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pseudowho · 1 year ago

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Nanami Kento Masterlist, Part One

REQUESTS CLOSED!

Updated: 12th October 2024 -> ANY SUBSEQUENT UPDATES ON NANAMI KENTO MASTERLIST, PART TWO

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🔥 Smut 💔 Angst 💕 Romance

☕ Comfort/Fluff 🤡 Clowning

🐙 Monsterfucking 📚 Education (*dirty laugh*)

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1st of December 🔥☕💕 -- No-Nut November is over-- but Nanami Kento won't let you get away with it that easily.

7:3 🤡 -- Nanami Kento never thought about his 7:3 pattern...a fourth wall breaking moment.

BabywearingDad!Nanami" Ask and Drabble ☕

Bedlocked 💕🔥☕-- University!AU; will you and Kento be pushed to breaking point, when forced to share a room and a bed on a city thesis trip?

Behind the Wall 💕🔥💔-- who was this stressed, suited man visiting your gloryhole...and how could you fall in love so easily?

Childbearing Hips 💕☕🔥-- once Gojo points them out, Kento can't stop looking... And Part Two!

Conbini ☕💕-- Itadori Yuuji didn't like Kento, at first. A Papamin drabble. Kento x Reader.

"Dad Reflexes" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕☕-- Nanami Kento can catch anything.

Daylight Robbery 💕☕🔥-- when Gojo asks Nanami to cuckold him and his fiancée, things don't go the way Gojo planned...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma sex-pollen threesome.

Deeper, Harder, Faster 🔥-- a Nanami x Reader x Ino threesome, where Nanami teaches Ino how to make love to his girlfriend. Based on a @nanaslutt post.

Deliverance 💕🔥-- with Vampire!Priest!Nanami

Disappointed ☕💕💔-- a Papamin drabble. When Yuuji takes himself on a suicide mission, Kento rescues him and chastises him with the reader.

Ditch the Party 🔥💕-- Nanami Kento hates parties. But the drinks? The drinks make him bold.

Domain Expansion theory-- Pseudowho's vision of Nanami Kento's domain expansion.

Domestic Bliss series 💕☕--

#1 Rant #2 Indentured Servitude #3 Car Repairs #4 Laundry #5 Foodie #6 Spicy #7 Cravings

Drunk Pick-Up Services 💕☕-- Husband!Nanami picks up the drunk reader and takes her home.

Edging Nanami Kento 🔥💕-- The reader drives Nanami Kento to the edge and back again.

Every Time 🔥💕☕-- you and Kento forget something vital when you have sex-- every fucking time.

Father's Day ☕-- a Papamin drabble. Kento misses the point, when Yuuji asks to buy him lunch.

Fire and Iron 💕☕🔥-- AU!Nanami Kento is the town blacksmith, and the reader is forced to stay the night after tending to his wounds.

Full 🔥☕💕-- Nanami Kento treats his pregnant wife like the goddess she is.

Glory Glory 🔥☕💕-- "Help, I'm stuck!" on a mission with Kento, and he takes full advantage of the compromising position.

Good Boy 🔥💕-- after a bad day, you know exactly what Kento needs to help him relax...

Good Girl 💕🤡 -- a drabble

Grandpapamin ☕💕-- Nanami Kento as a grandfather, Headcanons.

Grey 🔥💔💕-- The reader lives a vigilante life; so does Nanami Kento, a changed man after the events of Shibuya. When she is sent to hunt him down, Nanami Kento has a proposition for her.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part One ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part Two ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Christmas ⛄🎄 Headcanons ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader Headcanons.

Hanahaki 💕☕💔-- being in love with you is killing Nanami Kento.

Hands 💕🔥-- smutty drabble, SloppyDrunk!Kento

Hide and Seek 🔥-- Game night gets spicy.

Homebodies 💕☕-- You and Kento really, really, really don't want to go out.

Hot 💕🌶️☕-- You interrupt Kento while he's cooking...and things go horribly wrong.

"How well can you drive?" 🔥 -- the reader takes matters into her own mouth so Kento can prove his driving skills.

Infiltration (MULTI-CHAPTER) 🔥☕💔💕

(COMPLETE!) --the reader and Nanami Kento must pretend to be married, infiltrating a Curse-user cult to take it down from the inside.

Chapter One: Introduction

Chapter Two: Pillow Talk

Chapter Three: Deadly Games

Chapter Four: The Rumbling Shrine

Chapter Five: Breaking Point

Chapter Six: Exposed

Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Chapter Eight: Unchained

In From the Cold ☕🔥💕-- The reader wanders in the snow, lost and injured after a mission gone wrong; will Nanami Kento save her?

Kento Comes Home Drunk 🔥💕-- and the reader handles his advances like a total champ.

And, its sequel... Reader Comes Home Drunk 🔥 💕-- where Kento manages the reader's advances like an absolute champ.

Kingsman!AU Nanami/Galahad 🔥💕☕

Kintsugi 💕💔☕-- you paint Kento's scars, until he shines with gold. Pre and post-Shibuya AU.

Knismolagnia 🔥💕-- Kento has a somewhat...erotic response to being tickled.

Last Moments 💔☕-- Nanami Kento remembers a childhood holiday.

Nanami Kento, and the Curses of an Unusual Nature (MULTI-CHAPTER) -- Nanami Kento is deemed the only Sorcerer sensible enough to handle some frankly weird Curses

- Chapter 1: Gone Shopping 🤡 -- locals are going missing at a large shopping centre; Nanami Kento is sent to investigate.

Nanami Kento's Massive Squeezable Man Tiddies 🔥☕-- the reader being casually obsessed with Kento's chest...repost link HERE!

Next of Kin 💕☕-- a Papamin drabble, feat. Higuruma Hiromi. Yuuji is arrested, and uses his one call on Kento.

Operation Babymaker (a new series!) 💕💔🔥☕ -- Nanami Kento takes trying for a baby very seriously indeed.

A Trip to the Tailors-- the reader reveals she's been off the pill for months, and Kento cannot contain himself.

Benchpress-- the reader interrupts Kento's workout, and is manhandled into submission.

Ditch the Party...again-- tipsy Kento is back, and deadlier than ever.

Wet Dreams-- Kento gives the reader a free-pass for when he's asleep...and he returns the favour.

Honeytrap/Maid Café-- you are sent to honeytrap a Curse-user on ovulation night...and Kento hunts you down to a Maid Café.

Grapple-- you ask Kento to teach you how to fight, and things get sexy.

Papamin's Big Day ☕-- Nanami Kento takes his baby for her first vaccinations, and finds it...emotional.

Push ☕💕-- two become three, as the reader gives birth in Nanami Kento's arms.

Raising You ☕💔💕-- When the reader is de-aged by a Curse, Nanami is forced to raise her like a daughter.

Red 🔥💔-- Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse-user, has been on the run for years...what will you do when he catches up to you?

Resolute ☕💔💕-- The reader helps Nanami to accept that he has a drinking problem.

Roleplay 💕🤡-- You pretend to be another woman, and Nanami Kento gives you the roleplay of your dreams.

Seasons of Grief 🔥💔💕☕ -- The reader supports Nanami Kento through the anniversary of Yuu Haibara's death, and afterwards, when Kento nearly loses the reader

Sexual Orientation 🔥💕☕-- it's not what you think. And, its little follow-up... Mine 🔥💕-- where the Reader loses her cool, just one time.

Shaving Lesson ☕💕🔥-- dad's teach their sons how to shave... and Yuuji doesn't have one. A Papamin drabble.

Shirtsleeves 🔥 -- The reader steals Kento's last shirt, and receives her comeuppance.

Skrunkly 💕☕🔥-- Kento loves you even when you look like a dirty raccoon.

Smut [smuht] (noun) 💕🔥-- Kento catches you reading smut...and pretends to be the bad guy from your story, seducing you.

Still Got It ☕💕-- The Nanami kids' parents are boring...right?

Stoic 💕🔥-- Kento is furious when Gojo assumes that his lack of PDA towards the reader shows a lack of desire.

The Accumulation of Little Despairs ☕💔💕 -- The reader struggles with low-mood; Nanami Kento comes to the rescue

The Chase 🔥💕-- The reader has insisted on No-Nut November; Nanami Kento gets his revenge by hunting her down and taking his reward.

The Silent Stars Go By 🔥💕☕-- Shibuya Ending Rewrite! Nanami Kento feels his death approaching...but he beats fate, when he tracks you down to confess his love for you.

The Voice P1 and P2 (two parts) 💕☕🔥-- VoiceActor!AU. A chance meeting in the dark with Nanami, sends him on a desperate search for the woman of his dreams.

Work Wife 💕☕-- someone wants to be Nanami Kento's work wife, and he's not happy about it.

The Wristwatch 💕☕-- How does Nanami Kento make sure everyone (including you) knows you're his girl?

The Wrong Tie 🔥-- Nanami x Reader AND Higuruma x Reader...Nanami and Higuruma make a mistake after fucking their wives in the same cupboard.

Why I love Nanami Kento

Yet Another Sex Pollen Fic, PART ONE 🔥💕

And...PART TWO 🔥💕 -- the reader has a problem... and only Nanami Kento can help her scratch the itch.

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motorsportbarbie13 · 6 months ago

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Forbidden - Part 1

In which you reconnect with an old friend, much to the dismay of your brother.

Warnings: None. This is mostly background and will be several parts.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Masterlist Here

It started slowly, this thing between your brother's best friend and biggest rival and you. So slowly that you hadn't been directly involved, you probably wouldn't have even noticed the clandestine brushing of fingers to skin in the paddock or the flickering looks that lingered just a bit too long. Even the way Max managed to stare at you from his garage went unnoticed by everyone but you. But what started slowly over one summer quickly snowballed into something that nearly destroyed you both.

You'd known Max since you were young, of course, so maybe that was why the pair of you managed to keep things hidden for so long. You two being friendly wasn't all that out of the ordinary so maybe that was why it took people longer to connect the dots. You two had always been friends, but it was a quiet friendship so not many people picked up on it, even back then. But he had always been firmly in the ‘my brother’s best friend and track rival’ category for as long as you could remember.

Did it drive you crazy that they were much quicker to involve your younger brother, Arthur, in their antics instead of you? Yes. But Charlie and his friends were like the untouchable super hero's you watched in movies: larger than life and totally invincible so you always lapped up any ounce of attention they gave you.

As you got older though, your trips to the track became less and less frequent with you picking up your own interests. You traded weekends at the track for weekends spent with friends your own age who didn't worship the ground your brother and his friends walked on. Before long, you were headed off to university in New York City, wanting a bit of space from your famous brother and his aura. You loved Charlie and Arthur to death, they were your favorite people in the world after all, but it was difficult being the 'normal' sister to such talented men and the space had allowed you to thrive on your own, in your own way.

You went home to Monaco infrequently, the trip from New York to the small principality being just long enough to be annoying to do regularly and traveled to races even less. It wasn’t that you didn’t support Charlie. You always made sure to be at his home race in Monaco and the race in Monza of course, but your life was in New York. First it was your rigorous coursework for your degree in economics from NYU that kept you away and then you continued on with a Master’s degree in economics and international business, the intensity of both programs serving you well crafted excuses for years.

“You’re really going to come travel with us?” Charlie was unable to hide his surprise and excitement this morning when you called to tell him your post-graduation plans.

“It’s been the hardest year of my life, between my thesis, interning at the investment firm in Manhattan, and finishing up grad school, I’ve barely had a chance to breathe for years. I need a break Charlie.” You sigh, settling into your couch that faces the floor to ceiling windows in your New York apartment that was currently full of packing boxes.

“I know you do. You’re the hardest working person in this family.”

You chuckle, knowing that this wasn’t true. Your two brothers worked just as hard, if not harder, at their careers in motorsport. There was no way Charlie would have reached F1 if he hadn’t been a hard worker. You might be the smartest LeClerc though, although you knew Arthur would never admit to that even if Charlie would.

“What happened to that job in London?”

You pick at an invisible piece of lint, wanting to avoid the question, as you shrug even though your brother couldn’t see you. “I told them I wasn’t interested. They wanted too much from me and I’m just so close to being burnt out. I’m taking on a consulting gig with the Bank of London. They’ve agreed to allow me to work remotely so I can live in Monaco and travel. I’ve missed so much of your career Charlie, I hate that I’ve been so absent from everyone for so long.”

Charlie’s voice goes soft at the sound of regret in your voice, “Oh, petit papillon.” My little butterfly. You can’t help but smile at the nickname, despite the melancholy mood that had settled over you. “We know you did what you had to do to make you happy, we don’t blame you for being gone for so long. All that matters now is that your studies are done and we get to see you more.”

Your heart warms in your chest. Of course Charlie hadn’t held your distance against you, it wasn’t in his nature to hold grudges against you, even when you fought the hardest. “I’m so excited to come home, Charlie.”

*Six Weeks Later*

A faint tapping on the front door catches your attention from where you sat in Charlie’s living room, staring at the same spreadsheet you had been working on for the last hour. “Saved by the knock.” You mutter, getting up from your spot on you’re brother’s couch. You’ve spent so much time on the plush piece of furniture over the last few days, busy with work, that you’re surprised there’s not a permanent indent of your backside on the cushion.

Finding an apartment in Monaco was proving harder than you had thought. Every flat you looked at in the city was either so far out of your price range or was missing something you deemed essential to have in your living space so for the time being you were staying with Charlie and Alexandra in their guest bedroom until the right place came around.

“Coming!” You call out, hoping to alert the person knocking on the front door to your approach. Although you couldn’t fathom who would be at the door in the middle of the day on a Tuesday afternoon. You quickly run through an inventory of where the important people in your life were: Charlie was at a sponsor event while Alex was at doing some content creation in Paris for the gallery that she worked for. Your mother was at work of course and Arthur was off somewhere with his girlfriend Jade today. Everyone accounted for and busy.

Without checking the peephole, you swing the door open wide, relieved for an excuse to take a break from the project that had found its way to your inbox early this morning.

“Maxie!” You gasp, launching yourself into the unprepared arms of the Dutchman who you hadn’t seen in years.

Max was thankful for his quick reflexes that were required of a world championship winning F1 driver because without them, the two of you would have found yourselves in a heap of limbs on the floor. “Beestje! You nearly took me out.” Max sets you down carefully but not before you have a chance to swat at his arm.

“You know I hate when you call me that.” You pout, nipping at his finger when he teasingly swipes at your lip. Max had called you ‘little beast’ for as long as you could remember, always delighting in your cries of protest when he did. If there was one thing Max loved, it was teasing Charlie’s sister.

He grins down at you, dimples winking out at the corner of his mouth. “That’s why I do it.”

Rolling your eyes, you open the door wide enough to allow the both of you to enter the empty apartment. Max follows you into the living room, where your computer sits discarded.

“I didn’t know you were visiting.” Max says, trying to remain calm as you settle down on the couch opposite of him.

You had always been gorgeous, those good looking LeClerc genes that Charles was so famous for had obviously been passed on to you as well, but now? You were hands down the most stunning woman Max had ever seen in his entire life. Your social media presence was sparse, at best, so while he followed you, it was rare for you to post much of anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw you in person either, knowing that you much preferred to avoid the harsh light of fame that came with being a LeClerc.

“Charlie didn’t tell you? I moved back!” You wave a hand towards your laptop, “I got a job with the Bank of London doing consulting work, fully remote.”

“No, Charles didn’t tell me.” Max says, narrowing his eyes. He had just played padel with Charles and Carlos the other day and he hadn’t made a single mention of you being back. “Where is he, anyway? I came by to see if he wanted to go for a run tonight.”

You shrug, trying to force your heart rate to slow to a pace that couldn’t potentially be heard by people playing the slots at the famous Monte Carlo Casino down the street. You had always had a juvenile crush on Max. Honestly, who wouldn’t? His demeanor on the track and in the paddock was completely opposite of who he was in private. You may have not spent much, if any, time with him the past decade but you knew that the Max that had been your brother’s childhood best friend and rival was the same Max sitting next to you right now. Nothing had changed.

“He’s at some event for Ferrari. I’ll never understand why people want to pay thousands of dollars to get to talk to the likes of you chuckle heads. How would those donors feel knowing they invested so much in a person that once got so drunk on their birthday they thought the Uber driver was trying to kidnap them because they, and I quote, ‘could totally make a killing with the ransom Christian would pay to get me back.’”

“That was ONE time!” He croaks, blinking at you in surprise. “And how the fuck did you know about that? Charles swore he’d never tell anyone about that.”

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out and Max momentarily forgets how embarrassed he is that you know that story. It’s light and airy, the notes dragging their fingers down Max’s skin. “I’m not ‘anyone’, Maxie darling. You know that.”

And boy did he. Just the way you wink at him while calling him ‘Maxie darling’ is enough to send his mind into overdrive, wondering how it would feel if more of your attention was turned his way.

Max just smirks back, fighting to keep up the cool facade he’s usually got so carefully constructed in place. He expertly steers the conversation away from anymore potentially embarrassing stories and towards you. How you’ve been. The near year you spent writing your thesis paper for your Master’s degree. The life you’ve built so far away from Max. It makes his heart squeeze something fierce knowing that you two have drifted so far apart.

Before you know it, the sun is sinking low in the sky, casting a glittering glow over the water just outside the apartment. The sunlight filters in through the half-drawn curtains, bathing you in a golden light. Max had never understood why everyone raves about the beauty of ‘golden hour’ until he saw the setting sun reflected in your eyes.

He was in so much trouble.

You two are so lost in your conversation you don’t notice the front door swing open or Charles bustling through the door hours later. Charles pauses when he sees the two of you sat on the couch together. Somewhere between the first and second glass of wine that you had poured when it became evident neither of you wanted the afternoon to end, you had ended up quite close to Max. His hand sat outstretched over the back of the couch, hovering just out of reach of your shoulder. You were leaning into him ever so slightly, laughing at something Max had said moments before. The obvious intimacy between the two of you set off alarm bells for Charles, not liking how Max was looking at you over the rim of his wine glass.

The thing was, Charles is quite protective of you. It was one of the reasons you always tried to leave the details about your love life out of any conversation you had with either of your brothers. Arthur was bad enough, but your twin? Charles was of the opinion that no one was ever good enough for you. Especially someone like Max. While he wasn’t as bad as some of the guys on the grid (lookin at you Lando Norris), Max still liked to party and take advantage of how often pretty girls threw themselves at him. He did not want someone like that interested in his sister. He knew how much you valued your privacy and that was not something someone like Max could offer you.

“What’s going on here?” Charles fought to keep the hostility out of his voice, crossing his arms over his chest.

Max jumped off the couch like it had suddenly burst into flames. He knew how protective Charles was over you and judging by the stormy look on your brother’s face, he wasn’t happy to find him there tonight.

You, on the other hand, found it amusing how quickly your brother’s protective side reared it’s ugly head. There was nothing to be ashamed of, you knew that. You were just two friends catching up after being apart for so long. Totally innocent. Right? Right.

“Max stopped by to see if you wanted to go on a run and we just got lost in conversation is all, Charlie.” You sooth, knowing your brother has a short fuse when it comes to you.

Charles narrows his eyes at Max as if he doesn’t believe your words and to be honest, he probably shouldn’t. If he had known the thoughts racing through Max’s head over the last few hours, Max would have probably found himself in the gravel pit of whatever race was next on the calendar.

“I was just leaving.” Max stutters, glancing down at where you still sit on the couch, amused grin playing at the corner of your lips.

“It was nice to see you Maxie.”

Max doesn’t miss the way Charles clenches his fists when you say his name like that.

“Always a pleasure, Beestje.” He teases, hoping that Charles doesn’t pick up on the nervous waver in his voice.

You tip your wine glass towards him in a mock salute before picking up your laptop where it’s sat discarded for the last few hours while Max makes a beeline for the front door. Charles follows him out, eyes trained on the back of his friends head, trying to calm the storm of anger that is swirling around his gut.

“I don’t think it needs to be said but stay away from my sister.” Charles practically growls when Max’s hand closes over the doorknob.

“We’re just friends Charles. I haven’t seen her in ages, we were just catching up.”

“I don’t look at my friends the way you were just looking at her.” Charles grouses. “Just don’t, okay? I don’t want to give her any reason to leave again. If you hurt her, she’ll go running. Leave her alone.”

Max nods, unable to find the words he wants to use because he has a feeling ‘fuck you, I’ll do whatever I want with your sister’ seems like a bad way to end the conversation. But as he waits for the elevator in the quiet hall, he knows that staying away from you is going to be near impossible.

#max verstappen #charles leclerc #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic

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ghostwhippet · 5 months ago

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From a poll posted Elsewhere™

For @theorist-fox, valiantly fighting through the unholy birch mother of thesis wringers right now

He comes up behind you all casual, looking at the screen over your shoulder.

"You saved recently, luvvie?" sips drink from mug

"Oh! Thank you, I'd forgotten." You smile up at him as you mouse-tap the button, a bit frazzled, your eyes dry and exhausted.

The instant the save goes through, he's bending over and hoisting you onto his shoulder, completely ignoring your squawks of protest.

Sips drink again as if he hasn't a care in the world as he powers off the computer and walks away, carrying you down the hall to the bedroom one-armed like you weigh as much as a blanket.

Sets you on the bed and orders you to sleep, strips his shirt and pants off, climbs in after you, dropping the weight of one massive arm over your middle to hold you down.

When you won't quit squirming and arguing--and swearing at him in a language you know he doesn't speak--he mutters into the pillow, "Can't do good work unless you get rest, muffin. Now relax, and sleep. I'll get you up bright and early and make you breakfast so you can get back at it."

He pops his eye open and looks at you in a way that has your next argument dying in your throat. "And if you find that too hard, fair warning: I have no problem playing dirty."

Masterlist

#fight on #060cod #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soft simon riley

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mister0ctopus · 4 months ago

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apart-mental issues part 2

mini series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: Neighbor JK x Reader

Summary: Just your awkward and embarrassing encounters with your next-door neighbor, Jungkook.

PART 2: acceptance is key divas welcome to after hours what can i get ya? cockblock! we should start a podcast handyman buried things avoidance open the door crack mush mush

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Mini Series, Neighbors, Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 5.9K

a/n: inspired by when i moved to my new apartment and my next door neighbor wasnt jungkook :(

🐙 Masterlist / AskMe

apart-mental issues part 1

apart-mental issues part 2

apart-mental issues part 3

apart-mental issues part 4

🔑 acceptance is key

You gave up.

You’d stopped wondering why Jungkook always seemed to catch you at your most awkward.

It was like you were that good at embarrassing yourself, and he was that good at being there to witness it.

But his presence felt significant, not just because he always seemed to be there, but because those moments—however embarrassing—had started to feel oddly comforting, like someone silently rooting for you in the background.

Like that one person you never actually spoke to but who consistently likes all your posts?

Whether it was your latest hallway stumble or your random solo commentary about your grocery list, Jungkook was always there.

Watching. Smirking. Shaking his head.

Avoiding him stopped being a thing. You stopped trying.

It got harder to keep a fixed schedule.

Your classes kept switching between in-person lectures and online sessions as you focused on your thesis.

The apartment building turned into a stage for accidental encounters—hallways, the garbage area, the stairs. You’d exchange hellos, quick chats, banters, and fleeting moments that made you feel less…alone.

Today was no different.

You stepped out of your door, balancing your bag and an iced coffee, only to find him locking his door. His hair was still slightly damp, and he was dressed in an oversized white shirt and jeans.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice low and slightly raspy, like he hadn’t been awake long. His dimple made its familiar appearance when he smiled, and you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger for a few seconds.

“Morning,” you managed to squeak, juggling your bag and fumbling with your keys. Your iced coffee wobbled dangerously in your hand.

You knew he was watching you struggle, but you didn’t know he was biting his lip to hold back a grin.

Finally locking your door and securing your coffee, you shot him a glance. “So, what’s the agenda today? More random appliance repairs for desperate neighbors?”

“Maybe,” he said, chuckling as he stepped beside you. “Depends on how many people I see kicking trash bins today.”

You groaned and covered your face with your hands, realizing he’d seen your meltdown. “Okay, that was one time. And it was a moment of weakness.”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “Hey, no biggie. We all have our moments. There’s no shame in that.”

A warm feeling spread through you. Too warm. Too comfortable. You rolled your eyes and waved. “Alright, alright. Bye, Jungkook.”

💃🏻 divas

You had a presentation coming up, and, despite years of experience, the fear of speaking in front of people never quite went away.

The thought of standing in front of your class still made your stomach drop. So, you’d been practicing nonstop, trying to memorize the key points to calm your nerves.

By the time you hit the stairs of your apartment building, you were already in full-on presentation mode.

“Speech, speech, agriculture and resource management, speech, speech, inclusive development for a more equitable world—” you waved your hand dramatically as you climbed.

“And that, my dear friends,” you muttered to yourself, “is why we’re taking economics to... to TAKE THE FREEDOM WE DESERVE!” You raised your fist in the air like you were leading a revolution.

When you reached the top, you finished with a flourish, curtsying as though you’d just wrapped up a Broadway performance. “Why thank you, thank you. No time to prepare—it was all impromptu!”

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP

You froze.

Of course.

Jungkook. Standing at the bottom of the stairs with an amused grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling like he'd just witnessed the best performance of a century.

You blinked.

You'd grown used to these perfectly timed encounters with him, but that didn't make them any less embarrassing.

So, without missing a beat, you turned to him, giving a dramatic bow, as if the applause was exactly what you expected. “Thank you, thank you,” you said with an exaggerated flourish, playing along. “I couldn’t have done it without my loyal fans!”

Later that night, you found yourself in his kitchen, sipping tea as Jungkook crouched on the floor, sleeves rolled up, intensely focused on fixing your ancient electric fan.

Yes, it was old, but it was salvageable, and the repair was free in exchange for a cup of tea.

“You know,” you said, watching as he tightened a screw, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who willingly fixes things for their neighbors. Is this, like, a secret hobby or something?”

He glanced up at you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Neighbor,” he corrected. “You’re the only one getting this free repair service. And no, not a hobby. I do this at work—electronic appliances, product development, testing… all the boring stuff.”

"Boring?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. "No way. Not boring at all. Honestly, I think I should be friends with you, just in case. If you haven’t noticed, I’m basically a walking disaster. I could definitely use a repair guy!"

He laughed, setting the screwdriver down. "Hmm, should I start charging?" He leaned back against the counter, looking at you with a smirk. "So, what are you studying?"

“Just wrapping up my bachelor’s in economics,” you said, taking a sip of tea.

“And working too, right?” he added, tilting his head.

“Yup. Waitressing in the meantime,” you replied with a grin. “So, you know, living the dream. Hot stuff.”

His eyes widened slightly, clearly impressed. “Economics? While working? Wow. That’s… wild. And kind of amazing.”

“Yeah, right?” you replied, playfully tucking your hair behind your ear.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary before he cleared his throat and turned back to the fan.

The conversation drifted from school to work to random bits of life—your rambling and his chuckles filling the space.

By the time he finished fixing the fan, you realized you’d been standing in his kitchen for over an hour.

🍻 welcome to after hours what can i get ya?

The next day, your shift started like any other at the bustling bar.

It was a casual spot, perfect for after-work crowds and people looking to unwind.

It was also known for its servers—those who “enhanced the customer experience” with short skirts, crop tops, and a whole lot of upbeat energy.

You adjusted your uniform, the cut highlighting your cleavage and legs. The regulars' eyes already followed you, but you'd grown used to it. It was just part of the job.

Balancing a tray of beers and nachos, you navigated the packed floor with practiced ease.

Then, you turned a corner and—

Jungkook?

There he was. Right in the middle of a group of coworkers, laughing at something one of them had said.

For a second, everything froze. His eyes locked onto yours, and his jaw dropped. He quickly grabbed his water glass and brought it to his lips—only to choke when he fully realized who he was looking at.

You’d told him you worked as a server—you just never mentioned where. Did that matter?

“Are you okay?” one of his friends asked, slapping his back as Jungkook coughed.

You? Completely unbothered. Professional. Cool. Totally unaffected by the fact that your cute, laid-back neighbor was sitting there, staring at you like he’d just realized you had boobs. Or a woman. Not the pale, messy-haired, oversized hoodie-wearing mess you were at home.

“Hi, welcome to After Hours,” you said smoothly, pulling out your notepad. “What can I get for you guys?”

Jungkook’s friends rattled off their orders—beer, nachos, the usual—but Jungkook? He stayed silent, eyes still wide, locked on you.

“And you?” You turned to him, giving him a soft smile.

“Uh—just, uh, a burger,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“Fries with that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, smile never leaving your lips.

“S-sure,” he stammered, those boba eyes wide and a little embarrassed.

“Got it,” you replied, flashing him a full smile. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” You turned to leave, but you swore you caught him sighing softly as you walked away.

The smirk that crept onto your face was unavoidable. He’d tried to play it cool, but his eyes had lingered just a bit longer. Not that you blamed him. The uniform was designed to get reactions like that, and you knew the effect it had.

Yeah, I look different in my work clothes.

Wait, why are you enjoying this?

When you returned with their beers, you set them down with practiced grace. “Enjoy,” you said, in a rehearsed, flirty voice, flashing another sweet smile before turning to walk away.

As you leave, you heard one of his friends say, “Dude, she’s hot.”

You didn’t catch Jungkook’s reply, but you kept walking. Still, the smirk never quite left your lips.

🍆 cockblock!

The next evening, you were coming home from work, juggling a grocery bag and your tote when you spotted Jungkook ahead of you, walking toward his door. You were about to joke about your brief interaction at the bar the night before, but—

This time, he wasn’t alone.

There she was—tall, gorgeous, and effortlessly stylish. She stood by his door as Jungkook unlocked it, laughing at something he’d said, her hand resting on his arm.

You froze mid-step. Should you keep walking? Turn around? Pretend you’d forgotten something?

Why did you feel so awkward?

Too late. He looked up and saw you.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, flashing you his usual soft smile.

You managed a stiff "hey" in return, offering a tight-lipped smile and a quick nod before bolting to your door like a startled deer.

Inside, you tossed your keys onto the counter, muttering under your breath, “Cute. Whatever. I don’t care.”

But you did.

You stood there, groceries in hand, staring at the counter. What was this feeling?

You couldn’t name it. It lingered, unresolved, like a song stuck in your head but with no tune.

You lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling, bracing yourself for the night. Part of you half-expected to hear the sounds of his obviously better-than-yours sex life drifting in from next door.

Thin walls.

But the night stayed quiet. Too quiet.

The next morning, you bumped into him on your way to class. He was dressed in sweats and a shirt, his hair slightly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed, a black plastic trash bag in his hand.

“Morning,” he said, offering that small, easy smile.

You hesitated before blurting out, “Thanks for keeping it quiet last night. As you can see, I had to get up early for class today.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a grin spread across his face. “Oh, uh... that’s because she didn’t stay long.”

You froze. “Oh…Okay. Well, I hope I didn’t cockblock or anything.”

Jungkook let out a soft laugh, brief but warm. “All good.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and you swore you felt your stomach flip.

You couldn’t think of anything else to say, so you nodded awkwardly and turned to walk away, silently cursing yourself.

“Hey,” he called after you.

You stopped and turned, heart racing for no reason.

“Yeah?”

“Have a good day.” He shrugged, his smile lingering longer than neccesary.

“You too,” you mumbled before hurrying toward the exit. Your cheeks may or may not have been red.

As you walked away, you realized your hands were gripping the strap of your bag so tightly it hurt.

Stupid Jungkook, with his stupid bunny smile.

🎙️ we should start a podcast

“YOU THINK I WOULDN’T FIND OUT?!” A loud voice, followed by the unmistakable crash of something glass breaking.

You glanced at the time—7:10 am.

The walls of this building might as well be paper.

Groaning, you buried your head in your pillow. You were free today. No classes. No work. Just sleep.

The yelling grew louder, words like “cheater” and “homewrecker” repeatedly thrown around during the heated argument.

Sleep was a lost cause now. You sighed and sat up, glancing at the clock.

By the time you opened your door to investigate the noise, Jungkook was already leaning in his doorway, a mug in hand, grinning like he was watching a reality TV show.

“Good morning!” he said, raising the mug in a mock toast.

“Ugh! They’re still going?” you grumbled, rubbing your eyes as you heard the voices not backing down.

He shook his head, chuckling. “But free entertainment, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You’d planned to sleep in, but somehow, you ended up in the middle of the hallway with Jungkook, coffee in hand, both of you fully immersed in the commotion.

You’d nod dramatically whenever someone made a solid point, raising your mug like you were cheering them on, and then pull exaggerated faces every time someone threw out a lame argument. Honestly, this was way more entertaining than staying in bed.

A few hours later, you and Jungkook were on your couch, two empty bowls of bibimbap scattered on the coffee table. You were trading theories about the fighting neighbors. Jungkook’s convinced the third party is someone from within the building.

“Jungkook, where are you getting this idea? Only Murders in the Building? You don’t even watch that show!” you groaned. It’s been hours, and he’s still holding on to this theory.

He leaned in, eyes wide with drama. “I swear I saw the guy in the parking lot at 10 pm last week. He was with a blonde lady who looked like the woman from the first floor. Heavy smoker, big hair, dirty blonde? You know her. They were whispering.”

“What if they were just talking? Friendly talk?” you quipped, not buying his theory because of weak evidence.

“In the dark? Behind a car? At 10 pm?!” He was practically jumping off the couch.

“Well, still! They could be just talking.”

“Whispering,” he corrected. “And about what? Hmm? Recipes? Best day to take out the trash? What’s so important to discuss at 10 pm in the dark?”

He was so invested now, his hands gesturing with full animation.

“Okay, okay, calm down, Perez Hilton. Jeez.” You raised your hand, mock surrendering.

He threw his head back, and you both laughed.

“We should start a podcast. Only Gossips in the Building with Jungkook & YN,” he said, his eyes glinting with excitement.

And just like that, your conversation was a whirl of podcast names, wild theories, and dramatic reenactments.

Hours flew by, with no signs of slowing down.

🔧 handyman

The next morning, you barely managed to drag yourself out of bed for your morning online class, splashing water on your face in a half-awake state. As you reached for your laptop, a knock at the door startled you.

Opening it hesitantly, you found Jungkook standing there, a black repair tool box in hand and a soft smile on his lips.

“Good morning!” he said, his voice a little too cheerful.

“Good... morning?” you replied, eyebrows furrowed. You were too groggy to connect why he, was at your door first thing in the morning.

He gestured toward your living room. “So, I noticed your bookshelf yesterday—half-built, just sitting there taking up space, and, well, I figured you’re home for classes this morning, right? Thought I’d finish it.”

Oh. That bookshelf. You cringed internally as you remembered your disastrous DIY attempt. The instructions had seemed so simple… until they weren't. That was three weeks ago.

“Honestly? I could really use your expert services,” you admitted, stepping aside to let him in.

He chuckled and followed you to the living room. Kneeling in front of the half-built bookshelf, he inspected it with a quick glance.

“My services aren’t free anymore,” he said, deadpan.

You gasped in mock offense. “Wow, already monetizing your skills? How much are we talking here?”

“I’m happy with just a cozy cup of coffee,” he said with a playful smirk, not looking up.

You clutched your chest dramatically. “Oh, thank goodness. Something I can actually afford. Guess I should milk this generosity before you raise your rates, kind sir.”

His laugh was low but genuine as you shuffled to the kitchen.

When you returned with the coffee, you handed it to him like it was a prized treasure. “Here you go. Only the finest instant brew.

He accepted the cup with a quiet “thank you” and focused on the instruction manual you’d abandoned weeks ago.

“I’ll be at the dining table for my lec…” You paused mid-sentence, scanning for your bag when you remembered you still needed to put on some lip tint. You couldn't show up looking like a zombie today for an important class.

Jungkook, still waiting for you to finish, simply stared at you, his gaze soft but expectant.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, distracted. “Just remembered I need to look alive for class today.” You quickly began rummaging through your bag as soon as you found it on the couch, your fingers grazing over everything but the lip tint.

“You look perfect no matter what,” he said casually, not missing a beat, his attention already back on the bookshelf.

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth spreading across your cheeks as his words settled in. You tried to shake it off, your voice a little shakier than usual.

“Lectures starting soon, so… if you need anything, which I highly doubt, just wave me down.”

You didn’t even look at him when you spoke, but his simple compliment hit you harder than you expected, and your stomach fluttered in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

From your seat at the dining table, you caught glimpses of him—his brows furrowed in concentration, an occasional nibble on his lower lip. Every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you, and you could’ve sworn he caught you staring back at him too.

By the time your class wrapped up, Jungkook had not only finished the bookshelf but had also fixed the lamp that he’d switched on yesterday but didn’t work.

As he packed up his tools, you blurted, “I’m so sorry. A cup of coffee isn’t enough for all this work.”

He shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “It’s fine. I had the time. Besides, I couldn’t just let these things stay broken when they’re easy fixes… they mess with my peace.”

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, Mr. ‘I can fix you’ guy. But still..."

An idea popped into your head, and before you could second-guess it, you walked over to the fridge.

“Hey, so, I made pasta last night... It’s not, like, fancy or anything. I was actually craving japchae but, didn’t have the ingredients, so... pasta. Anyway, um, take this as payment? I mean, if you want... It’s not much, but it’s food, so... yeah.” You hesitated, still unsure about offering your cooking. It wasn’t exactly top chef materiall. You offered the container to him.

His smile widened as he took the container. “Pasta works. Thanks. Wow, honestly, I’m enjoying getting paid more than I thought.”

“Good,” you quipped, opening the door for him. “Maybe we can negotiate a discount next time?”

He chuckled, giving a lazy wave as he stepped out. “See you, YN.”

The next morning, when you opened your door to start your day, a paper bag greeted you. Inside was your container, now filled with japchae, and a note:

“I cooked too much last night. – JK”

⚰️ buried things

Slowly, without meaning to, Jungkook became a constant in your life.

Before you even realized it, you found yourself spending more and more time in each other’s apartments, as if it just... happened.

You slowly started making space for each other in the chaos of your busy lives, finding yourselves yapping away at the end of each exhausting day.

You’d talk about the most random and dumbest things—the mundane happenings in the apartment, his annoying coworker that he’d impersonate to perfection, or your professor, whom you were pretty sure was having an affair with one of the faculty staff.

And you’d end up laughing so hard, you’d be on the floor, tears in your eyes.

He’d fix things for you without you asking or pick up on the little things you’d meant to take care of but forgot.

He’d listen to your mindless ramblings. You’d catch yourself mid-story, realizing you had already told him this a million times before—and you’d apologize. But Jungkook would just look at you, smile, and say, “It’s okay, I like hearing this story. Especially the part where you—“ and he'd lean in, genuinely interested in what you said.

It was like he saw all the tiny messes in your life, both literal and figurative, and took care of them because he wanted to. It was just in his nature.

And somehow, you started feeling more and more comfortable talking to him about everything—those random, unfiltered thoughts that flitted through your mind. You didn’t feel the weight of being judged or the worry of being too weird.

You didn’t even know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, you started really noticing him. It wasn’t just that he was attractive—though, of course, he was—but there was something beyond that.

You noticed little things.

Like, how good he smelled, that subtle hint of fresh laundry mixed with his cologne. Or how he’d touch his ears when he got shy.

And oh, food! The way he got so dramatic about it. When the food was amazing, his face would scrunch up like he was about to start a fight with anyone. It was like he was angry, but also excited, and it was so ridiculously endearing.

But the one thing you couldn’t ignore anymore is the way his eyes lingered on you. Not in a way that felt strange, but in a way that felt like he saw you.

There seemed to be stars in his eyes, and sometimes they lit up even in the dark, appearing brighter when you smiled.

The things you've buried are clawing their way to the surface, and it terrifies you.

It’s been ages since you allowed yourself to truly feel.

How do you face what’s been hidden for so long?

So, you do what’s easiest, what’s most familiar:

🫥 avoidance

You avoided him again.

This is the best course of action.

When you heard his door open, you’d pause mid-step, holding your breath until you were sure he’d gone inside.

If you were in the hallway when he appeared, you’d suddenly remember something you “forgot” in your apartment and make a quick retreat.

Once, you almost tripped over your own shoes in your rush to slam your door shut. Smooth.

"People can only meet you as deeply as they've met themselves."

And you're not ready to meet yourself at the level life is requiring you to be at.

But Jungkook noticed. Of course, he did.

One evening, there was a knock at your door.

🚪open the door

You hesitated before opening the door, uncertainty gnawing at you. Were you ready for this?

When you did open it, there he was—Jungkook, standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were searching.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked, blunt as ever, but his tone was gentle, almost hesitant.

“No,” you replied too quickly, the word almost sounding like a question.

He raised an eyebrow. “Then stop pretending you don’t see me in the hallway. Stop shutting the door before I can say hi. Stop avoiding me.”

You winced, retreating into the safety of your living room. He followed, shutting the door quietly behind him. “I’m not—”

“Sure. You’re just too busy, right?” he said, his voice softer but laced with frustration.

You folded your arms defensively. “I am! Work and school are killing me, Jungkook. I barely have time for myself, let alone anyone else.”

Silence hung between you.

When you finally turned back to face him, he sighed softly. Slowly, he stepped closer, his hands still buried in his pockets as if to keep them from reaching out.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “I just… I feel like you’re avoiding me, and I don’t know why, or if I’ve done something wrong. That’s all.”

You shook your head, unsure of how to respond. Confrontation wasn’t your strong suit, and right now, you felt cornered.

"I’m sorry," was all you could manage.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy, charged. His gaze didn’t waver as it traced over your face, as if searching for some hidden clue. Your heart raced beneath the weight of it.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, his tone serious but gentle. “But you don’t have to do anything about it, okay? I just... I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

You froze.

His eyes held that look—like he was about to spill something that had been bottled up for too long.

You’ve never been good with spilled milk. Do you just wipe it up? What if it’s too much to handle?

Can you just leave it and cry? Panic crept in, and you took a step back.

No no no.

“Jungkook—”

“I like you, YN” he said, cutting you off. His voice was steady, but his hands fidgeted with his thumb, betraying the tension in his body. You caught the slight tremble in his fingers as he continued, “A lot. And I know I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Your breath caught. “I... I don’t know what to say—”

“It’s okay,” he said, his words softer now, warmer. “I just needed to tell you, because it’s been sitting with me for a while. I don’t expect anything from you. There’s no pressure to respond or feel the same way. I just think…you deserve to know how amazing I think you are. That’s all.”

There it was. Spilled.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, as his words settled around you, your mind scrambling for the right words, but none came. His gaze held yours, patient and kind. He took another step forward, his hands reaching up to gently rest on your shoulders.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. As if he read the questions in your head, he added, “It’s okay. You don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his warm fingers brushing your cheek for just a moment.

You felt a shiver run through you at the softness of his touch and closed your eyes, letting it linger.

“Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“Okay,” he said, his lips curling into the faintest smile.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel rushed.

You didn’t feel like you had to fix anything, clean up the mess, or even apologize for the things you couldn’t face.

It was enough to just be.

🖤 crack

You feel like dying. No seriously.

Achy, feverish, and barely able to breathe through your nose, you debated ignoring the insistent knock at your door. You know it is Jungkook, who else?

You open the door to find Jungkook standing there, his bunny smile all teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. “Hey, I cooked too much last night,” he says, holding up a huge container. But his smile fades into concern when he sees your state—blanket draped over you, eyes red.

“Wait, are you sick?” he asks, placing his hand on your forehead.

“Yeah, I feel like dying. I’m just gonna sleep it off—”

“You need to eat and take medicine,” he cuts you off as he steps inside.

“Jungkook, I’m literally contagious—”

“My immune system is strong, I’m not gonna get sick,” he says confidently, already heading into your kitchen and rummaging through your cabinets like he lives there.

“What are you doing?” you ask, wanting him to leave so you can go back to bed.

“I’m gonna reheat the food so you can take your medicine,” he says, placing the pot on the stove.

“Don’t you have work?”

He waves you off. “I’m not going in. My strong immune system and I are staying here,” he says with a gentle smile.

You groan, leaning against the doorframe of your room. “You’re gonna get sick too!”

“Nah,” he says, stirring the pot with a ladle. “But if I do, you’ll owe me, and I’ll think of something as payment.”

You blink at him, too sick to come up with a sharp reply. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re stubborn. Now, let’s get you to bed while we wait for your food.” He smiles as he gently guides your shoulder toward the bed.

You obey, mostly because you don’t have the energy to fight him, and watch as he moves around your apartment, reheating the soup and fussing over your blanket situation, saying it wasn’t warm enough.

You sleep the entire day, letting the sickness take over, but Jungkook makes sure you eat, stay hydrated, and take your medicine. He checks your temperature every four hours and places a damp cloth on your forehead.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you found him curled up on the couch. You noticed he had changed from his work clothes this morning into sweatpants and a hoodie, which was now pulled over his head, his face smooshed into a pillow. His legs were bent awkwardly to fit your short couch, and the blanket you’d thrown over him earlier had slipped halfway onto the floor.

You shuffled closer, your socks muffling your steps. "Hey," you whispered, gently nudging his shoulder.

"Hey," he mumbled, blinking up at you groggily. "You okay? Need something?"

"Yeah.” You smiled softly, trying to keep the laugh from escaping at how adorable he looked, all disoriented and sleepy. "You to not sleep on my couch."

He blinked at you in confusion, his sleepy eyes squinting. "What? Why? It's fine—"

"Just come sleep on the bed with me. Please?" you interrupted, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself to ward off the chill.

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze softening as his lips tugged into the faintest smile. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yes. Let’s go."

His smile widened, and the dim light from the lamp caught in his eyes, making them sparkle. Slowly, he sat up, picked up the blanket from the floor, and followed you to your room.

The bed creaked slightly as he slid under the covers beside you, keeping a noticeable gap between you both. His movements were careful, as though he was afraid to disturb you more than he already had.

"Don’t steal the blankets," you mumbled, already half-asleep again as you burrowed into your pillow.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," he murmured back, his voice so soft and gentle it felt like a warm blanket of its own.

You felt the faintest brush of his breath as he settled beside you, and the space between you seemed to hum with a comfortable warmth.

You drifted back to sleep with a clogged nose and a full heart.

The next morning, when you woke up feeling more like yourself, Jungkook was gone. But there was a neatly folded note on your nightstand, beside a full water bottle and your medicines neatly arranged.

Take your meds on time, okay? There’s food in the fridge for the whole day. Rest up. I’ll see you tonight. – JK

You sat there, staring at the note, feeling your chest tighten in the best way. Like this tiny piece of paper had power over you. And then, like it was nothing, you felt the corners of your mouth curve into a smile.

When you opened the fridge , you find everything prepped and labeled, you couldn’t help but feel flutters in your stomach.

After eating and taking your medicine, you returned to bed. As you settled under the covers, you heard a crack... but you smiled, because it was just the walls you’d built starting to crumble.

♥️ mush mush

Life with Jungkook had become like a well-worn hoodie—cozy, familiar, and easy. It was a rhythm that felt so natural, you sometimes wondered how you’d survived without it. You’d always thought your schedule, your goals, and that thick wall around your heart left no room for anyone else.

But he didn’t just fit into your life. He expanded it, creating space for you to breathe and for himself to occupy every empty corner you hadn’t realized was there.

You learned his quirky habits, and he learned yours.

His laundry hobby (yes, hobby) was a serious thing to him. Jungkook treated it like a sacred ritual, complete with special detergent and fabric softener combos he swore by. “It’s about the clothes-to-detergent ratio,” he’d explain, holding up his freshly laundered Calvin Klein boxers like a badge.

Meanwhile, you’d start one task—say, doing the dishes—and somehow end up reorganizing your bookshelf because, obviously, that was the logical next step. Jungkook would laugh when he caught you confused, gently nudge you back to the original task, or finish whatever you had left undone.

The cooking thing had become a ritual too. You’d started cooking for each other when time allowed—mostly him, though, because he was always willing to cook. So, on your day off, you decided to surprise him with his favorite dish. When he walked in and saw it, his face lit up, eyes wide with genuine surprise.

“Did you make this for me?” he asked, his voice dripping with surprise, his eyes big and bright.

“No,” you shot back, “It’s for the cute guy right next door.”

“Oh, he’s cute? No, no, he doesn’t want to be called cute. He’s hot, right?” He pouted.

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a bite, “He’s so hot I’m gonna ride his dick someday.”

Jungkook choked—and you couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at you in wide-eyed disbelief, but his smile was already tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Careful, baby.” He smirked. “That’s a very dangerous thing to say.”

You just kept eating like you hadn’t just said something that made your own insides warm. But your bravado faltered when Jungkook leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your lips.

“You’ve got sauce,” he said softly, wiping it away with his thumb. And then—like it was the most casual thing in the world—he brought his thumb to his lips, licking it clean.

The sound he made was enough to make you press your legs together.

Fucking hell.

Of course, you’d had your moments. The intense, messy, make-out sessions that left you breathless and tangled in each other’s arms. But nothing beyond that. Not yet.

Because Jungkook was gentle. Respectful. Even though you could see the hunger in his eyes, he never pushed. Never made you feel like you were anything less than perfect, even with all your hesitations.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him.

Jesus, have you seen the man? A full-course meal. A body that screams sex, a face that could make anyone write fanfics about him. He could easily be a Calvin Klein model!

But some part of you still felt like crossing that line was final. A seal on something monumental, something with the power to change your world in ways that scared you more than you'd ever admit.

But tonight, as you watched him laugh at your antics and go about his weird little Jungkook ways, you realized something else.

It’s been two months since his confession, and even though he told you he didn’t need an answer, you know deep down that you can’t keep avoiding it.

Jungkook had bared his feelings with such honesty and vulnerability, and even if he insisted he didn’t want a yes or no, you knew better.

Because you knew, deep down, the walls around your heart had fallen…

Crushed, powdered, nothing but dust now.

And as you sat with that realization, you understood something even more profound:

It wasn’t force that shattered them.

It was his gentleness.

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a/n: hey <3 if you enjoyed this piece, could you let me know what you liked? it helps me understand what kind of writing i’ll focus on in the future. thanks for your kind words, really really made my heart dance holy shit just realized i have a validation kink aaaah! thanks for reading! -🐙

taglist: @goldietigers294 @ericawantstoescape @kyljjk @daskewl

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archiverstappen · 2 years ago

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it’s a match ✧ lando norris

lando norris x fem! actress! reader

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↳ tomholland2013 Miss you too daughter

↳ zendaya Stop

↳ username it’s literally impossible to comment on either yn’s or zendaya’s post before tom did 😭

↳ username i love my family 🫂

username MOTHER

alexademie stunning 🤍

↳ yourusername i love you🥹

landonorris 🔥🔥🔥

↳ username just lando norizz casually shooting his shot

↳ username WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

↳ username GET BACK 👺

maya_hawke just so you know, i have a crush on you

↳ yourusername that’s crazy because i have a crush on you too?! 🫨

username CAN’T WAIT FOR YOUR NEXT MOVIE

username i just love how these comment sections are filled with people simping over y/n

[twitter]

[instagram]

author’s note: i desperately need to work on my thesis, but i’ve had this fic idea ever since i saw a tiktok of someone stumbling upon lando’s profile on raya SO I NEED TO LET IT OUT!! another series perhaps? 🫣

pictures (c) to pinterest

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jungkoode · 2 months ago

Text

OFF-LABELS | O4

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Mature, 18+, suggestive tones.

→ DATE POSTED: February 16th, 2025.

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents, virgin!reader.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Hoseok being dangerously thorough with medical demonstrations, vagus nerve "research" that's definitely just for science, medical terminology as foreplay, tongue depressors used for educational purposes (obviously), running into him at home after avoiding him for weeks, and getting cornered with the softest threats imaginable. | medical examination kink, medical equipment, tongue depressors, medical demonstrations, oral fixation, authority kink, power dynamics, educational roleplay, avoidance to attraction, running clothes, post-workout tension, soft threats, vadal nerve stimulation, clinical setting, hospital scenes, medical authority, vagus nerve, autonomic responses.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2k

→ MINI SERIES: NEXT | PREVIOUS

→ A/N: You ever write something and think "maybe I should go to church"? Yeah. So. This happened. Apparently my brain decided "what if we took medical equipment and made it unholy?" Dedicated to everyone who's ever had an attractive medical professional tell them to "open wide" and died a little inside. Also thanks to my one (1) med student friend who had to answer way too many questions about vagus nerve testing without knowing why I was asking. I'm so sorry.

PLAYLIST

The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you hover outside Room 317, clutching the neurology textbook to your chest like armor.

You shouldn’t be here.

Caleb’s text still glows on your phone screen:

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝙽𝚄𝙷.

You count the ceiling tiles (twelve) before knocking.

The room smells like antiseptic and the bergamot tea he drinks during night shifts.

“Chip.” Hoseok doesn’t look up from the EKG strip he’s analyzing, surgical penlight tucked behind his ear. “You’re blocking the light.”

You sidestep the portable otoscope charging by the door. The space is all sharp edges—stainless steel cabinets, framed diplomas, his white coat draped over the back of a chair still warm from his body.

“Page 214,” he says, sliding your marked-up paper across the desk. Red ink bleeds through the margins. Insufficient clinical correlation circles your thesis on autonomic nervous system responses.

Your throat tightens. “I cited six studies—”

“Case studies aren’t lived experience.” He finally meets your eyes, thumb brushing the penlight. “You can’t quantify a gag reflex through PubMed.”

The air shifts when he stands.

“Sit.” He nods to the exam table, its crinkled paper sheet protesting as you perch on the edge.

“I’m not your patient,” you say too quickly.

His laugh is all teeth. “Would you prefer I bill your insurance?”

The overhead exam light clicks on. You flinch at the sudden brightness.

“Relax.” His knuckle grazes your jawline as he adjusts the lamp. “Just demonstrating research methodology.”

He rolls the stool closer, knees bracketing yours.

“Let’s say…” His penlight traces the column of your throat, the cool beam skimming over your pulse point. “You wanted empirical data on vagus nerve stimulation.”

Your traitorous pulse jumps under the light.

“Theoretical,” you rasp.

“Mm.” The stool creaks as he leans in. “Hypothetically—if a patient claimed nausea—” A flicker of movement, then the glint of polished steel between his fingers. A tongue depressor. “—would you take their word for it? Or verify with a hands-on assessment?”

His meaning is clinical. Technically. In medical exams, the vagus nerve can be tested by pressing a tongue depressor against the back of the throat, triggering the gag reflex. A strong response might suggest hypersensitivity. A weak or absent one? Neurological impairment.

But that’s not what he’s asking. Not really.

The textbook slides from your lap, thudding against the floor.

His thumb finds the hinge of your jaw, applying just enough pressure to tilt your head back.

“You need proper mentorship,” he murmurs.

“Mentorship.” The word barely forms.

“Mm. Palatal anatomy. Gag reflex modulation.” His nail scrapes the tender skin behind your earlobe, where the auricular branch of the vagus nerve lies—just another pressure point, another test. “Essential for any aspiring neurologist.”

Overhead, the Code Blue alarm blares—a real emergency, somewhere beyond this room. Neither of you move.

“This is—”

“Academic?” He tilts your chin up with the tongue depressor, just shy of pressure. “Ethically sanctioned? Necessary for your… what was it? Comprehensive understanding of brain-gut axis pathways?”

Your own citation, thrown back at you, laced with velvet implication.

His pager vibrates against the desk.

A reminder. A warning.

“Well, Chip?” He pockets the device, but his eyes never leave your mouth. “D’you want to practice?”

Somewhere down the hall, a defibrillator charges. The crash cart rattles past the door. And you—

You’re already nodding, fingers curling in the paper sheet as he snaps fresh gloves over those surgeon’s hands.

“For science,” you whisper.

His smile cuts through the antiseptic air. “Naturally.”

"Open." His voice is clinically detached as he positions the tongue depressor. "Wider."

You comply, heart thundering as he leans closer to examine your oral cavity. The exam light catches his glasses, making his expression unreadable.

"Good girl. Now stick your tongue out—just like that." His free hand steadies your chin. "Interesting. Your tongue control is quite developed."

Heat floods your face. You try to respond but can't with your mouth open.

"Shh. Focus on breathing through your nose." His thumb traces your jawline. "We'll start shallow. See how much you can take before the reflex triggers."

The metal slides deeper.

"Swallow for me."

You do, fighting the urge to gag.

"Again." His voice stays perfectly level. "Notice how your throat accommodates the intrusion? That's neuroplasticity at work."

Your thighs press together involuntarily. He continues as if he hasn't noticed.

"Most people choke at this depth. But you..." The depressor ventures further. "Remarkable control. Have you practiced this before?"

You make a strangled sound of denial.

"Breathing's irregular," he notes. "Try to relax your throat. Yes—just like that. Let it slide deeper."

Your hands grip the hem of your shirt as saliva pools in your mouth.

"Fascinating response." His tone remains purely academic. "The stimulation is triggering excess secretion. Perfectly natural biological reaction."

Your face burns hotter. There's no way he doesn't notice how you're squirming.

He glances down—just once—at where your thighs are clenched together. A gentle smile curves his lips.

"Tell me, Chip..." The words float soft as gauze. "Do you always get this wet during medical examinations?"

Your eyes go wide.

"Excess salivation," he clarifies, innocent as morning. "It's a common autonomic response to oral stimulation. Though yours seems... particularly robust."

The paper crinkles beneath you as you shift.

"We should document this," he muses. "For research purposes, of course."

The depressor glints under clinical light as he presses it deeper.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs, thumb settling at the corner of your mouth. “Relax your epiglottis.”

You try. You try. But all you taste is sterile metal and the faint salt of his skin where his thumbprint ghosts your lower lip. His thighs tighten imperceptibly against yours, a human vise steadying your traitorous tremors.

“There we go.” His voice drops to a velvet hush, the kind nurses use with combative dementia patients. “Good girl.”

Your pulse thrums where his thumb rests—so close to slipping past your teeth, so close to feeling the heat of your tongue.

His nail catches on the swell of your lip, dragging downward as if testing pliancy.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, though you’re not sure what he’s referring to anymore—the depressor sinking another fraction of an inch, or the way your throat flutters around it. “Your vagal response is… delayed.”

You whimper.

He cocks his head, penlight sweeping across your uvula. “Pain?”

You shake your head minutely, terrified to dislodge his thumb.

“Discomfort?”

Another shake.

“Then what?”

The question hangs between you, syrupy and dangerous.

His thumb presses harder, blanching the pink of your lip white. You can’t tell if he’s pushing the depressor or if your body is pulling it deeper, some primal part of you craving the stretch.

His exhale ghosts your cheek. “Saliva production’s increased thirty percent since we began.”

You’re drowning in it—a slick, shameful pool gathering under your tongue, threatening to spill.

“Swallow.”

You obey, throat working around cold steel.

“Again.”

The third time, a bead escapes the corner of your mouth. His thumb swipes it away before it can fall, the pad rough against your chin.

“Remarkable,” he breathes, rotating the depressor slowly. “No gag yet. How far do you think—”

His glasses slip.

It’s barely noticeable—a millimeter descent along the bridge of his nose—but his whole body stills.

For one fractured second, you swear his demeanor falters: pupils blown black behind smudged lenses, lips pressed into a bloodless line, tendons standing rigid in his neck.

Then he’s back—gentle, smiling, Hoseok—retracting the depressor with a soft click.

“Clumsy me,” he chuckles, adjusting his frames. “Should’ve used the head strap.”

You don’t mention how his hand shakes. You don’t mention the splintered wood where he gripped the depressor too hard.

You must be imagining things.

You must be making correlations where there’s none.

He checks his pager, all brisk professionalism. “Duty calls. You did well today, Chip.”

Chip. The nickname now lands between your thighs.

You nod, swiping at your damp chin. His gaze follows the movement, lingering on your glistening fingers.

“Here.” He offers a tissue—crisp, folded—with a smile that crinkles his eyes. “For the salivation.”

You take it. He doesn’t let go immediately, fingertips brushing yours.

“We’ll continue next week,” he says, and it’s not a question.

The door sighs shut behind him.

Left alone, you stare at the ruined depressor. The wood’s fractured where his grip faltered, grooves carved by clenched fingers. You press a thumb into the deepest dent, imagining the force required—the control overridden.

Down the hall, his laughter floats through an open doorway, warm and easy as he chats with a colleague.

Normal. Harmless.

You bite the tissue between your teeth, tasting bergamot and salt and lies.

Your lungs burn as you push through the apartment door, endorphins still singing through your veins.

The run helped—three miles of pavement pounding your inappropriate thoughts into submission. Three miles of not thinking about surgical hands or tongue depressors or—

"Morning, Chip."

You freeze.

The water bottle slips from your grip, hitting the floor with a hollow thud.

Because there he is—Hoseok—lounging on your couch like he belongs there, like he hasn't been haunting your dreams for weeks, like you haven't been actively fleeing every time you catch a glimpse of his white coat in hospital corridors.

"I—" Your voice cracks. "Caleb didn't say..."

"He's in the shower." Hoseok's smile is gentle. Always gentle. "You've been busy lately."

It's not an accusation. His tone is light, conversational. But something in the way he says it—in the careful way he watches you over the rim of his coffee mug—makes your stomach drop.

"Yeah, I..." You scramble for an excuse. "Classes."

"Mm." He sets his mug down with deliberate care. "Interesting. Because I asked about your attendance."

Your heart stops.

"Just checking in," he continues, voice honey-sweet. "Since you missed three anatomy labs."

The air feels too thick.

You're suddenly aware of how you must look—flushed from running, hair escaping your ponytail, compression leggings clinging to every curve.

His eyes track a bead of sweat rolling down your neck.

"I—had other commitments."

"Did you?" He tilts his head, expression perfectly concerned. "Because Dr. Park mentioned you've been switching sections. Always picking labs when I'm not assisting."

Fuck.

"That's not—" You swallow hard. "It's not like that."

"No?" He stands, and you realize with dawning horror that he's blocking your escape route to the hallway. "Then what's it like, Chip?"

The nickname lands like a physical touch. You back up until your spine hits the door.

"Because it seems," he continues, voice impossibly soft, "like you're avoiding me."

"I'm not—"

"Three weeks." He takes a step closer. "Three weeks of missed labs. Declined study sessions. Running away every time I visit your brother."

Your chest feels tight. "I haven't been—"

"Nice outfit, by the way."

The compliment throws you off-balance.

He's still smiling, still gentle, but there's something else there—something that makes your thighs press together unconsciously.

"The color suits you." His eyes drift lower. "Though I wonder if you're getting enough circulation. You're flushed."

You're not flushed from running anymore.

"I should—" You gesture vaguely toward your room. "Shower."

"Of course." He steps aside, ever-courteous. "Wouldn't want you catching cold."

You bolt past him, careful not to brush against his chest. But his voice follows you down the hall:

"Oh, and Chip?"

You freeze, hand on your doorknob.

"Next time you skip labs?" The smile is audible in his voice. "I'll have to schedule a private make-up session. For your academic benefit, of course."

The door closes behind you with a click that sounds like a threat.

You slide down against it, pressing your thighs together as your hand creeps beneath the waistband of your leggings. Because you're weak. Because you're stupid. Because even his threats sound like kindness, and you're going to hell for the way that makes you feel.

In the living room, you hear him laugh at something Caleb says. Normal. Friendly. Like he didn't just pin you to a wall with words alone.

Your fingers slip through embarrassing wetness as you bite your lip to stay quiet.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

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storkmuffin · 3 months ago

Text

Essays about Ateez (a masterlist- ongoing)

because no parasocial kpop obsession is complete unless you throw thousands of words at it. ) (Updated 25.2.17)

Seonghwa: I went off about Seonghwa & Queerness to start. Which led to follow up 1. And another follow up question this one about Jongho (mentioned in the first post). An ask about the general perception of Hwa. The magic of how he speaks. How he is out and yet not. How he gentle parents stalkers. Eventually I wrote a giant thesis about Seonghwa's Idol Persona. I manifested the finger suckage. Fingers in his mouth.

Is Matz 'real'? part 1. Part 2. The Lego Liveblog (Lego Queer Kink Dungeon)

Wooyoung: 입덕요정 Idol vs Real Manly man. Manly man part 2. Manly man part 3. Manly man part 4. Manly man part 5. His 형아미 Manly man debate continues. Etymology of 영부인 fandom name. Strong candidate for bias. Analysis of his dancing. His tattoos. His post Ateez career.

Side discussion about Minsung (Stray Kids) Brief Han Mention in context of Babygirling.

Short discussion on Ateez lyrics being advanced Korean,

Mingi. The Hippo Live. Mingi's Sound and Dance. His When Aliens Attack Live. His Don't Oppa Me Live. Liveblog of Mingi's song reveal live for untitled. Follow up to live blog. Is he ND. Mingi talking about Yunho's role in his life. Mingi the old testament prophet.

Yunho: his alleged 병크. follow up to the 병크. Yunho's beauty & appeal part 1. Catholic Hottie. The Magic of Yungi (Yunho Diction Focus)

Hong Joong: Leadership style.

San: In context of Woosan Tattoo. The Magic of San Ep 1. The Magic of San Ep 2: Men Crying, and the Gyeongsangdo Accent.

Kpop Dancing. As a ballet fan. Wooyoung focus. Hongjoong and Seonghwa as dancers. The older greats.

Kpop Idoldom: To be pitied or no? First discussion (failed) on kpop values. Do I think Idols fuck around? Aegyo 애교 and its discontents. Pity for the Hardworking kpop Trainee (or not) The Inevitability of Shipping & Boy Idols all Grown Up

How I stopped fearing being identified with Kpop fandom and became a fan. Saseng discourse. Authenticity and kpop. Comparison to soccer hooliganism

I started buying stuff. The first CDs (The Golden Hour Part 2). The first Set of Merch Unboxing.

Ateez as a known unknown band. My first impressions of Ateez. The effect each member has on me (unhinged post). Analysis of intragroup relationships. Leader and Maknae Relationships in general. Sorting the members into Hogwarts. Tour 2025 Flail. Unhinged thoughts about making members fight etc. Each Friend Group Has... Ateez on Korean TV?

Fan Service/ Queerness: A short discussion about 'fanservice' type queerness in kpop. More on 'seeming' gay. Speculation (or not) about individual members' queerness. Queerness in the arts & legal research. 7 ways to view BL fanservice.

Kpop Industry: KQ's Status or lack thereof. Boys vs Girls. Hybe v Min Hee Jin controversy. BTS As the Key Turning Point of Korean Pop Culture History. My thoughts on Virtual/AI Idols. Who are the 경상도 Idol?. Shinee Fandom Story.

Ateez & Neurodivergence. Discussion 1. Focused on Mingi.

Towards the Light: Will to Power Tour 2024-25: I got tickets to the Seoul Finale! It didn't sell out immediately in Seoul. Responsible Ticket Delivery.

Writings by other fans: Eye witness account from Amsterdam! Eye witness account from Zurich! Concert Experience also from Amsterdam. San is Born To Dance!

I recommended some books and films. Music I love. More books

#ateez masterlist #ateez meta #storkmuffin writes #kpop masterlist #holy shit this is a lot #ateez #wooyoung #mingi #san #seonghwa #kq entertainment

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himbocoups · 1 year ago

Text

˗ˋˏ The NDA ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

SYNOPSIS: the budding romance between two movie stars and a promise backed by a stack of legal contractual papers. how much would you allow yourself to go through in order to be his?

PAIRING: actor!hjs x actor!reader (gn)

GENRE: romance, humor | suggestive

TAGS: costars to lovers, mutual pining | oral mention

WC: 2.1k

A/N: not using smut tags for this fic bc technically nothing happens. but I am still limiting it to 18+ readers. happy spring! I'm still not posting as often because I'm still working on my thesis, but thank you all for reading and enjoying my fics - ♡ nu

himbocoups's masterlist

As charming and alluring as he appears in online interviews and the multitude of print magazine spreads across the globe, it’s no surprise how the international sensation stuns you as he hovers his right hand underneath your chin before gently cupping it with just the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. His thumb lands on your bottom lip, slightly pushing into the velvet plush as he tilts your chin upwards. You’re unable to meet his eye, too afraid that you would either instantly combust into flames or go to jail immediately for daring to look Joshua Hong in the eye.

“Hey. Look at me,” he murmurs. He slides his thumb off your lip and pushes the pad of the finger onto the front of your chin. “Are you afraid of me?”

He looks at you with such intent in his eyes. The spotlight that shines on the two of you only seems to be illuminating his face, so much that you can see the dust particles settling softly into the strands of his styled hair and suspended in the space between his lips and yours.

You turn your head away from him, causing his hand to slip from its grasp. To your left, the audience composed of cast members, crew, production, and a number of Hollywood stars and agents watches as the scene continues to unfold. Continuing as you have once acted over several takes and then re-enacted several times over the length of the press tour, you look back at him with wide eyes. The expression on your face looks like a mix of confusion, hurt, and love. Your eyebrows furrow while you clench your jaw.

“Stop smiling at me so sweetly,” you mumble. It’s loud enough to be picked up by the boom mic hanging above the both of you.

“Smiling at you so sweetly?” he tosses the question back at you through a teasing smile. In one fluid motion, he picks up your hands from your sides and interlocks his fingers with yours. The only point of separation is the gap between your palms. “Why?” he asks while rubbing his thumbs against the fleshy part between your thumb and index fingers.

“Because I’d be led to assume that you like me” You attempt to pull away from him, but his grasp is firm. He pulls you closer. “And I don’t like that.”

“My smile or my feelings for you?” An awfully cheesy line, but it’s overused for a reason so much that the single question causes the entire audience to gasp or hold in their breath as if hearing it for the first time in their life.

There is a condensed amount of tension between your two characters that pushes and pulls the physicality and imaginative boundaries between their love and intimacy. You stare back at him with that stupid feeling of hope for nothing. Stuck as the character you played for months, you are starting to wonder if it is the character opposite of yours or the actor whom you like.

“Everybody, a big round of applause,” tonight’s emcee announces into his microphone and ends the scene.

As soon as you hear the applause and cheers, you pull away from Joshua’s grasp. For now, there is a physical space between the two of you that you would like to maintain, but the actor quickly breaks it by pulling you into a hug before passing you a bouquet of flowers from your manager. He holds your hand in his when the cameras start clicking, smiling widely into the ocean of flashing lights. You catch yourself staring at the few strands of hair that fall in front of his forehead, noticing how stiff the hair gel causes the strands to become. He doesn’t look back at you, so you smile, curving your eyes and creating apples in your cheeks as you have been taught to hide the fact that you’re deeply disappointed by the realization that you’re merely his coworker.

But that thought doesn’t matter when he has you pressed against his hotel door later in the night, the automatic lock uncomfortably digging into your side.

The whole world believes he goes to bed early, precisely at ten pm, after his viral “A Day in My Life” video shot in collaboration with a popular magazine channel. However, you know what his life is like past ten, how he would stand between your legs in his shower, hot water pounding against his muscular back.

Lips swollen, chest covered in hickeys, and hair smelling like his sponsored products, you would often find yourself in his arms in bed after the shower. Legs intertwined, he would mold his lips against yours before kissing you down your chin, your neck, your collarbone, and shoulder. Finally, he would place an exhaustingly soft kiss against your temple before he wished you goodnight. You would force yourself to sleep, heart beating loudly while you tried to ignore how turned on you were even after he had his head between your thighs for the past half hour or so. He would arrive on set an hour after you did, holding a tray of coffees and clutching his script tightly under his armpit. Passing drinks to his fellow actors, he would hand you yours with a warm greeting, without any hint of what happened the previous night.

He is always willing to bend the rules whenever he can, but only if the rules aren’t set in stone by the law. He respects his partners and himself too much to actually have sex before a romantic relationship is established. On some nights he tells you that he wants to take the relationship to the next step while your ear is pressed against his chest and the tip of his chin against the top of your head. Other nights your knees are pressed against the uneven shower tiles when you take him in your throat. How he makes an effort to pay attention to and wipe away the droplets that fall from his chest onto your face guts you deeper than how you take him. And his sonorous promise about a relationship echoes in his chest and in your brain as each ticking minute passes by as it approaches the end of your movie contracts.

The bouquet of flowers you were gifted at the event falls to your feet as you are guided to his hotel bed. The plastic wrap crinkles against the soft carpet, and stray petals cover more surface area. Joshua makes an effort to pick it up while laying you on the bed. Not breaking eye contact with you, he posits the bouquet on the nightstand in one fluid motion, with his left hand supporting the back of your head as if laying down a fragile artifact.

He shrugs off his outer layer, the smart and classic partially lined suit that was lent to him from the designer herself, dropping it on the floor as if its value is worth less than your flowers. You feel the warmth emanating from his body as he positions himself above you, and you’re immediately engulfed by him the moment his lips reconnect with yours.

A magnetic lure of intimacy has you whining as your head follows upward when he briefly pulls away from your lips for some air. He chuckles, a soft laugh, and the stretch of his swollen lips imprints a smile on yours before melding and creating a whole. His knees dig and rest against your core, and your hands explore his back, tracing the curvature of his muscles to the dip before the shoulderblades. You want to be closer to him so much that your fingers grasp at his skin, only to be left with his dress shirt scrunched and balled between your fingers.

Still, he gently bites your lower lip and tugs his head backward to allow the appendage to escape his grasp. Breathlessly, you watch him take his time to examine your face as if looking at something for the first time. You let his eyes roam between the different elements of your anatomy, connecting like stars of a constellation. You allow him to notice everything, from the creased powder under your eyes to the thin strand of saliva that escaped to your chin.

He flattens his tongue against your chin, sending chills down your spine. And you look at him wide-eyed as a hint of mischief sparkles in his eyes while he licks away the saliva. He gives you a quick peck on the tip of your nose before he automatically shoots up from his position.

“Stay here,” he tells you.

“Why?” You’re confused. Either way, there isn’t really anywhere that you would want to go nor has he given you a reason to leave.

“I have something for you,” Joshua hums while rushing over to the hotel closet.

“A present?” Interest and curiosity cause you to rise from your position.

“Something like that,” he replies. “Been planning it for a while.”

Half of his body is obscured by his open closet door, but you can clearly hear him unzipping and zipping different pockets and compartments of his bags.

“Should I close my eyes?” You tease him while taking your time to unbutton your top. You watch his movements from a distance while your fingers slowly move from button to button. You have no idea what the surprise could be, but you know how you would like the night to end.

He stands up around the same time you’re done unbuttoning your shirt. You round your shoulders and let the shirt undress you as it falls backwards and bunches around your wrists. The fabric lays against the hotel blankets and leaves your skin feeling cold.

He stands before you with an amused look on his face. Folded in his arms is an important-looking manilla envelope.

“Where’s your shirt?” He stupidly asks you as he takes a seat to your left. He drops the heavy envelope on a pillow before he reaches down to pick up the suit that he dropped on the ground. And he takes the time to drape it around your naked shoulders before turning to his other side to pick up the envelope.

“Ah-” he sighs while bending the metal clasps that secure the envelope. “Do you know if our hotel provides pens?”

“Huh?” You let your confusion escape your mouth. A part of you wants to believe his surprise has to do with some sort of foreplay that he hasn’t tried before. “It’s probably in the leather room folder next to the telephone on the nightstand.”

He reaches into the envelope and pulls out a stack of papers and drops it in your hands. “Read it over. I’ll hand you a pen.”

“Is this some sort of sex act?”

You lean over to nip his ear, but he leans forward to grab the hotel folder. Instead, you find yourself nipping air.

“I mean, it could technically lead to one. Or many?” He clicks the pen before handing it to you. “Sign when you’re ready.”

You frown while holding the pen and papers in your hand. In giant and bold letters across the top of the page are the words “NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.” His surprise he prepared so much for is an NDA.

“An NDA? You handed me an NDA?” Your mouth is left hanging open as you stare at him in shock.

“Sexy, right?” He winks at you before his expression morphs into something solemn. “Although, I do suggest you look this over with your manager and lawyer. It wouldn’t be a fair contract if only one side benefits from constructing it. But once you sign, we’ll finally be able to be together.”

“You make it sound like we’re getting a prenup.”

“Babe, think about it. It’s like a sequel to a prenup.”

You fear that no amount of facial procedures from the best esthetician in the industry can smooth the amount of wrinkles you are getting from this conversation. Although, you are taken aback by this situation, you can’t possibly comprehend how a planned hot night alone with the actor before you can turn into this.

Feeling flustered about signing legal documents when you thought you were finally going to fuck your co-star, you decide it’s probably best if you spent the night alone in your hotel room. You mumble something about looking the papers over while handing him his outerwear so you can properly put your shirt back on.

“You’re leaving already?” He lightly tugs the hem of your shirt as if to ask you to stay.

“I just remembered my manager wanted to meet me after the event.” A lie. “I’ll see you.”

“So no head?

#svthub #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #joshua imagines #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #seventeen fic #joshua fic #joshua scenarios #seventeen scenarios #✏️ ━ himbocoups

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ssa-dado · 7 months ago

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6 - Synthesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, slow burn

Summary: After an intense case, you and Hotch struggle with unresolved tensions from a previous argument. On the train back, Hotch overhears Peter comforting you about a recent tragedy, realizing he’s been blind to your pain. Later, Hotch unexpectedly shows up at your apartment, opening up and apologizing for his emotional distance, leading to a heartfelt moment of mutual vulnerability. That evening, you attend Peter’s welcome-back party, feeling lighter and reconnecting with the team. That's when Peter makes an unusual bet with you.

Warnings: death, grief, emotional abuse, domestic violence, family dysfunction.

Word Count: 7.6k

Dado's Corner: Phi posting two chapters in less than 12 hours? More likely than you think. I was supposed to wait until tomorrow, but I just couldn’t help myself. Thank you all so much for the love and support you’ve shown for the series so far! Each of you holds a special place in my cold little heart. Please don’t hate me after this - it hurts me, too - but hey, there’s some interrogation room Aaron to sweeten things up. I’m particularly proud of this cute, lovely chapter. It doesn’t make me want to jump out the window. Not even a little bit. Embrace the pain.

previous part ; masterlist

Gideon smiled knowingly, his eyes shifting between you and Hotch. “Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis,” he mused, almost as if he were speaking to himself but loud enough for you to hear. “Funny how life always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

●

The observation room was dimly lit, casting long, uneven shadows over you and Peter as you stood behind the two-way mirror, your heartbeat seemed to echo in the quiet, barely audible over the hum of the fluorescent light. You watched Hotch on the other side, preparing to interrogate the suspect, he appeared calm as usual, wearing his mask of stoicism proudly on his face, but you could tell the tension was palpable.

The room beyond the glass was stark, the suspect sat at the metal table gleaming under the harsh light with a smug expression, arms casually draped over the back of his chair, utterly unbothered. Te view was borderline infuriating.

The hair on your arms stood up, not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had settled over the case. You couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you were grasping at straws, the weight of the local police’s blunders pressing heavily on your chest. They had fumbled, and badly. Critical evidence had slipped through their fingers, lost or contaminated in the chaos. You didn’t even want to hear the whole story—you were too furious, your senses shutting down as the same detective who had once doubted your work stumbled through a pathetic apology. All you had now was Hotch. No physical proof, no solid evidence to tie this man to the crimes you knew he’d committed.

Your gaze flicked back to the suspect, his arrogance nauseating. He knew the game, knew the system, and worse, he knew how to manipulate it to his advantage. There was a clock ticking in your mind, every second precious, the sense of urgency suffocating. If Hotch couldn’t break him - if he couldn’t find a way past the layers of lies and smug indifference - you’d lose him. You couldn’t afford that, not now.

Peter’s jaw clenched as he observed the scene, his frustration evident. “This was a mistake,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We warned them not to bring him in without something solid. Now we’re stuck trying to clean up their mess.”

You nodded, your mind still reeling from the argument with Hotch the night before, as if all of this mess wasn’t already enough for your nerves to handle. The tension between you two had lingered, unresolved and heavy, adding another layer to your frustration. You tried to shake it off, but it clung to you, making it even harder to focus. “Yeah, and now Hotch has to pull off a miracle,” you said, your voice tinged with both a tinge of annoyance and worry. “He’s got one shot to get this right.”

Peter turned his attention back to the interrogation room, his eyes narrowing as Hotch sat across from the suspect. “If anyone can do it, it’s him. I’ve seen Hotch work multiple times, and somehow he even looks sharper, more intense.”

Inside the room, Hotch began his interrogation with a measured calm, his eyes locked on the suspect, who lounged back in his chair, exuding a quiet confidence. Hotch started with the basics, the routine questions meant to establish rapport, but the suspect was playing his own game, answering with a smug smile and evasive nonchalance.

Hotch leaned back, crossing his arms as he observed the suspect’s every move, every twitch. “You’ve been careful,” Hotch said, his voice steady but probing. “I’ll give you that. You’ve covered your tracks well. But you slipped up, everyone makes mistakes, especially when they think they’re untouchable.”

The suspect smirked, feigning boredom. “You’re wasting your breath, Agent Hotchner. You and I both know you have nothing on me - no evidence, no witnesses. You’re grasping at straws.”

Hotch’s gaze remained unflinching, but you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he leaned in just slightly, narrowing the space between the two of them. “You’re right, we don’t have physical evidence, but we do have you, and that’s enough. Because here’s the thing - you’re not as smart as you think you are. You’ve made this personal, and personal is messy.”

The suspect chuckled, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as if this were a game to him. “Oh, please. I’ve seen every tactic in the book, and I’ve got an answer for all of them. You can’t intimidate me, Hotchner. I know my rights. You’ve got nothing.”

Hotch’s expression remained stoic, but there was a flash of determination in his eyes. “You think this is about intimidation? You’re missing the point. This isn’t about fear, it’s about you and the mistakes you’ve made. You’ve left a trail, little hints of who you really are. You think you’ve hidden them, but they’re there, buried in the details.”

The suspect’s confident facade faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered, scoffing. “You’re reaching. This isn’t some TV show where the bad guy breaks down in a dramatic confession. I’m not saying a damn thing without my lawyer.”

Hotch’s demeanor shifted, a cold, calculating edge creeping into his voice. “Your lawyer? You think your lawyer’s going to save you? They’ll do their job, make sure you’re comfortable, make sure you feel safe. But at the end of the day, they’re not in here with you, they’re not the ones facing the consequences of your actions - you are. And you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Hotch methodically chip away at the suspect’s arrogance. Each line of questioning was a carefully placed strike, designed to weaken his resolve, but the suspect wasn’t giving in easily. He deflected, twisted Hotch’s words, and tried to turn the conversation back on him.

“You think you’re so righteous, don’t you?” the suspect sneered, leaning forward with a glint of disdain in his eyes. “Sitting there, acting like you’ve got the moral high ground. You don’t know me, Agent Hotchner. You don’t know a damn thing about what I’ve been through, the people I’ve dealt with - you think you’re better than me?”

Hotch didn’t flinch even if the last words reminded him of the argument he had with you down at the lobby. “No, I don’t think I’m better than you, but I do know who you are. You’re the guy who blames everyone else when things go wrong, the guy who hides behind his intellect because he’s too scared to admit he’s just another coward trying to prove he’s not afraid. But guess what? That act doesn’t work on me.”

The suspect’s composure slipped, his anger flaring as Hotch hit a nerve. “You don’t get to judge me! You sit there like you’re some kind of saint, but you’re just as flawed as the rest of us. You have no right—”

Hotch cut him off sharply, his voice cold and unyielding. “You’re right. I’m not perfect. I’ve made my mistakes, and I own them. But I’m not the one hiding behind excuses, you are. You’re the one who thinks he can play God, decide who deserves to live or die based on your twisted sense of justice. But here’s the thing: you’re not in control, not anymore.”

From the observation room, you felt your chest tighten. Hotch was relentless, pushing the suspect further than you’d ever seen him push anyone before. It was as if he’d tapped into something raw and unforgiving, something that drove him to keep going, to tear down every last defense the suspect had.

Peter glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “I’ve never seen him go this hard. It’s like he’s on a mission.”

You nodded, the tension from last night’s argument still simmering inside you. You knew why Hotch was pushing himself like this: because of you, because of the unresolved words between you, and because he needed to prove something, maybe even to himself. “He’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”

Inside the room, the suspect’s attitude was crumbling. Hotch leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with a quiet menace. “You think you’re untouchable, that you’ve covered all your bases. But I’ve spent years in courtrooms taking down men just like you, men who thought they were too smart to get caught. I know every trick, every lie, every pathetic attempt to weasel your way out of the truth.”

The suspect’s face tightened, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to maintain control. But Hotch was unrelenting, his gaze piercing through every layer of the man’s defenses. “You don’t want to admit it, but you’re scared, I can see it in your eyes. You’re terrified that the truth is going to come out, that all your carefully crafted lies are going to fall apart right in front of you - so, here’s your last chance. Tell me the truth. Tell me why you did it.”

There was a beat of silence, a heavy pause as the suspect’s composure finally shattered. His shoulders slumped, his defiance giving way to resignation. He looked up at Hotch, defeated and angry, his voice breaking as he finally confessed, each word a bitter surrender. “Fine. Fine, you want the truth? I did it. I killed them. But you have no idea why. You don’t know what it’s like to be powerless.”

“No you’re right, I don’t.” Hotch sat back, a flicker of triumph in his eyes, though his expression remained guarded: he had what he needed. The confession was out, raw and unfiltered, pulled from the depths of the suspect’s desperation.

Peter let out a low whistle, still reeling from what he’d witnessed. “That was... intense. I’ve never seen Hotch like that, he’s kind of intimidating.”

You nodded in agreement, your gaze still fixed on Hotch as he calmly gathered his notes, preparing to leave the room. You could see the toll it had taken on him, the emotional weight he carried even as he walked out victorious, and as much as you wanted to celebrate the success, the confrontation from the night before still lingered, leaving you with the unsettling realization that this fight wasn’t just with the suspect - it was within Hotch himself.

When Hotch stepped out of the interrogation room, the tension in his posture seemed to ease, but only slightly. His face was set in its usual mask of calm control, yet there was a heaviness in his eyes, a flicker of something raw that he couldn’t quite hide. Peter clapped him on the back, a mix of admiration and relief in his expression. “Hell of a job, Hotch. You tore him apart. I’ve seen you work, but that was something else entirely.”

Hotch gave a tight nod, his jaw still clenched, but his gaze was already shifting past Peter, landing on you. His eyes were searching, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction, seeking some unspoken acknowledgment from you. “Thanks,” he said, his voice measured but tinged with exhaustion. “It had to be done.”

You stood there with your arms crossed, leaning against the wall, trying to maintain a composed exterior, but inside, you were anything but calm. Watching Hotch in that room, ruthlessly tearing down the suspect’s defenses, stirred something deep within you. It was impressive, yes, but also unsettling. You had never seen him so relentless, so driven - and you knew exactly what was fueling his determination.

As Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, there was a silent understanding between you, a shared acknowledgment of the emotional battlefield you both were navigating. The words from your argument the night before still echoed in your mind, sharp and unresolved, like an open wound that hadn’t had the chance to heal. The case had forced you both to set your personal issues aside, but now, in the aftermath, they were still there, hovering between you like a shadow neither of you could ignore.

Peter glanced between the two of you, sensing the charged atmosphere but choosing not to comment. He knew better than to pry, but even he could tell that whatever was going on between you and Hotch went deeper than the usual tension of a difficult case. “We got what we needed,” Peter said, trying to break the silence. “That’s what matters. Now we can finally put this bastard away.”

Hotch nodded, but his eyes never left yours, and in that moment, it felt like the rest of the room had faded away. It was just the two of you, caught in a silent standoff where neither of you knew how to take the next step. You wanted to say something, anything that would bridge the gap that had formed between you, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the emotions you’d been trying so hard to keep in check.

The triumph of the confession felt hollow against the weight of what was still left unsaid. You and Hotch had always been able to read each other, but now, standing on opposite sides of this unspoken rift, it was as if the connection you’d relied on had fractured. There was so much you wanted to ask him: why he’d pushed so hard, why he seemed so desperate to prove something today, and why he couldn’t let his guard down, even for a moment. But instead, you just nodded, swallowing back the questions that burned at the back of your throat. “You did what you had to do,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though it wavered slightly. “Good work, Hotch.”

Hotch’s gaze softened for a brief second, a flicker of regret or maybe gratitude crossing his features, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Thanks,” he replied, his voice lower, more personal than before. “We all did.”Peter’s presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone, but it didn’t ease the tension that thrummed between you and Hotch. As Hotch turned to leave, the weight of your argument still hung heavy, unresolved, and painful. You watched him go, the distance between you feeling wider than ever, despite being just a few feet apart.

And as you stood there, with Peter by your side and the echo of Hotch’s footsteps fading down the corridor, you realized that the hardest part of this case wasn’t just about catching a killer, it was about facing the fractures in your own relationships, the ones that no amount of profiling or interrogation could ever fix.

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks was a dull, constant noise that filled the otherwise quiet cabin. You sat alone, your head down and your pen moving steadily across the paper as you filled out your case report. It was a task you’d thrown yourself into, your way of avoiding the one thing you weren’t ready to confront: Hotch.

Hotch sat a few rows behind you, his back to you, mirroring your actions as he worked on his own report with a similar intensity. It was almost poetic how the two of you were so much alike: both of you throwing yourselves into your work to avoid the harder truths, and neither willing to make the first move toward reconciliation.

As you focused on your writing, you heard footsteps approach. You didn’t need to look up to know it was Peter; you’d recognized the casual confidence in his stride from a mile away. He slid into the seat beside you without asking, his presence a familiar and oddly comforting interruption.

Peter glanced at your half-filled report, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You never could sit still, could you?” he said, his voice soft but laced with a hint of fondness. “Always working, always thinking.”

You tried to muster a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just trying to get this done before we get back,” you said, your tone evasive. You knew why he’d come over, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the conversation you’d been avoiding since you’d seen him again.

Peter watched you for a moment, his expression shifting from casual to serious. He took a deep breath, glancing at the report before returning his gaze to you. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I’ve been wanting to tell you this since I got back, but I didn’t want to bring it up while we were in the middle of the case.”

You stiffened, knowing exactly what he was going to say but hoping he wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your dad’s funeral,” Peter said, his voice heavy with regret. “I wanted to be, but I was stuck overseas. I hate that I wasn’t there.”

You clenched your jaw, staring down at the paper in front of you, your pen hovering uselessly above the page. The memories of that day flooded backstanding at the grave, the heavy weight of loss pressing down on your chest, and the overwhelming feeling of being completely and utterly alone. You’d been surrounded by people, but none of them had truly understood, none of them had been him.

“It’s fine, Pete,” you said, though your voice was shaky. “You were doing your job. Besides, it’s not like it would’ve changed anything.”

Peter shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “No, it’s not okay. You were always there for me, even when we were just kids trying to figure out what the hell we were doing with our lives. And I couldn’t even show up when you needed me the most.”

Peter studied you, his eyes searching yours. He could see the cracks you were trying so desperately to hide, the way you were holding yourself together with sheer willpower. “I should have been there,” he insisted gently. “I know how much you went through with him… I remember everything you told me about him.”

A knot formed in your throat as you thought back to your childhood, your father’s relentless work ethic, his unyielding drive for perfection. He had been your hero in so many ways, but he’d also been your downfall. You’d inherited his toxic trait of overworking yourself, the constant need to be better, to be more. It was how you’d coped with the chaos at home, the screaming matches between your parents that had been your daily soundtrack. Your mother, exasperated and exhausted, would often switch languages mid-argument to keep you in the dark, to protect you - or maybe just to exclude you - from the mess they had created.

“I was just a kid, you know?” you said quietly, your voice tinged with bitterness. “All I wanted was to understand why they were always fighting. I started learning every language my mom switched to, Italian, Spanish, anything that would give me a clue, but instead of finding answers, I just… found more reasons to stay away.”

Peter’s eyes softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he listened. “You drowned yourself in books, in knowledge, just to escape,” he said, his voice low. “I remember you telling me that once, how you’d sit in those lecture halls at the university, absorbing everything because it was better than being home.”

Your childhood had been filled their voices rising in heated exchanges that always seemed to end in silence, your father retreating to his study to bury himself in more work, and your mother seeking solace in her books. To escape the turbulence at home, you’d thrown yourself into your studies with a fervor that bordered on obsession. You’d devoured literature, philosophy, psychology, anything that could distract you from the reality of your parents’ failing marriage, to gain a semblance of control in a world that often felt chaotic and out of reach.

You had become fluent in the languages they used to hide their pain from you, and in doing so, you became fluent in the art of distancing yourself from your own emotions. The habit of overworking, of pouring yourself into every task with unrelenting focus, was something you had learned from your father, a toxic legacy that you couldn’t quite shake, even now. It had been the source of countless arguments with your mother, who had begged you not to follow in his footsteps, to find balance, to live a life that wasn’t dictated by the demands of work. But it was easier said than done, and as the years went on, you found yourself mirroring his habits more than you cared to admit.

You nodded, swallowing hard against the emotion that threatened to choke you. “I kept pushing myself, kept chasing after something I couldn’t even name. My dad… he always told me that hard work was the only thing that mattered, he never slowed down, never stopped, and neither did I. Even when their marriage fell apart… even when he got sick. I just… I couldn’t stop.”

You hesitated, your eyes welling up with tears that you refused to let fall. “I didn’t even cry at his funeral, I just stood there, feeling nothing. And I haven’t been to visit his grave since.”

Peter gently reached out, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, tightly hugging you. “It’s okay not to be okay, Y/N,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this all on your own. The least I can do is be the shoulder you can lean on.” Peter squeezed your shoulder gently, his eyes filled with compassion. “Your dad was tough, but he loved you, Y/N. And you don’t have to prove anything to him, not anymore. You’re allowed to grieve, to feel lost, to not have all the answers.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. “I know. But sometimes it’s hard to remember that.”

Hotch sat just behind you, his back facing yours, he had intended to keep to himself, to give you the space you needed, but the quiet murmurs of your conversation had carried over. He couldn’t help but overhear Peter’s words, and as he listened, a wave of guilt and realization washed over him.

Hotch had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to see through the masks they wore, but he hadn’t seen through yours. He hadn’t seen the pain you’d been hiding, the grief that had been eating away at you just beneath a slim surface. And suddenly, your words from the night before came crashing back: how he didn’t know you, how he’d never bothered to look beyond the professional facade you’d built.

His own mind flickered back to his childhood, the memories of his father’s anger, the violence that lurked behind every door. Hotch had spent years burying and hiding those scars, never letting anyone see how deeply they ran. He had kept it all locked away, just as you had, believing that the only way to survive was to keep moving, to never let the pain catch up.

For the first time, Hotch truly understood why you had lashed out at him. You had seen in him the very thing you feared in yourself: the relentless drive to work, to control, to avoid facing the hurt that lingered beneath. He realized now that you were so much more alike than he had ever imagined, both of you haunted by the ghosts of your pasts, both trying to outrun the pain that always seemed to catch up.

As Hotch stared out the window at the passing scenery, he felt a deep sense of remorse. He wished he had known, wished he had been able to offer you the support you so clearly needed. But all he could do now was hope that you would one day trust him enough to let him in, to share the burdens you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Peter’s voice broke the silence, pulling Hotch from his thoughts. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that? But it’s okay to let someone else be strong for you, too.”

You nodded, wiping away the tears that had finally escaped. “Thanks, Pete. It’s just… it’s hard.”

“I know,” Peter said softly. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Hotch listened to the quiet exchange, the raw honesty between you and Peter striking a chord deep within him. He knew now that he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that the walls he had built were enough to protect him or you. As the train sped toward Quantico, Hotch made a silent promise to himself: he would do better, he would be better. For you, and for himself.

Because in the end, you both deserved more than just the comfort of solitude. You deserved to be understood, to be seen, and to finally let go of the burdens you had carried for far too long.

Peter on the other hand had always been the kind of friend who could read you like a book, even when you tried to keep the pages closed. And after this emotional confrontation he knew he didn’t have to push further. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way you were holding yourself together by the thinnest thread. So, he did what he always did best, he tried to lift your spirits, if only for a moment.

He leaned back in his seat, studying your expression with a knowing smile. “You know, Y/N, you don’t have to unload everything on me right now. You’re allowed to keep some things to yourself. You don’t owe anyone your pain.” His tone was light, but there was a deep, unspoken understanding beneath it. He knew you were struggling, and he wanted you to know that it was okay to take your time.

You gave him a small, tired smile, grateful for his patience. “I know, Pete. It’s just... hard to talk about. I’ve been so focused on work, it’s easier that way. It’s all I know.”

Peter nodded, his eyes softening with empathy. “I get it. But maybe it’s time to leave work behind, just for a little while. You don’t have to think about everything right now. Start small. Maybe try coming out of your room every once in a while?” He said it with a teasing grin, nudging your shoulder playfully, hoping to coax even the smallest laugh out of you.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head at his attempt to lighten the mood. “I know, I’ve been a bit of a hermit lately. I guess it’s easier to just shut myself away.”

Peter’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, lucky for you, your presence is strictly required at my welcome-back party tonight. The team’s putting it together, and you have no excuses not to come. I already told them you’d be there.”

You groaned, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Seriously? Peter, I don’t know if I’m up for-”

He cut you off, holding up a hand. “Ah-ah, no excuses. We’ll be back by early afternoon, you’ll have plenty of time to rest, take a shower, and then you’re going to show up and have a good time, even if I have to drag you there myself.”

You rolled your eyes, but his enthusiasm was infectious. There was a warmth in his insistence, a reminder that you weren’t alone and that there was still joy to be found, even in the smallest of moments. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there. But only because you’re the most obnoxiously persistent person I know.”

Peter laughed, giving you a mock bow from his seat. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, Y/N, it’ll be good to see you outside of the office for once. We all miss you, and I promise, you’ll be glad you came.”

You nodded, feeling a small flicker of anticipation amidst the exhaustion. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to look forward to something that wasn’t work, something that didn’t involve endless reports or painful memories. It wasn’t a solution to all your problems, but it was a start—a chance to reconnect with the people who mattered, to take a breath and remember that there was more to life than the shadows that had been chasing you.

As you looked at Peter, his familiar smile reminding you of all the good things you’d shared over the years, you felt a small surge of hope. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The train ride back to Quantico had felt endless, but the weight of the unresolved emotions made the journey back to your apartment even more suffocating. Peter’s words lingered, tugging at wounds you hadn’t dared to touch, and Hotch’s distant presence weighed heavily on your mind. The familiar solitude of your apartment was supposed to be comforting, but tonight, it felt more like a reminder of all the things you’d been running from: your grief, your past, and the fragile, fraying connection with the person who had come to mean so much to you.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, letting it fall with a thud that echoed through the empty space. You leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling the cool surface against your palms as you tried to ground yourself. You wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. It was as if you’d locked them away, buried them beneath layers of duty and distraction.

But then there was a knock at your door, soft and tentative, almost like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they should be there. You hesitated, wiping at your eyes quickly as if to compose yourself, and moved to answer. You half-expected to find Peter, still worried about you after the train ride, or maybe even no one at all, just a mistake. But when you opened the door, it was Hotch who stood before you.

He looked different, more vulnerable and uncertain than you had ever seen him. His usually composed demeanor was frayed, and there was a rawness in his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. He stood there awkwardly, clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright, his face etched with a mixture of hesitation and determination.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a fragile thread, one wrong move away from snapping. Hotch looked down, swallowing hard as if searching for the right words. He wasn’t in his usual pristine suit but rather dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, his attire as out of place as the uncertainty written across his face.

“Hotch?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, tinged with both surprise and concern. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you, as if he was struggling to find the right words, struggling to let down the walls he had spent a lifetime building. He stepped inside, and you quietly closed the door behind him, your heart pounding as you waited for him to speak. He took a few slow steps into the living room, glancing around as if trying to ground himself in the unfamiliar space.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice strained and brittle, every word heavy with unspoken pain. “I know this isn’t… I shouldn’t have just shown up like this, but I needed to talk to you. About… about what you said last night, and today on the train. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation with Peter.”

This wasn’t the composed, confident man you knew at work, this was Aaron, someone you never got to see, someone who was barely holding it together. “ You were right, Y/N. You were right about everything.”

You stood there, frozen, as his words hit you like a wave. You had never heard Hotch sound so vulnerable, so broken. He was always the strong one, the unshakable agent who never let his guard down, but tonight, he was just Aaron, and he was struggling.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep things separate,” he began, his voice trembling. “I thought if I could just focus on the work, I could ignore everything else—everything that hurt, everything that felt out of my control. But I can’t keep doing that. It’s not who I am, and it’s not who I want to be anymore.”

Hotch’s hands shook as he tried to steady himself, his eyes brimming with emotions he had kept buried for so long. “My father... he was abusive. He was cruel in ways that I can’t even put into words. He’d tear me apart with his words, his fists, anything to remind me that I was never good enough. I grew up in a house that felt more like a battlefield than a home, where silence was never safe and every day was just another fight to survive.”

His voice cracked, and you could see the weight of those memories in his eyes: the fear, the shame, the endless need to be perfect because nothing less would ever be enough for a man who thrived on control. “I tried so hard to protect my mom, my brother, but I was just a kid. There were nights when I’d lie awake, praying he’d leave us alone, praying I’d be strong enough to make it stop. But it never did. And I swore that when I grew up, I’d never be like him. I’d never let anyone see that weakness.”

You listened, your own tears finally breaking free as his pain washed over you. You had never imagined Hotch’s past had been so brutal, so deeply scarred by violence and fear. He had always seemed so put together, so composed, but now, you could see just how much he had been hiding, how much he had been carrying all this time.

“I thought if I kept that part of myself locked away, I’d be able to move on. I thought… I thought if I became Hotch, the profiler, that it would erase all the things he said I’d never be. But it’s just made me more closed off, more afraid to let anyone in. And I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t even know how to stop.”

He looked at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, and you could see the desperation there - the plea for understanding, for forgiveness, for something he couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know how to let people in, Y/N. I don’t know how to not be this… this guarded version of myself. But if I’m going to try, if I’m going to let anyone see me, I want it to be you. Because you were right when you said I don’t know you, but I want to. And you deserve to know me, too—the real me.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside you, and without thinking, you closed the distance between you and pulled him into a tight, desperate hug. Hotch tensed at first, unaccustomed to such unguarded intimacy, but then his arms wrapped around you, and you could feel him finally letting go. His head bowed against your shoulder, and his entire frame shook with the silent sobs he’d been holding back for too long.

You clung to him, your own tears mingling with his, and in that moment, it felt like the dam you’d both been holding back had finally broken. You were no longer the stoic agents who always had the answers, always kept it together. You were just two people, scarred and hurting, trying to find solace in the only way you knew how: by holding on to each other.

Hotch’s hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he held you closer, as if you were the lifeline he had been searching for. He whispered apologies between his tears, his voice cracking with the weight of his regrets. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you.”

You shook your head, burying your face into his neck, your tears soaking through his t-shirt as you let out all the grief you’d kept buried: the loss of your father, the unresolved pain of your parents’ broken marriage, the way you had thrown yourself into work to keep from falling apart. You had been running for so long, hiding behind your accomplishments, just like him.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Aaron,” you whispered through your tears, the use of his first name slipping out naturally in this moment of raw honesty. “I had no idea. I was so angry, and I—”

He shook his head, his voice soft but firm as he whispered back, “You don’t have to apologize. You were right… about all of it. I needed to hear it. I needed to face it.”

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped up in each other’s pain and understanding, the weight of your shared burdens finally feeling just a little bit lighter. There were no perfect words, no easy fixes, but in that embrace, you found something neither of you had expected—comfort, solace, and the beginning of a new kind of trust.

“It’s okay,” you whispered through your tears, clutching him tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

For the first time, it felt like you were truly seen, truly understood, and the relief of it was overwhelming. You didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to be strong or perfect or put together. You could just be, and he could just be, and that was enough.

Hotch pulled back slightly, your eyes finally met, both of you still teary but no longer hiding. There was a silent understanding there, a promise that from now on, things would be different. “No more walls. No more hiding.” He murmured, his voice shaky but filled with a quiet determination.

You nodded, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. You didn’t know what the future would hold, but as you held each other in that quiet, tear-stained moment, you knew that you weren’t alone anymore. You had each other, and that was a start. It was messy, and it was painful, but it was real. And in that, you found hope - hope that maybe, together, you could begin to heal. You weren’t just partners in the professional sense anymore; you were something more—two people learning to let each other in, to lean on each other’s strength when your own wasn’t enough. And in that simple, fragile moment, you both knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone, that your new friend would be right there at your side.

The evening had settled over the city, and the Irish pub next to your apartment block was buzzing with energy. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel a glimmer of lightness, excitement bubbling at the thought of spending time with Hotch, Peter, and the rest of your colleagues from the BAU. After everything that had happened, the weight of unresolved emotions had eased, if only slightly, and you found yourself looking forward to reconnecting with your team outside the pressures of the job.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d stopped by a bookstore, the small shop tucked between a row of cafes and boutique stores you often passed but rarely visited. As you browsed the shelves, your eyes fell on a book titled "Hegel for Dummies." It was a perfect, lighthearted gesture, a small symbol of your newfound friendship with Hotch, and a callback to the night you’d spent poring over Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs at the library. You thought that maybe, after his recent dive into architecture, he might take an interest in philosophy too, especially Hegel, one of your favorites. The book felt like a tiny olive branch, a way of letting him into your world a little more, just as he had let you into his the night before.

You imagined him reading it, piecing together Hegel’s ideas on thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, and maybe learning something about you in the process. And who knew? Maybe one day, if you were lucky, he’d hand you one of his favorite books, offering you another glimpse into the parts of himself he rarely showed.

When you walked into the pub, the warm light and chatter were an immediate comfort. You spotted your team at a long wooden table near the back, and to your surprise, you saw Gideon sitting there, crutches leaned against the wall, his leg injury having kept him out of the latest case. Rossi was beside him, the two of them looking as inseparable as ever, trading stories and laughs over pints of beer. It was a sight that immediately lifted your spirits.

“Look who finally made it!” Rossi called out, waving you over. “Come on, we saved you a seat.”

You grinned, making your way through the crowd. “Rossi, Gideon, you two didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

Gideon leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, you didn’t think we’d miss the party, did you? Besides, someone has to make sure Peter doesn’t get too full of himself.”

Peter shot you a wink, raising his glass in greeting. “They’re just here to bask in my glory, Y/N. But don’t let them fool you, they’ve been talking about you all night.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you took a seat between Gideon and Peter. “I’m sure they have. So, what did I miss?”

Before anyone could answer, Hotch walked in, his presence as commanding as ever, though there was a new softness in his eyes when he spotted you. You exchanged a smile, a silent acknowledgment of the night before, and of the steps you were both taking toward something new, something vulnerable.

“Hotch!” Rossi greeted, patting the empty seat beside him. “Come sit, we’re debating where Peter’s new desk should be. Since Y/N’s parked herself at his old one, we might need to reshuffle the whole bullpen.”

Hotch took his seat, glancing at you with a teasing smile. “I think she’s gotten too comfortable. I doubt she’s giving it up.”

Peter leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial whispering into your ear “Wanna make a bet?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “See that woman behind Hotch’s shoulder? If she doesn’t come talk to him, you get to keep your desk.”

You eyed the woman briefly, noticing her casual yet elegant demeanor, but she seemed engrossed in her own conversation. Hotch was engaged in a discussion with Rossi, showing no sign of noticing her. You were confident this would be an easy win, especially given Hotch’s typically reserved nature. “Alright,” you said, turning back to Peter. “And what do you get if you win?”

Peter’s grin widened, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. “A date. With you.”

The unexpected proposition caught you off guard, and for a moment, you felt your cheeks warm. You glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was serious, but his expression remained light, teasing. You brushed it off with a laugh, pretending he was just messing with you. “Okay, you’re on.”

But no sooner had you accepted the bet than the woman, as if she had somehow overheard your conversation, moved toward Hotch with an expression of surprise. You watched in stunned silence as she approached, her voice soft and familiar. “Aaron? What were the odds?”

Your heart sank as Hotch’s face lit up, a rare and genuine smile crossing his features, his cheeks flushed slightly, and there was a familiarity between them that made your chest tighten. You felt Peter nudge you, his voice breaking through the shock. “Looks like you owe me a date.”

You barely registered his words, too fixated on the interaction unfolding in front of you. Hotch returned to the table with the woman by his side, her presence seeming to fill the room in a way that made you feel suddenly small and out of place. Hotch’s voice cut through the noise, introducing her with a casualness that belied the weight of the moment. “Everyone, this is Haley.”

You barely managed to hold your composure, the pieces of this unexpected puzzle falling into place as you processed Hotch’s flushed expression and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. This wasn’t just anyone, this was someone from his past, someone who clearly was very close and definitely had shared some sort of romantic history with him. The bitter thoughts stung more than you wanted to admit.

Before you could say anything, Gideon, ever the observant one, leaned over, catching sight of the corner of a book sticking out of your open purse. “Hegel for Dummies?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, amusement flickering in his voice as he picked it up to inspect.

You nodded, still too stunned to fully engage, your mind elsewhere. “Yeah. It’s… it’s just a little joke,” you managed, though the words felt hollow in the moment.

The words hung heavy in the air, and as you sat there, watching Hotch interact with Haley, you couldn’t help but feel the truth in them. Life was messy, a constant push and pull of opposing forces, and you were caught in the middle of it, trying to make sense of what it all meant.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x reader

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slut4b1ls · 8 months ago

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—NOTICED (prologue)

BILLIE EILISH X F!READER

summary: One morning you wake up to a mail from Billie Eilish’s manager asking you to star in her new music video..

prologue part one

You got up from your bed and went over to your window to let the sun in. Immediately after that you went to get dressed and opened your laptop to check your mail. This was basically a part of your everyday routine at this point. You hated when something lingered in your inbox for too long so you found it extremely therapeutic to check and respond to all the new mails before starting the day. Usually most of them were a part of spam, however there was one this specific morning that caught your attention.

The title of the mail was a simple «Music Video». The mail didn’t seem like a scam and as soon as you opened it, you were left paralyzed.

The mail was sent by a… Billie Eilish’s manager. The person asked if you would be interested in taking a part of the singer’s new music video she’s directing by herself. If so, they asked for you to anwser with with your phone numer, so that they could contact you.

In the mail the manager gave you an info confirming the legitimacy of their identity, so after making sure everything is safe you responded quicker than ever. It all happened so fast, later that day you ended up on a call with the mentioned manager. This whole situation truly felt like a fever dream.

The woman on the other side of the phone explained shortly the idea of the mv and assured you that if you would agree to take a part in it, they would completely took care of your flight and hotel since you lived far from the place the shooting was supposed to take a place at.

You agreed to everything the manager said though there was a lot of questions on your mind. You’ve never taken a part of any music video, you lived far away, you were not famous, so.. why you? Where did they even found you?

You were a huge fan of Billie’s music, but it’s not like you would post anywhere about it. You loved taking pictures of yourself and that’s what your Instagram account was filled with. You absolutely were not famous, basically almost all of your followers were people you knew. But that was the only place where your mail could be found at. Did Billie’s team found you on there? Or did she found you herself? It all didn’t make sense to you at all.

As the call ended, all you knew is that you had a flight to Los Angeles in 3 weeks and will be staying in a luxurious hotel. She explained that the mv is supposed to be a follow up to Billie’s successful hit ,,Lunch” and you were expected to star in it as ,,Eilish’s love interest”.

The whole situation was so fresh that it still didn’t seemed real to you. All you could do to confirm the thesis of the whole situation was to waiting the said 3 weeks.

a/n: A short prologue to introduce you to a series I wanted to start. Expect part one to be out soon and let me know what do we think about this idea!!💟

masterlist.

#—noticed series *ೃ༄#—fanfics*ೃ༄#billie eilish #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x reader #wlw

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bvidzsoo · 1 year ago

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Love Me Like A Rockstar (masterlist)

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

🎸 Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au 🎸 Rating: 18+ (swearing, suggestive eventually) 🎸 Status: complete

Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

♫ Playlist ♫

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 1⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 2⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 3⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 4⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 5⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 6⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 7⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 8⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 9⌟

❱❱ ⌜Special Chapter⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 10⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 11⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 12 ⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 13⌟

❱❱ ⌜Chapter 14⌟

❱❱ ⌜Epilogue⌟

ー☆ Art is a line around your thoughts ー☆ Gustav Klimt

A/N: So, instead of writing my thesis here I am starting a new series?? Lovely, isn't it? First chapter should be out soon, hopefully, but no guarantee about updating fast, hope you can understand. I'm starting a taglist, so just let me know on this post if you want to be tagged. Also, the playlist will be updated with each chapter as the songs are closely tied to the story and I advise you listen to them and pay close attention to the lyrics as well. I'm super excited about this whole thing; and a huge shout-out to my bestie @orshii for helping me brainstorm, and for listening to me ramble about this whole story lol, and for helping me choose the songs and everything else tied to this story, thank you very much, love you!!! (divider)

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holidayinhell · 8 months ago

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Whump Writing Masterlist

Drabbles (<1000 words)

I need it

Good Dog

Hunting

Tea

Morning Light

Went Too Far

Mistakes

Ashtray

Carewhumper

Failed Escape

Ask for it properly

Don't fight this

Oneshots:

(asterisks = explicitly sexual and/or NC)

Failed Escape - Fearing for his life, Whumpee tries to escape his captivity, only for Whumper to drag him back.

The Laundry Room ** - Whumpee’s frustrations with being kidnapped hit a boiling point.

Heat Stroke - Whumper forces Whumpee to walk home in the desert heat.

Role Reversal *** - Whumpee turns the tables on Whumper and finds himself in the position of power.

Help Me - Whumpee is denied medical treatment.

Thesis Project - Whumpee volunteers to take part in an experiment to impress his crush.

The Table - Whumpee thinks he's the exception to the rule. He's not.

A Tough Lesson to Learn - Caretaker has gotten too close to Whumpee, Whumper’s personal bloodbag. The vampire master teaches his charge a lesson.

Hands Up - Whumpee managed to steal a gun, and backs Whumper into a corner.

Unexpected Visit** - Whumpee receives a late night visit from his old fuck buddy, Whumper. It takes a while for him to realize just how much Whumper has changed..... (vampire whumper/human whumpee)

Scream If You Want - Whumpee is holding out on Whumper...

Series:

Brutal Honesty - Part 1

Whumpee is held for ransom, and time is almost up. (update 10/7-- sequel in progress!!)

Went Too Far - Part 1

Went Too Far - Part 2

Prompts:

Taunting Whumpee

Carewhump Prompts

Human Whumper / Vampire Whumpee

Intimate Whumper dialogue***

Intimate Whumper dialogue 2***

Feeding Whumpee

Noncon Whumper dialogue***

Forced Body Modification dialogue

Miscellaneous:

Interview with Whumper and Whumpee***

(also, hey, if you run through this list and like 5+ posts please do consider following me, I post regularly! thank you!)

#whump writing #pinned #masterlist

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iheartdoll · 1 year ago

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Audio Recommendations 10

Irish guy gives you instructions (I found this in the mist of being in love with Paul Mescal and Hozier)

Road head as payment (SO imagine Steve or Eddie drive you to a drive through and offers to pay, so you pay him back with brain)

Role play ends up in car sex

"I'm not fucking you raw" (This was sent to me, everybody say thank you)

F4F Fdom Punishment (picture Robin getting more comfortable about being sexual with you, I really liked this)

F4F "Don't worry about the mess baby, I'll clean up later" (strap on)

F4F watching porn with your Dom Girlfriend (also strap on)

F4M orgasm denial (Nancy to Jonathan. I won't say anything else)

Fuckbuddy catches feeling for you and confesses after hooking up

Usually, it takes me a long time to put a list together, but there's been some good audios going around this time. Also, I should be writing my thesis, but I'd much rather do this instead.

To the person that asked me for more F4F audios, here they are. My problem with female audios is that sometimes I feel like their voices are to porn-ish, you know what I mean? However, I like the ones I found this time. This was quickly put together, so let me know if something doesn't work

Important message too: With this last post of audio recs, I'll probably take some time off since I'm in my last semester of college and I need to focus on that. I'll be saving audios I find for myself and share them whenever I come back. Please ask me for audios as well and message me if you enjoy my posts anyway! I love talking to you guys

As always, thanks for liking and reblogging. Here's the masterlist of audios where I've linked the search bar for you to use it!

#steve harrington #soundgasm #audiorecs #eddie munson #stranger things smut #strangerthings #steve harrington smut #smut #audiorecommendations #robin buckley #robin x nancy #robin buckley smut #nancy wheeler smut #nancy wheeler #steve harrington stranger things #jonathan byers

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kevinsdsy · 11 months ago

Note

hi!! i hope this ask finds you in good spirits. I don’t know if you do requests or not, and if you don’t then I sincerely apologize. but if you do, I was wondering if you would consider doing a few Trojans socmed au posts that take place during the summer Olympics and the Trojans decided to go and watch because they’re in Paris. thank you for taking the time to read this and I love your posts so much!! 🩷

THIS IS SUCH A FUN IDEA!!! took a break off my thesis today, so i had time to immediately work on this hehe <3333 these are just the pre-texts (no tweets yet) but i think imma add a special series for this to my masterlist, so i can keep it updated throughout the summer :)) i was also planning to tune into the olympics this year since i’m not going on vacation anyways and will be inbetween jobs too so i’ll have loads of time to kill and i think it’d be fun to have the trojans watch & live tweet some other sports too (if i decide to commit to that) but for now please enjoy an unexpected second update of the day hehe <333 thank u so much for this ily

#the trojans social media au #foxes social media au #olympics special?#aftg #all for the game #the sunshine court #tsc #jean moreau #jeremy knox #kevin day #shawn anderson #laila dermott #cat alvarez #derek thompson #nabil mahmoud #cody winter #ananya deshmukh

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forevamark · 4 months ago

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time lapse | 1. dreams and all

remember when i said ‘would be posted tomorrow.’..?

... and that was like... 2 years ago? well i lied. LOL life has been rough lately but alas my pride and joy is finished.

Pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

Tags: pre idol debut to idol au, christmas and new years time line, slice of life moments, college student reader, substantial plot leading to smut, very dialogue heavy, angsty moments, slow burn, relationship struggle, lovers to exes to lovers

Intended for 18+ readers, minors do not interact.

masterlist for time lapse

ᥫ᭡.next

Word Count : 6.1k+

Summary: Mark has always had the dream of becoming a big music star, meanwhile your aspirations lied with academics and coexisting with Mark. Mark struggles with telling reader that he will be leaving for Korea to pursue his music career very soon, in fear of losing what they have.

warnings are under the tab for chapters that apply.

------------

“What do you think about this?” Mark asked as he sat above you strumming on his guitar. You were sitting on the floor between his legs focused on your eight-page paper.

“In a sec,” you reply while wrapping up the sentence you were on.

“Take a break…” Mark whined trying to pry the laptop from your speedy fingers.

“Mark, it’s due in two days. I will listen in a sec.”

“Mhmm.” He sulked, leaning back into the sofa and continuing his chord progression.

Days like this were stressful- due to the plethora of assignments that piled on- but soothing in a way. Your schedules never aligned this often, but Mark was so entirely enamored with you that he’d do anything to spend his free time just being with you.

“I can’t believe it’s been three hours and I only have my thesis done,” you sighed while resting your head on his knee.

“You got this,” he replies while running a hand soothingly through your hair while the other writes something down on the notepad next to him, “I believe in you.”

“Do you need anything to help you focus? Am I being too loud?” he asks while going to the kitchen and lighting your favorite candle, “I can make you a snack?”

“Do you mind getting me some fruit? I feel like I need some brain food.” You asked while cracking your knuckles and continuing to type away.

Mark nods and walks back over, handing you a cut persimmon with the skin peeled off. He always knew what you needed before even saying it out loud.

Humming in appreciation you immediately start chewing on the sliced fruit.

Eyeing him from the corner you see him looking out of your apartment window. It was raining hard outside, Mark’s favorite.

“Anything else you need to work on?” you ask. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Not much else, I want your opinion on what I have then I’ll see what I can add from there. Don’t worry though,” he turns to look at you with a small smile, “I can wait.”

Mark has always been supportive of your dreams and aspirations. It was a shock when he told you he wouldn’t be joining you at university, but rather pursuing music instead. Although an adjustment, you supported him and he rooted for you. It seemed to be working out, he passed the first two rounds of auditions for a big music company and it looked like things were finally looking up for him.

Some days you wouldn’t see him at all, and some days he picked you up from class and would stay glued to your side. He claims that he ‘soaked up inspiration from you’ hence the constant quality time and skinship. He knew you were working hard, pursuing a higher education was so important to you and your family, and he wanted to be present every step of the way.

Unbeknownst to you, Mark also had a dark cloud overlooking him just like the city in front of him. He hasn’t yet told you that he passed the third and final round of auditions for his company and would be slated to move to Korea before the end of the year to begin his training. He couldn’t bear to break the news to you, not yet. Not when you were so close to finishing one of your hardest semesters yet.

“I think I can pull you away from that screen now y/n,” he says while tugging you away from the black-and-white screen.

“Hey! I’m not finished yet! I thought you said you could wait” you pouted trying to get loose.

“You’ve been working nonstop, you aren’t being as productive anymore.” He chuckles while slotting you to the seat across from him.

“Hi.” he smiles at you.

“Hi,” you respond.

There’s a moment of silence shared between you two. The only sound was the soft pitter-patter from outside hitting the patio. Mark stares at you lovingly, you can tell something is wrong but you can’t find the words to ask him just yet, too entranced by the current hold he has on you.

“So, the song, yeah?” you finally whisper aloud.

“Hold on,” he replies, licking his lips and searching every inch of your face, memorizing this very moment to inspire him for what he’s about to play.

“What’s the holdup? Don’t get stage fright in front of me now Lee,” you lightly say while giggling.

“I, I just want to make you proud, okay?” he finally says with sad eyes.

“You always will, Mark.”

Guilt washed over Mark. Things were great, perfect even. But he just had to aspire for more. He should be satisfied with what he has now, he’s close to home, has a stable music career here in Canada, and most importantly, you. But just like you, he had the moon but he wanted every damn star in the galaxy. He didn’t want change, but nothing could satiate the hunger for something more. He was leaving, because he knew that this life, now, isn’t enough.

“Okay.” he takes a moment to gather himself, taking in some deep breaks and shaking his nerves out through his hands.

“Let’s hear it!” you shuffle sitting up straight in your chair.

Mark lets out one final breath before starting a low strum on his guitar. Flashes of memories throughout your relationship flash before his eyes. Your first snow day in Canada when you couldn’t get the ice off of your windshield, to the countless nights of watching reruns of Glee in your small shared apartment.

He hits the chorus for the first time, opening his eyes to look around the room, unable to look at you just yet. Pictures of you two littered the walls, filled with your smiling and laughing faces.

Mark mumbles small noises of nonsense to fill in the parts he doesn’t know what to put in between, sometimes trying out some lyrics at the top of his head. He shakes his head and chuckles when words don’t rhyme or quite fit, in return you share a smile enjoying him delving into his craft.

There’s something about the way that Mark can lose himself completely, in his little world and for brief moments you’re able to enter his mind, envisioning every note in a flow of synesthesia. He’s able to create color and landscape through sound, and what’s crazier is that he doesn’t even realize the extent of his art.

“And… I guess that’s it. What’d you think?” He asks as he lets out a final strum. The warmness of his music is still palpable in the room, despite the cold and dark weather that demands to be let inside.

You take another moment staring at the man in front of you. Mark bit his fingers in anticipation. His large white tee hung loosely on his shoulders, his ripped jeans bounced waiting for your feedback.

Everything is perfect.

Nothing can take this moment away from you two.

No words could exactly encapsulate how you felt so you decide to throw your arm around him.

Mark lets out a sigh of relief as he sets his guitar to the side, “So I guess you liked it?” then reciprocates by pulling you into his lap.

“I loved it, Mark. I can’t wait to hear it all together, I liked that chord progression, I can hear it on the radio one day,” you mutter into his shirt.

The pitter-patter of rain outside was accompanied by the soft whimpers from the man whose chin sat upon your head.

“I’m always going to be here for you y/n,” he jaggedly says.

You two sat in each other's embrace for what seemed like an eternity.

“Let me show you something,” he says, breaking the silence and adjusting your position to where your back is flush against him.

Mark sat the guitar in your hands, “Let’s start from the top, yeah?”

That night Mark taught you the song on his guitar, sometimes you filled in lyrics that felt right.

“They know we got the chemistry…” Mark sings.

“Love how your body feels on me, when you get back let me get that…” you finish with a small laugh.

“Yo!” he jumps up, lifting your laughing frame into the air, “That’s a bar!”

“Are you jealous that I may be a better rapper than you?” you giggle back.

“You’re coming for my career, baby girl!”

—

Six more hours.

Six more hours until this paper is due, and you’re almost done with this last page.

Six more hours until the hell that was this semester is finally done.

Six more hours until you can crawl into bed with Mark and take a long-deserved nap.

“Almost there baby,” Mark says while massaging your shoulders.

“I got this,” you say while typing furiously.

“Hell yeah, you do.”

Your train of thought was interrupted by Mark’s ringtone going off from behind you.

“I’ll be right back, when I come back you better have this paragraph done!”

Sending him a stiff salute you continued to trudge on as he stepped into your bedroom and closed the door.

“Mark! What’s going on my man? Happy holidays!” his new manager cheered into the phone.

“It’s going well, just spending some time with family and friends while I can,” he replies while lying down on your bed and grabbing a stuffed My Melody to hold against him.

“Well, I’m glad you have been enjoying your last moments of freedom while you can. Speaking of which, I do have an early Christmas present for you!”

“Awesome! What is it?”

“Well, the company wants you to start as soon as possible. I played them your audition and they think you can finish your training in less than a year!”

“That’s amazing!” Mark shoots up and runs his hands through his hair, “when do I fly out? Next year I hope?”

“Mark, I did say Christmas present didn’t I? You’ll leave the day after the 25th. I bought you some more time to spend with your family, but you’ll be spending the new year here, in Korea!”

Mark felt his heart drop. That was in two weeks.

Two weeks to eat all the food he can.

Two weeks to brush up on dancing.

Two weeks to say goodbye to his family.

Two weeks to erase all traces of his friend groups’ antics.

Two weeks till he has to leave you.

“Uh… two weeks… wow that’s really soon.”

“Absolutely! Now rest up Mark, this year is going to be the craziest experience of your life!”

His manager kept going on about the potential future he had coming for him. But Mark couldn’t seem to focus on all the newfound information. Slowly feeling the aroma of you envelop him fully, being surrounded by you everywhere, it was suffocating.

How is he going to tell you?

“I finished it!” he heard your jumps of triumph in the distance, echoing to the pits of his empty stomach, “I’m finally done with this God-awful semester! One more year till graduation!”

You burst through the door interrupting Mark’s pensive state, wrapping yourself into him.

“You okay babe?” you realize pulling away slowly, eyeing his sweating frame, “you look a bit sick, want me to make you some ramen?”

“Oh no I’m fine, just fine really,” he shallowly laughs pulling himself away from you and moving to turn on the fan, “just got a little warm is all.”

“Who called?” you asked before flopping on the bed and sighing, “was it your manager? Did you get the job?”

“Uh yeah…” he shuffled, not meeting your eyes, “It was my manager, he had some good news…”

“Oh my God, did you pass?” you pounced on him awaiting the news.

“Uh… yeah, I did.” he lied.

“Markie!” you showered him in kisses and tight squeezes, your love for him unfaltering, “When do you leave?”

“Not for another year,” he smiled, not looking at you.

“Hopefully you’ll still be here for my graduation…” you sighed, “Nonetheless I’m glad I get to keep you to myself for a bit longer.

—

December 25, 2022

“And this one's for you babe,” you smiled plopping the present into his hands. The Christmas tree behind him set the picture-perfect scene. Surrounded by your closest friends and family exchanging presents in your matching red and green pajamas, bellies full from the holiday feast, and presents waiting to be opened.

Mark happily obliged and ripped into the small package immediately. His eyes were wide as he lifted the contents with careful fingers.

“It’s a guitar pick,” you explained, seating yourself in his lap as he closely examined it, “so when you practice, you’ll always remember that I’m with you, cheering you on.”

Mark flipped the small piece over and nearly shed a tear at the small gold embossed scrawling you had designed a tiny heart.

“But hey, just because you have this doesn’t mean you can just stop cutting your fingernails! Also, it’s a reminder of me scolding you to stop biting your nails!” he chuckled lightly.

Mark didn’t have any words, mostly scared that he was going to start choking up if he even dared to open his mouth.

His present for you sat heavy in his pocket, the box weighing him down, anchored to the floor. Or was it the guilt that sat in his chest?

“Mark!” your friend Izaiah shouted while making his way over, interrupting Mark’s contemplation, “Heard the great news! So excited for you man! Look at you, finally pursuing your passion!”

“Thank you, man, I appreciate it,” Mark responds, reaching a hand out to dap him up.

“Say, can’t believe you’re leaving so soon, what a shame, your mom has been a mess crying every time she hears your name.”

“We will make the most of the time we have together that’s for sure,” you interject snuggling into Mark.

“Well, you two better hurry,” Izaiah says while looking at his watch, “Time's ticking…”

“Well, good thing he is leaving-”

Mark suddenly stands up meeting Izaiah before you can finish your sentence, “Yeah I mean we will make it feel like a year that’s for sure! Gotta spend as much time with my baby as possible!” While patting his shoulder rather harshly and pleading with him with his eyes.

“Uh… Dude did you not-”

“Izaiah! Did you try the cherry cheesecake that y/n made? It’s so good! Let’s go have some now!”

“But I’m allergic!”

“Be right back babe just going to get a slice!”

Mark pulls Izaiah to the kitchen in a secluded corner.

“Did you seriously not tell her yet? You leave tomorrow! Eighteen hours to be exact!” He harshly whispers to Mark.

“I just haven’t had the right moment to tell her yet…” Mark sighs, running a hand through his hair, “It’s going to break her.”

“You know what might break her more? She wakes up tomorrow and goes over to your house to only be told you left the country!”

“I know!” Mark yells a bit too loudly. Everyone in the house turned to the shouting two with questioning eyes.

“Sorry folks! Just talking about some music things!”

“Mark, you are going to quite literally ruin y/n. The only thing you are accomplishing-”

“A toast!” The pair were interrupted by Mark’s parents who asked everyone to gather around.

“We are not done here, you will tell her tonight,” Izaiah states, shoulder-checking Mark before grabbing a champagne flute and joining everyone.

Mark takes a moment to collect himself before plastering a fake smile and rejoining at your side.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us here tonight, as you all know Christmas is such a lovely time for all of us to reunite and enjoy each other’s company,” Mark’s dad announces.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen some of you, that I almost didn’t recognize a few!” a chorus of chuckles resounded before he cleared his voice and continued, “As some of you may or may not know, God has truly blessed one of our own with the opportunity of a lifetime,” everyone turned towards Mark with proud smiles, “And I would like to thank each and every one of you who supported and believed in our dear son. Mark, we are all so proud of you and can’t wait to see you make music for the whole world to hear!”

“That’s my boyfriend!” You shouted from the back, also receiving a coral of laughter.

“Though we may not see you for a while, just know we are rooting for you, all of us here at home, love you dearly,” his mom chimed in, raising her glass towards him, “to Mark.”

“To Mark!” Everyone cheered, raising their glasses in unison.

“To Mark…” you softly said confused while looking up at him.

Mark was sweating. Puddles.

He weakly lifted his glass and downed it in one gulp, not making eye contact with your questioning eyes beneath him.

“Baby? What does she mean for a while? You don’t leave for a long while?” you ask with lips pouted.

“Uh… I think she just means that you all won’t see me for a bit because… I uh… will be busy getting ready to leave for training is all! Yeah! I am just so excited to be diving into my craft!”

“Oh. Okay. She made it sound like you were leaving tomorrow or something,” you chuckled sipping from your glass, “So, what did you get me for Christmas?”

Already flustered, Mark was saved by his ringtone, “Not yet, lemme take this real quick, it’s my manager.”

You nodded, turning to wait for your turn for the karaoke microphone while he stepped out onto the porch in the cold.

“Merry Christmas Mark!” his manager sang to him, “How is your day going?”

“Uh…” he huffed out, a puff of visible breath leaving his mouth as he shivered, “It’s been good. Hard to say goodbye.”

“Well, it’s another Christmas miracle, Mark! Luckily for you, unlucky for the company, all the airports in Canada have been temporarily unable to send out or land any planes due to severe weather warnings so we won’t be able to fly you out for a bit. I went back and forth with the company and bought you some more time, so you’ll leave the first of the year! New year, new beginnings, am I right?”

Mark couldn’t believe his ears.

More time with you. More time to tell you.

“Are you serious?” he choked out.

“Yes! So please, tell that girlfriend of yours, I have a feeling you haven’t been able to break the news,” he pokes.

“Pshhh… what makes you think that?”

“Well, considering the first file you sent over to me of singing samples were painful ballads, I would guess that you haven’t told her or you two broke up. And I just know neither one of you could do that.”

Mark looks out down the street, blurry colors barely visible due to the heavy amounts of snow falling, “I’ll tell her soon. Just not on Christmas.”

The two spent a few more minutes talking about logistics and excitement before Mark went back inside.

How is he going to break the news to you?

–

Mark was able to successfully avoid you for the remainder of the party, too many aunties and uncles pulling him away to congratulate him- even sneaking a few bills and checks into his pocket- and asking way too many questions about the future that made his head spin.

From time to time he would look over and see you playing with the heaps of children with their new toys, or holding some lady’s newborn baby, or helping his mom pack people’s takeaway plates. One aunt had to quite literally snap her fingers in front of his face to redirect his attention because he couldn’t stop swooning over you holding a set of sleeping baby twins.

“I like her,” his aunt smiled while joining him in the hallway, “She’s the type you want to lock down.”

“I love her.”

“Then don’t break her heart, Mark, soon is coming whether you like it or not.”

You were now playing hide and seek with a few of the older kids and saw your bright red socks peeking out from under the tall curtains giving your spot away immediately.

“Only a coward will let something this small get in the way.” his aunt pats his shoulder before walking away.

—

“You know you never had the chance to give me your Christmas gift…” you trail while facetiming Mark in bed.

“You’ll get it soon, don't worry,” he laughs, shuffling the sheet music on his desk.

“You know, it is customary to exchange presents on Christmas right?”

“I am aware, I’ll give it to you next time I see you. New Year’s Eve right? We’re still going over to Izaiah’s?”

“I should be back by then.”

Trying to find the right time to tell you was arduous. The day after Christmas your family surprised you with a trip to New York to visit some of your family there. Just more time wasted where he couldn’t spend his last waking moments of freedom with you. Scrolling through Instagram, it tugged at his heartstrings seeing you smile and laugh with cousins you haven’t seen in a while, unaware of the disastrous news waiting for you at home with him.

Cheers to the end of Fall 2022! Your caption reads, a boomerang with you cheering to the camera, a pint of beer daring to spill over.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” he asks.

“Nine pm,” you respond yawning, “a few more stops for sightseeing, then my cousin is dropping us off at the airport.

“Am I still picking you up to go back to the apartment?”

“Yes please.”

There was movement on your end of the camera due to your cousins wrestling you to the ground, trying to sneak a peek at Mark.

“Hi, hyung!” one of the younger ones shouted with a toothless smile.

“Hello hello! Please be careful with my girlfriend, she is highly valuable to me!” he chuckles, leaning back into his bed.

“No promises! She needs to take us ice skating now and she hasn’t gotten dressed yet!” he whines back.

“Okay okay, I surrender! Please get off, I’ll get ready now!”

Mark bids you a farewell and heads to bed.

One more sleep until it’s time to see you.

–

December 31, 2022

“Red or blue for tonight?” you shout from your closet.

“Hmm… I am wearing baby blue tonight. How about that dark blue dress you bought the other day?” Mark replies by sporting a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth.

“The sparkly one or the satin one?” you walk up behind him as he spits into the sink, taking in the options through the mirror.

“Definitely sparkly, it is New Year's Eve after all.”

“I don’t even want to go out…” you whine leaning onto Mark’s back and pecking his shoulder, “Can we just stay in…?” continuing a path of open mouth kisses to his neck.

“Hell no! Izaiah will kill us if we don’t show up! He’s been planning this all month!” he says trying not to give into your feeble attempts at seduction and focus on shaving his faint mustache.

“But I don’t wanna… the new year means another day closer to you leaving and I want to spend every minute with you!”

Mark’s back tenses at the mention of his departure.

“Yeah… me too baby,” he says, shrugging you off and heading towards the dresser to grab some boxers, “but let’s celebrate rather than think about that!”

The fresh hot shower couldn’t ease the nervousness that Mark felt. He was keeping this a secret.

Again.

From the moment he picked you up at the airport he tried, he really tried, to confess to you about his early departure. But the way you kept talking about your fun adventures from New York, he couldn’t just rain on your sunshine just quite yet. Then he decided he would tell you when you two got back to the apartment, after dinner. But you obviously had other plans as you decided to immediately jump his bones upon unlocking the front door. He even tried to disconnect your needy lips from his own, but alas he wasn’t just a man with needs- he was a simp with needs. And who was he to deny you of anything you wanted?

He decided now, as he was putting on his socks, that he was going to have to tell you before you two left for the party. Especially with how much of a loudmouth Izaiah is, everybody in attendance probably already heard of the news and his send-off the next morning.

Mustering up the courage to approach you, he eyed your frame standing at the mirror near the door, just putting the last of your lip gloss on for the night.

It’s now or never.

“Hey baby, I have something to tell you,” he said shakily, standing with knees that felt like they were going to give out any second.

“What’s up,” you respond, walking past him to grab your purse and then meeting him in the hallway.

“Just know, that I know that this is very last minute, and I probably should have told you sooner but I didn’t want to make the moment super emotional. I love you. You mean so entirely much to me, and I’m scared I would push you away,” he admits.

“Mark,” you start, taking his hand in yours to shut down his insecure thoughts, “It’s okay. I already know.”

“Wait you do?” he shouts incredulously, “who told you? Was it Izaiah? Oh my God, it was my mom wasn’t it? I told her not to say anything…”

“Baby no none of them told me, I was just waiting for you to show me?”

Mark cocked an eyebrow, “Show you…?”

“My Christmas present, right?” you chuckle shoving him lightly, “I don’t mind if you forgot, I know you’ve had a lot on your mind recently. So what, did it just come in or something? I’m sure the snowstorm probably delayed whatever it was.”

“Oh! Yeah… Right! Your Christmas present that’s what this is all about haha,” he says fumbling around then heads into the room to find the small box. The little angel on Mark’s shoulder was shouting at him to turn back around that instant to tell you the truth, meanwhile, the little insecure Mark on the other side sighed a breath he’d been holding in, glad to take a moment to collect himself. Mark reached into his bedside drawer and reappeared in the hallway to meet you.

“Merry belated Christmas, y/n,” he whispers, presenting the box.

“You’re not proposing to me, right?” you eye him breaking the palpable tension in the air, “because there is usually a part where you get on one knee and then there’s the speech.”

“No, no,” he laughs, “not yet at least,” he says with a wink, “gotta chase our dreams first.”

You open the tiny black box to be met with a small silver ring without a gemstone, but rather small engravings.

Forever it read on the outside

♡ Mark, it read on the inside.

“It’s a promise,” he starts, “a promise to forever be yours.”

He steps closer with every word, “a promise to forever be supporting you, near or far. A promise to love you even when you don’t love yourself.”

“And lastly,” tears pricked your eyes as you stared down at the ring, Mark so close that his breath fanned across your skin, “It’s a reminder that no matter how much of a dream this opportunity is, that you, you y/n, are my dream.”

He slots the ring on your manicured pinky before sliding his to intertwine with yours, “I promise, that I love you.”

Time stood still at that moment. Nothing could pull you two apart. Standing together with pinkies interlocked.

“I love you Mark, dream and all.”

“I love you forever.”

“Dream and all.”

–

“Finally they’re here!”

Izaiah did outdo himself with this party. Lights were strung up along the ceiling and banisters, bottles of alcohol lined the kitchen tables, and so many people there that they had to park around the block.

As Mark's heart sank with the weight of his secret, the party continued in the background. The music was loud, and people were dancing and laughing, unaware of the turmoil that was unfolding between you and Mark.

Confetti rained down from the ceiling, and balloons bounced around the room, adding to the festive atmosphere, but Mark couldn't bring himself to enjoy any of it. All he could think about was the fact that he was leaving and that he had hurt the one person he cared about more than anything.

As the night wore on, Mark felt himself becoming more and more detached from the party.

Many people came up to him with words of encouragement, pride beaming on their faces as he would go on to make your small town proud.

He watched as people wrote their New Year’s hopes on small pieces of paper and then taped them to the wall, their faces filled with excitement and anticipation. A couple of hours in, he sees you being whisked every which way by friends that were visiting home from university, he smiles knowing you have been looking forward to seeing them all year. Mark's heart was heavy as he looked around the festive New Year's Eve party. The excitement of the countdown to midnight, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses all seemed to fade into the background as he thought about what he had to do.

But Mark couldn't join in their celebration.

He knew that when the clock struck midnight, his world would be completely different.

“Tick-tock, Cinderella,” Izaiah whispers into Mark’s ear while passing by and then pointing at the clock above.

One more hour till midnight.

“Wanna dance for a bit?” he heard your voice from next to him, “or are you too busy being broody in the corner?”

Much to his dismay, you pulled Mark onto the dance floor. He couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as your hips melted into the rhythm of the song, your arms snaking up to his neck. He felt multiple sets of eyes land on you two, some filled with love, others in sadness, and some people even raised their cups in solemn of what’s to become of you two.

In just a few short hours, Mark would be leaving for Korea, pursuing the dream that you both talked so highly of. It was an opportunity that would change his life, but it also meant leaving behind everything he knew and loved.

Mark looked around the room, friends he grew up with, family that supported him through everything, you, you being his world. Was he really ready to leave this life?

“Girl, if I were you I’d be fucking him into the next year!” a drunk girl slurred while bumping into you two.

“I mean I plan on it!” you chuckled while trying to steady her rocking frame.

“I don’t know how you’re able to do it y/n… long distance that already sucks… him having to keep you a secret for the rest of his life? Damn, that’s even worse.”

Feeling flustered by the truth, you begin to talk down the reality, “Oh I feel secure enough in my relationship! I know Mark is just doing what he has to do for his career, but that doesn’t mean he loves me any less! We have great communication-”

“Pshh communication my ass! Did he even tell you that he leaves–”

“Okay! That’s enough! Too much to drink as always Mina, huh?” Mark shushes her while pulling her to a couch to lie down.

“Oh fuck off Mark, if you don’t want to tell her, I’ll tell her myself because you are too much of a pussy boy to do so!” she yells while being thrown onto the couch.

Gathering his wits, he makes his way back to you.

“What was that all about? What are you not telling me?” you ask, taking a step forward.

“Don’t worry about it babe, you know Mina gets too drunk at parties and keeps saying shit…” Mark sweats.

“Wait, you know that is weird because Riane also brought up something along the lines of “Oh wow he hasn’t told you yet?” when I was talking to her earlier… what are you hiding?” you suddenly feel the bottle of soju you had earlier.

“Not here please, not now…” he pleads, frantically looking around as people start to be intrigued by the madness happening in front of them.

“No, tell me now. New year, no secrets!” you stomp.

When the countdown finally began, Mark felt a sense of dread wash over him. He knew that once the new year began, his life would be changed forever.

“For fucks sake, y/n,” he says before pulling you outside.

He looked over at you, who was standing with your back turned to him. He wanted to go over to you, just hold you, to apologize, to make things right, but he knew that it was too late.

He had to face the truth.

“You have ten seconds to tell me, Mark,” you say with crossed arms, chests pressed against each other.

As if on cue, he hears the crowd from inside the house start the countdown into the new year.

10!

“I have been keeping a secret.”

“I haven’t been able to find the right words to tell you.”

“I did pass my audition and I will leave for Korea soon.”

“My manager called the other day to tell me I'm leaving on Christmas.”

“But I got an extension.”

“When do you leave Mark?” you ask with a shaky breath, eyes clouded with tears, as you stand watching the man you love break down.

“I love you, y/n, don’t forget that.” he chokes out.

“When do you leave Mark?!” you scream at him.

Time stilled as he just stared at you with a trembling lip.

“I leave today.”

As the countdown ended, and the room erupted into cheers, fireworks went off from the backyard. Mark felt a sense of emptiness inside.

“Happy New Year!” was ringing in his ears, the festivity inside contrasting the pit in his stomach. He knew that he was supposed to be celebrating, but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. All he could do was watch as you slowly walked backward, face twisted with pain.

You both stood there, both lost in your thoughts, as the new year began. And as the party continued around him, Mark felt more alone than ever before.

"What? When were you going to tell me? You waited till the day of?"

"I didn't know how," he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the cheers. "I didn't want to hurt you."

You took another step back, tears streaming down your face. "You're leaving me?"

Mark reached out to touch you, but you pulled away. "No, y/n, it's not like that. I just..."

“You didn’t what?” you whispered finally stepping forward, him retreating backwards, “You didn't do what, Mark!” finally yelled.

“You lied! You lied to my face, of all secrets to keep, you kept this. For what? Think I couldn’t take it? Couldn’t bear the fact you’d be chasing your dreams? What is it?” you screamed, pushing him with each sentence.

Mark took every beating, the punishment for his personalized brand of torture he put you through. You hit his chest as he stood taking in every blow, face and body empty, a shell of the man you’ve come to love.

“So much for forever right?” you finally stop, “so much for dreams and all.”

“Baby,” he pleads, “baby please don’t.”

“No, because…” you lift your face, running your hands through your hair, your ring getting caught in the tangles reminding you of his promise, “fuck this Mark. This really was never going to work.”

“You don’t. You don’t mean that.” he shakes his head reaching out for you.

“I fucking mean it.” you say while staring at him and taking off the ring and throwing it on the ground, “I hope it works out for you Mark, I really do. Dreams and all.”

You left Mark there as he fell to his knees, cradling the ring that symbolizes everything you meant to him. The real engagement ring in his pocket never felt heavier in his pocket.

--------------

and i hope she was worth the wait? first three chapters are posted today. next chapter released first week of 2025.

open to feedback and reactions :*

happy holidays and happy new year <3

xoxo

forevamark

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