, you smiled. You nodded. You told him you were fine.

But you started checking your reflection more often, tugging at your clothes and wondering if they looked too plain. You spoke less around his friends, afraid of saying something the media would twist into another cruel headline. You scrolled through hateful comments at night, your heart sinking further with each word.

And Vil, ever composed, ever radiant, never seemed to notice.

“You look tired,” he’d comment sometimes, brushing a hand against your cheek. “Have you been taking care of yourself? You know how important self-care is.”

You’d nod, force a smile, and tell him everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

It hit you during one of Vil’s photoshoots. You’d tagged along, thinking it would be nice to spend time together, even if you were just watching from the sidelines. But the photographer’s assistant, unaware of who you were, had muttered under their breath while passing by.

"Can’t believe they’re the one Vil chose. He could do so much better."

You froze. The room buzzed with activity, Vil effortlessly shifting poses under the bright lights. He looked perfect, untouchable. And you? You felt like a stain in his otherwise flawless image.

That night, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"Vil, do you ever wonder if… if you’d be better off without me?" you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Vil blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What kind of nonsense is that? Where is this coming from?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Forget it. I’m just overthinking things.”

But Vil didn’t forget. He studied you with sharp, discerning eyes—the same eyes that could catch the slightest flaw in a stage performance or a fashion ensemble. And for the first time, he truly saw the exhaustion behind your smile, the way your shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.

“Darling,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who’s been filling your head with such ridiculous thoughts?”

You tried to brush it off, but Vil wouldn’t let you. Not this time. And when you finally broke down, confessing everything—the articles, the comments, the way you’d slowly started believing them—his expression hardened, not with anger toward you but at the world that had dared to hurt someone he cherished.

“You should have told me sooner,” he said, voice softer now, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I can’t protect you from shadows I can’t see.”

That night, Vil didn’t just hold you; he made calls, sent emails, and ensured that certain tabloids would think twice before publishing another cruel word. But more importantly, he promised—no matter how bright his spotlight shone, it would never cast you aside.

Because in his eyes, you were never a shadow. You were the light that made his world worth standing in.

[moonstruckme]

Hi luv, can I request something?

I was thinking about a poly!wolfstar x fem!reader where reader is feeling down because of her period but don’t wanna tell the boys bc she’s embarrassed. But she ends up acting all sad and the boys are really worried, thinking they did something wrong, and when they finally find out the truth they try to comfort her? A little angst with fluff ending, lots of cuddles. Only if you feel comfortable writing it, of course!

I love your writing, btw

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: period sadness

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 971 words

“She’s moping,” Sirius whispers, arms crossed and dark brows bunched. He’s leaning back against the counter, having followed Remus into the kitchen to ‘help make the popcorn’. Two fingers tap restlessly on his bicep. 

Remus watches the movement, pensive. “She might’ve just had a rough day,” he says back. The sound of popcorn in the microwave works to cover his voice. “I think she’d tell us if we’d done something to upset her.”

He gets where Sirius is coming from. You’ve seemed a tad dimmer than usual, mumbly and perhaps a bit tired. But Sirius is quick to worry, and he has a nose for tension that occasionally sniffs it out when it’s not really there. 

“She might not.” Sirius is doing that thing where he looks and sounds angry when really he’s worried. Remus leans over to kiss his hair. 

“She’s better than us,” he reassures him, taking the popcorn from the microwave and leading the way back into the living room. 

You’re huddled up in one corner of the couch, blanket pulled tight around you and eyes looking to nowhere. You perk up a little when Remus shakes some of the popcorn into a bowl and sets it in your lap. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“Course. Did you pick a film?” 

“I started to, but…” You shrug, passing the remote to Sirius as he sits down next to you. “You guys can pick, I don’t really care what we watch.” 

Sirius sends Remus a look. See? Remus frowns. He’s still not convinced you’re upset with them, specifically, but your upset in general is hard to deny. 

It’s unsettling to have you glum like this. He and Sirius have always been prone to their moods, but you’re…not, so much. It’s not that you never have a bad day, of course, they try to give you the environment to feel whatever you like. They’ve just not seen you like this before, obviously upset but seemingly with no cause. 

Sirius picks one of your favorite films anyway. The intro credits start, and ordinarily, this would be the part where you lean onto your other side and cozy up to him, but you don’t. You stay curled up in your corner, eyes at half-mast and pretty face impassive. 

The sweet bit of skin between Sirius’ brows is marred by a dent. 

Remus is sitting in the armchair adjacent to your side of the couch. He reaches across the space for your hand. With so overt a request, you give it to him, looking a touch bemused. He holds your gaze, sweeping his thumb over your knuckles. 

“Are you alright?” 

You blink. “Me?” When Remus doesn’t look away, you shrink slightly, shoulders pulling up towards your ears. “I’m fine, yeah. Are you?” 

“Oh, how crafty,” Sirius drawls. “Redirect the question, we’ll never see through that.” 

You smile cautiously. “Way to make me asking my boyfriend how he is seem nefarious.” 

Sirius’ answering grin is sharp, but Remus can see the anxiety beneath it. “You’re not as subtle as you think, babe. Why don’t you tell us what’s got you so twisted up, huh?” 

Just like that, you shut down again. You pull your hand from Remus’, fixing your eyes on the TV. “I’m not twisted up,” you say. 

“Dovey,” Remus says softly. When you look at him, your expression is controlled but your gaze is tentative. “Have we done something to upset you?” 

“What?” A line forms between your brows, a companion for Sirius’. “No, you’ve—you’re perfect.” 

“Well, I like to think so,” Sirius agrees breezily, “but you’re obviously not happy with us. It’d help if you’d just say what it is, so apologies and amends can commence. Unless it’s that I left the toilet paper roll empty again, in which case I can only say that you knew what you were getting into when you moved in.” 

His feeble attempt at levity doesn’t make much of a dent in your creased expression, though you do tilt up one side of your mouth as though to commend him for his effort. 

“I’m not upset with either of you,” you say slowly. Your tone carries a hue of resignation. “I promise, if I was mad I would say.” 

Now it’s Remus’ turn to look at Sirius. See? But Sirius looks even more troubled, as though he can’t fathom what could be wrong in your life if it’s not him. 

“You are upset, though,” Remus says softly. “What’s wrong?” 

You sigh, the sound heavy with that unidentified melancholy, and Sirius seems to feel secure enough now to drop a kiss on your shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong,” you reply, defeated. “I’m just in a mood because of my period, sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother.” 

Remus coos, reaching across the gap again to pet your baby hairs. 

Sirius leans into your side. “You?” he asks, kissing your shoulder again. “Never. Why didn’t you say, lovebug?” 

You shrug. You seem to be slumping deeper into the couch with every affectionate touch, your body relaxing. “It’s a bit embarrassing. I don’t want to be acting all sad just because my hormones are going funny.” 

“You’re not just acting sad if you are actually sad,” Remus points out. “Is your stomach hurting you?” 

“Not really.” You shift your weight so you’re leaning into Sirius, too. He looks about as happy as he can be when someone he loves is hurting, bottom lip pushed out as he rubs your shoulder and smooshes his cheek into the top of your head. “Just sad.” 

“D’you wanna watch something happy, sweetheart?” Sirius asks, voice dripping with a syrupy sweetness. “Or something sad, to cry it out?” 

You shrug again. “Maybe just a little sad? Like The Perks of Being a Wallflower.” 

“That’s only a little sad to you? Shit, baby, you’re tough as nails.”