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eoieopda · 29 days ago

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triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario.

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus.

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly.

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door.

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?”

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds.

“Bambi.”

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath.

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks.

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years.

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough.

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling.

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping to sleep off again.

“Well?”

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?”

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line.

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view.

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls.

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?”

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention.

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him.

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.” Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.”

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways.

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to his ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time.

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself.

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out.

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.”

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling.

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level.

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no.

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip.

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name.

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten.

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time.

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on.

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others.

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens.

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.”

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull.

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term.

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —”

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another.

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is.

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be.

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s.

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper.

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just — get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t.

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?”

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks.

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her.

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking.

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake.

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all.

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation:

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….”

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase.

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming.

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he?

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold.

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.”

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —”

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance.

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand.

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.”

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the clatter of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom.

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?”

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

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bitchface24-7 · 3 days ago

Note

Could you make a dark Yandere Viktor story?

YOU BELONG TO ME - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: Viktor's your childhood friend, your best friend in all honesty. You've always harboured a crush on him, but you've never had the courage to confess; assuming he doesn't feel the same. Besides, he's always caught up in his work anyway. It's only when Councillor Salo makes a move on you does Viktor react, and he reacts in a way you never imagined before.

warnings: yandere/obsessive/possessive Viktor, childhood friends to lovers, jealously, angry confessions, marking, suggestiveness, dark ideas not voiced, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. Oooh this hit a sweet spot I'm ngl. I'd be all too happy being Viktor's, idk if that's concerning of me. As I've said before, this man controls my libido LMAO (I think he'd be shocked and a little smug if he was real and he knew that 😭)

It’s a day like any other. You hang out with Viktor and Jayce in the lab, you watch them work, you help where you can, and you talk easily with the two of them.

Everything changes when out of the blue, Councillor Salo enters the lab.

He's never entered the lab before. He's never been interested. Why all of a sudden is he here now?

Obviously for his own gain. He requests Jayce to make him something as he overtly ignores Viktor. The two talk as Salo reminds Jayce of the councils meeting coming up in the next hour.

Jayce quickly flits around the room, trying to get everything necessary for the talk regarding Hextech. As Jayce rushes around the lab like a busy bee, Councillor Salo turns his attention onto you.

And this makes Viktor’s blood boil.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You're causally leaning against Viktors desk when Councillor Salo walks up to you, a smug look on his face as he watches Jayce.

“You’re new. I've never seen you before. I'd remember a face like that.”

Your lips thin a bit as you attempt to smile, it feels more like a grimace honestly, “I’m here every day. I'm just not an official partner of Hextech.”

Salo’s eyebrow quirks as he looks you over, you're tempted to shield yourself with your arms, Viktor’s writing has stopped. His hand gripping the fountain pen tightly.

“Ah, that's why I've never seen you during the Hextech conferences we hold. I would've paid more attention if you were there.”

The pen Viktor is holding creaks as you nervously laugh, “You shouldn't say such things Councillor. Especially with the founders in the same room.”

Salo hums and brushes a piece of hair off of your forehead, you gasp lightly in shock and you hear a snap behind you. The pen in Viktor’s hand has shattered, and dark ink stains his pale skin.

“Its only the truth. If you ever want more— riveting company. You know where to find me.” and with that, Councillor Salo walks away, taking Jayce with him as they leave the lab. The door shuts behind them and the room is plunged into silence.

Your eyebrows are furrowed and you gasp at the state Viktor is in. His face is furious, his hand is dirty, and he’s glaring at you.

He's never glared at you before.

“What the hell was that?!” He asks, his tone dark and sharp. You look at him in shock, not knowing what to say.

You've never seen him this angry before, and its kind of making your stomach jolt with butterflies.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor can feel his lips snarling as he looks at you. You're his. You've been his since you were kids and you asked him how he made his toy boat.

He's infuriated. You allowed Salo to get close to you. To touch you. You didn't tell him off, you didn't dismiss him. You allowed him to proposition you right in front of him.

(Viktor knows they need the council on their good side but he doesn't care right now)

You looks like a baby deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes are big and pleading, your face is a mask of shock, and your lips are parted lightly in disbelief.

“I don't— I don't know. That's the first time we've ever spoken to one another.”

The flame in Viktor's gut barely recedes at that. He wants you once and for all. He wants to kiss you, hold you whenever he pleases, he wants to defile you and ruin you for anyone else.

(He's also tempted to collar you and chain you to his bed in his apartment. You'll never be able to leave him. He won't let you.)

“You let him proposition you, right in front of me. In front of Jayce.”

You can't help but scoff at that, you didn't let Salo do anything. As if you expected him to talk to you like that.

“Don’t you dare blame me Viktor! I didn't expect or want him to talk to me like that! As if I were nothing more than a body to warm his bed, as if I didn't have anything else to offer.”

Viktor bites his lip and sighs heavily, “So you should’ve stopped him! Did something at least!”

“And what? Ruined our relationship with the council?! Making it impossible to get funds for Hextech! Besides why do you even care?!”

Viktor jolts up from his seat, coming damn near nose to nose with you, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he didn't even need his cane. His anger overtaking his chronic pain.

“Because I love you! Because you're mine! You've been mine since we were children and I won't let some slimy snake-like Salo get his disgusting hands on you before I can!”

A gasp of shock escapes you as you look into Viktor's dark eyes, his clenched jaw, and snarled lips. He— what?

You jerk forward and kiss him desperately. You can feel him jolt in surprise before he kisses you harshly back, his ink-stained hand coming up to cup a part of your throat and jaw. Your skin now stained with ink from Viktor's broken pen.

The two of you briefly break your kiss and Viktor places his forehead against yours, the two of you panting lightly, “I love you too, just in case you didn't know. I've loved you since we were kids.”

Viktor smiles, his teeth proudly on display. He kisses you gently before angling your head to the side; peppering kisses and hickies on the unstained side of your neck.

“I am yours and you are mine.” He casually states into your neck, biting the juncture harshly. You groan at the pain, his teeth marks are going to be imprinted into your flesh for quite some time.

“Until the end of time.”

Viktor groans lowly in his chest and crushes his lips back to yours. You must look like a mess right now, messy hair, stained neck and cheek, hickies, a brutal bite mark on your neck, your lips plump and red due to the harsh kissing.

God you look ruined and Viktor hasn't really done anything to you yet.

“I want everyone to know you're mine. I've been dreaming of this since we were teens. Let me, please let me. I'll do anything.”

You sigh and card a hand through Viktor’s hair, “I won’t stop you, as long as I let everyone know you're mine too.”

Viktor removes himself from you, lightly backstepping to look you deep in your eyes, “Deal. I wouldn't want it any other way. Your place or mine?”

You smirk lightly and drag a finger down his chest, “Whos to say we have to leave the lab? Jayce won't be back for another few hours, and our places are too far.”

The dark look you get in return as Viktor ushers you to the futon in the corner of the lab tells you all you need to know.

He's gonna rock your shit.

FIRST YANDERE!VIKTOR REQUEST DONE! This was so fun and omg Id die if he talked and acted like that with me he's so 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #viktor imagine #viktor x reader #yandere!viktor #fem!reader #male!reader #gender neutral reader #banners by cafekitsune

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oddinary4bts · 7 months ago

Text

Chasing Cars | ch 10 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Yoongi x Hoseok

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: side character breakup, jungkook is still a little jealous lmao, alcohol, curses, they both are anxious to lose each other tbh, explicit content: hickey, breast play, oral sex (male receiving), jerking off, fingering, protected sex

☆word count: 10.1k

☆a/n: fun fact, this is the chapter that made me choose the title for this fic!! and this is also where the angst starts :') I hope you still enjoy reading <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Monday, March 25th

You hate college. More specifically, you hate having to turn in multiple lab reports every week. There’s just something about building a lab report that irks you.

You don’t know how researchers do it. You think you’d go insane if you had to write report after report after report but…

You’re already going insane after all.

You sigh, rubbing a hand on your forehead as you look at the tables you’ve been trying to make for half an hour. Yoongi, sitting across from you, raises his head from his laptop, an eyebrow cocked. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, going back to your report as he doesn’t pry, focusing back on his own work.

As much as he spoke to you at the party last week, Yoongi has been a lot more silent today. You reckon you might know why - Hoseok said in the group chat that he’d come to study too, and he’s yet to show up. It’s evening now, and you have a feeling he’s just not going to come.

You don’t know if you can entirely blame him - it’s Spring Break after all, and most people are trying to forget about college for the week.

But you can’t, because you’ve got that lab report to work on and a final to study for.

You blink a few times, trying to bring your laptop back in focus, and then you go back to work. You spend another thirty minutes fixing the tables, not caring that the titles clearly could be better. Nabi said she’d go over everything you’ve done, and you know she’s much better with titles anyway.

You’re lucky she’s your lab partner.

“Are you hungry?” Yoongi asks all of a sudden, and you startle, looking up at him.

Right in time, your stomach grumbles, and you let out a small laugh. “Yeah, a little.”

“Want to order burritos?” Yoongi suggests.

You nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles, picking up his phone. The smile that was on his lips dies almost immediately, and he deeply sighs. You furrow your brows questioningly, glancing outside of your study rooms.

Jungkook isn’t working today, yet you find yourself looking for him all the same.

“What’s wrong?” you ask Yoongi, pushing Jungkook away from your thoughts.

Even though every thought of him makes you warm inside, giddy like a teenager with a crush.

“Hobi,” Yoongi simply replies.

You purse your lips, picking up your water bottle to take a long sip as you search for something to say. You settle on, “You guys talked after the party?”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, sighing deeply again before handing you his phone. “Just choose which burrito you want.”

You grab his phone, quickly choosing what you want to eat as he remains silent, typing away on his laptop. You’re aware he’s avoiding the question, but you have a feeling he needs to talk. It’s in the way he worries at some dry skin on his bottom lip, an anxious tell you recognize all too well for having it too.

“How did the conversation go?” you ask as he finishes up the order, putting his phone back down on the table.

“It went okay,” he admits, yet he looks defeated. You understand why when he adds, “He told me he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.”

You widen your gaze. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi laughs bitterly, slightly shaking his head. “I feel blindsided. We were all happy before the party and now…” He shrugs vaguely, letting out a choked sound that almost passes as a chuckle. “It just came out of nowhere.”

“I’m really sorry…”

He shrugs again. “What can you do? I really just jumped in too fast without realizing that he was reluctant. I was stupid.”

“I don’t think you were stupid,” you say, trying to sound reassuring. “You’ve had feelings for him for a long time, and it felt like you were finally getting something in return. Anyone would have been blindsided.”

“I should have known when he insisted we take it slow and not share a room though,” Yoongi insists. “And though the sex was great there was a lot of stuff he was uncomfortable with. Not that I ever did anything without him wanting to do it but…” He wets his lips, glances your way before setting his gaze on his keyboard again. “I was his first guy.”

“Yeah, he told me,” you admit.

Pink dusts Yoongi’s cheeks, and you can tell he’s embarrassed by the turn of the conversation. So this time you don’t pry, letting him figure out what he wants to say next.

“I think he realized that he’s not into guys all that much,” Yoongi eventually says. “Like… he wanted to try it out and turns out it’s not as nice as he thought it’d be kinda thing, you know?”

You nod. “It sucks that it had to be with you though. You didn’t deserve that.”

Another shrug, like it’s all Yoongi knows to do right now. “Yeah, I guess.” He chuckles, a sad sound that makes you want to get up and hug him, though you know Yoongi’s not big on physical touch. “I don’t know if I should be mad or sad,” he admits a few seconds later.

“You’re allowed to be both.” He cocks an eyebrow as if not convinced. “I’m serious,” you insist. “You like him. Obviously, it’s going to hurt if he decides he doesn’t want to be with a guy. And obviously, you’re allowed to be mad too, because to you it can feel like he was leading you on.”

Yoongi meets your gaze. “Have you ever thought about becoming a therapist?”

His statement surprises you, and you laugh, scrunching up your nose. “No?”

“I think you’d be good,” Yoongi says. He sighs deeply again, picking up his phone. “Food’s on its way.”

You’re technically not allowed to eat at the library, so you end up eating on the steps outside when the food arrives, the fresh evening air welcoming after being stuck in a small, stuffy room for a couple of hours. Yoongi keeps pouring his heart out to you all along, as if he’d been holding everything in for too long, and the dam finally burst.

You’re happy to be there for him. Even though most of it is the same thing as at the party last week, you’re happy he’s comfortable enough to confide in you, and you try to cheer him up.

“If you want,” you say after a time. “I could try to speak to Hobi. See what he really thinks about this all.”

Yoongi holds your gaze for a few seconds before looking away, his eyes shifting to the cloudy sky. “Nah, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says. “I’ll just have to move on.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod. “Your choice. I’ll be here for you.”

He smiles, sighing. “I know. Thank you.”

On that note you return to your study room and to the lab report awaiting you. Yoongi busies himself with his composition as you work, and you finally finish taking care of the text for the results about half an hour later. Nabi said she’d do the discussion, so you send her the link, asking her to tell you if she wants you to fix anything, and then you close your laptop, folding your arms on top of it.

“Done?” Yoongi says, pushing his headset down so that it rests around his neck.

You nod, dropping your face on your arms. “And I’m dead.”

“When do finals start for you?” he asks.

“Next Tuesday,” you admit.

“Isn’t that early?” Yoongi asks, gaze widened in surprise.

It might be. You only have one then though, and you still have two weeks of classes in your other courses before the rest of your finals. You’ll still take it - it means one less final during the true final week.

You tell so to Yoongi, who admits he doesn’t have finals, instead having projects in three classes. It leads to a conversation where you compare biology to his music major, and another fifteen minutes go by in comfortable silence when the conversation dies of its own volition, as you scroll on your phone and Yoongi keeps on working on his music composition.

You startle when someone knocks on the door of the study room. You glance that way, eyes widening when you notice Jungkook on the other side. Yoongi lets out a small laugh at your expense, and you get up, opening the door for Jungkook.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as he walks in, two coffees in hands.

“Thought you might need this,” he says, offering you one.

You take it with an eyebrow cocked quizzically, and then you watch him as he drops in one of the empty chairs at the table. He’s got a backpack with him, and he pulls out a laptop and a notebook from it while you and Yoongi are just stunned silent.

“What are you doing?” you ask again as you sit back in your chair.

“Figured I’d come study here with you guys,” he explains simply.

You glance at Yoongi, who shrugs.

“Oh?” you let out, settling your gaze back on Jungkook.

“Unless you guys don’t want me to?”

Yoongi saves you by replying, “No, you’re all good man. I was leaving anyway.”

He clearly wasn’t, as you’re the one who finished writing your report and he was still in the middle of his composition, yet he still gets up, closing his laptop and putting it in his backpack.

“Text me if there’s anything,” you tell him as he’s sliding one of the straps of his backpack on his shoulder.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he nods curtly. “Will do. Thanks for everything.”

You offer him a small smile, and then he’s walking out, not once looking back.

“Did you really have to come here?” you ask Jungkook, and it sounds far more accusing than you meant it to be.

“What?” he lets out. “Just wanted to see what the hype is all about when it comes to the library.”

You offer him a no-bullshit look. “Were you jealous because I was studying alone with Yoongi?”

Jungkook frowns, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. His lips jut out in the hint of a pout, and something melts inside of you, like it always does when it comes to him.

“He’s the one that left the second I got here,” Jungkook points out.

“Because he’s going through a hard time, dumbass,” you say, punching Jungkook in the shoulder.

He rubs at the spot, his pout intensifying, if that’s possible. “He still could have stayed, I wouldn’t have minded.”

Jungkook isn’t wrong, and though you really want to be there for Yoongi, you know he’s the kind of person that needs space a lot. Or at least that’s the impression he’s given you in general, and you really hope he didn’t leave because Jungkook showed up.

“I was done though,” you admit, patting your closed laptop. “I was thinking about heading home.”

Jungkook flicks your nose, taking you by surprise, and you sit back in your chair as you shriek. It earns you one of his bunny grins, and you truly are melting like snow in the sun. “Well then you’re going to have to stay with me for a little longer, mmh?”

You tilt your head to the side, though you can’t help the smile that tickles the corners of your lips. “And do what?”

“Study?” he sarcastically lets out. “Do whatever it is that you bio majors do.”

You end up doing so, rereading your notes for your first final. It’s boring, and you don’t think it’s really productive when Jeon Jungkook is sitting next to you, stealing quick glances in your direction.

You catch him for what feels like the tenth time, and you roll your eyes. “Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” you offer as an explanation. “We should go home.”

He narrows his gaze at you. “Why?”

“People could see us here.” And go and tell Taehyung about it.

“I’ll handle Tae if he gets upset, don’t worry,” Jungkook tries to reassure you, but it does the opposite.

Indeed, a drop of lead forms in your stomach because, what if Taehyung learns?

You don’t want him to know. It’d complicate everything, ruin everything.

“Besides,” Jungkook adds, “I’ll have to handle him in April anyway.”

You frown, a confused crease streaking across your brow. “Why?”

Jungkook meets your gaze. “I’m going to Paris with Jimin to see your brother at the end of the semester.”

Your heart starts racing in your chest, anxiety flooding your blood. “Oh?”

Jungkook toys with his piercings, scanning your features carefully. “Yeah. It’s been planned for a while.”

“You didn’t tell me.” You’re aware you once again sound accusing, but you can’t help it.

Not when you see the expiration date of your relationship with Jungkook flashing in your mind.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I just didn’t think to tell you? I thought I mentioned it when we Facetimed Tae the other day.”

You can’t blame him for not explicitly telling you - the trip has likely been planned for a while, and it’s not like you speak about your brother a lot. Though you mention him once in a while, you’ve both been good at avoiding talking about him. Now that he’s mentioned the Facetime call though, you do recall, and it’s like a hand is squeezing around your heart some more.

“No worries,” you say, and you offer him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “When do you leave?”

“April 29th, I think? I’ll check.”

You nod, and you look away from Jungkook to stare at your laptop instead, though your gaze loses its focus as your brother invades your thoughts. You think about what he’d say - you know he’ll be furious, and he’ll likely kick Jungkook out of your apartment.

Jungkook will never be able to handle Taehyung. Not when he’s being an overbearing asshole like only he knows to do.

“Peach,” Jungkook says in a small voice that almost sounds whiny. “Why do you look so upset?”

“You can’t handle Tae,” you say. You worry at your bottom lip and then take a deep breath. “It’s really better if he doesn’t know.”

Jungkook remains silent for a few seconds, though he nods his head. “Okay.” He nods again, offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Do you want to head home then?”

“Yeah,” you answer without a beat of silence. “Yeah, I think we should go home.”

Jungkook’s gaze drops to his laptop, and you feel bad. You truly do - he looks defeated, much like Yoongi looked like earlier.

“Can we watch something when we get home though?” you quickly ask.

You can’t help it. You can’t stand the sight of Jungkook upset - it’s just wrong to you.

He immediately brightens, a small curving his lips upwards. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah, definitely. Should get some cuddles in too.”

His smile widens, and he meets your gaze, the usual mischievous twinkle back in the depths of his eyes. “Sounds like a plan.”

And it really is. You think, you don’t need more with Jungkook. You don’t need the relationship to change, don’t need anyone to know. Because it’s simple right now, and there’s beauty in its simplicity.

Wednesday, March 27th

“Don’t!” you shriek, but Jungkook ignores you, stealing the TV remote from your hands.

“We’re not watching your reality TV show,” he says as he plops down on the couch into a lying position.

You glare at him, frowning as you fold your arms on your chest. “You like it.”

“Sometimes.” He flashes you a bunny grin that makes you gulp around a sudden lump in your throat. “But right now, I’m in the mood for a movie.”

You look up to the ceiling, searching for salvation yet finding none. “What movie?”

“Just come here,” he says, opening his arms for you.

You can’t resist. His gravity is too strong, and he pulls you in, like he’s the sun and you’re the comet.

Though you might come from the Kuiper Belt, you know you’re bound to crash into him anyway.

Once you’re nestled in his arms, Jungkook resumes his scrolling on Netflix.

“What about this?” he asks.

“Extraction?” you say as you eye the movie he stops on. “I’m not in the mood for action.”

“Then a romantic comedy it is.”

You chuckle against him, pecking the mole on his neck. He chooses the movie Always Be My Maybe, and then tightens his grip around you.

“I like that movie,” you say.

“You’ve seen it already?”

You reach for his hand before he’s able to change it. “Yeah, but I don’t mind,” you reassure him.

He nods, and that’s how you end up watching the movie, slowly dozing off on his chest. You’re in and out of sleep, watching the bright screen whenever you wake up, and when the credits roll in, Jungkook yawns over you.

“Were you sleeping?” you ask, faking offence.

“You were,” Jungkook points out, flicking your nose as you raise your head to look at him.

You move your face away, resting your head on the couch. “Barely.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, and then you both burst out laughing.

You like this. You like the intimacy of being with Jungkook in your own home, like that in between these walls you get to call him yours. It’s treacherous, but oh so inebriating, like he’s summer wine you’ve become addicted to.

Instead of watching another movie, Jungkook goes to his room to retrieve his speaker, and he puts a random playlist on while you fetch a rosé bottle from the fridge, where you’ve left it before watching the movie. You’d decided to spend the evening in despite both your friends and his friends asking to hang out, and so you’d gotten a bottle earlier today.

That, and the board game Ticket to Ride, your favourite board game.

“That’s not how it works,” you complain a while later, when you’re one glass in and Jungkook grabs a locomotive and wagon card from the five on the side.

“What?” he lets out.

“If you take a locomotive you can only take one card,” you remind him.

It’s his first time playing, and though the game is fairly simple, you’ve noticed Jungkook has a tendency to try and cheat his way to the win. You’re tempted to let him keep the two cards when he offers you puppy eyes, yet you stand your ground, holding your hand out.

“Give me the wagon back.”

“Take it from me,” he teases, lips stretching in a smirk.

“Oh, you want to play this way?” you reply in the same teasing tone, and Jungkook toys on his piercings.

“Maybe?”

You get up from where you’ve been sitting on the floor, walking to the other side of the coffee table. Jungkook watches you, an apprehensive yet excited look in his eyes, and he laughs the second you drop behind him, hands aiming for his sides.

He leans against you, his large frame almost enough to make you crumple to the floor, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close.

“Give me the wagon,” you repeat.

“Or what?”

“Or I’m not playing the game anymore.”

He looks over his shoulder at you, a pout on his pink lips. “Okay then, take your wagon back.”

He gives it to you, and you smile victoriously before pecking his cheek. “Thank you.”

You walk back to your side of the table, though you stop halfway, eyes brightening.

“I love this song!”

Jungkook leans back on his hands, tilting his head to the side as Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol starts playing.

It was your favourite song growing up. You used to listen to a different version of it you’d heard on Grey’s Anatomy, and you’d listen to it whenever you felt sad. Whenever you needed to feel like you weren’t alone in the universe, like someone was waiting for you, somewhere.

And as you look down at Jungkook while the lyrics start, you know someone was waiting all along.

“Sing it for me,” Jungkook says, smiling softly.

You can’t help the blush that creeps on your cheeks. “I don’t know how to sing. But you do!”

He chuckles, yet immediately starts singing as you offer him a hand to pull him up to his feet. He obliges, and he rests his large hands on your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close. He sways you to the music as he softly sings, cheeks dusted in pink, and you pull him even closer, resting your head on his chest.

Simple intimacy. That is what you and Jeon Jungkook are made of, and you think, if he’d ask you to lay here, in this moment, you’d lie with him until eternity took you in its hold. Until you’d be nothing more than dust between the stars - remembrance of what was once great.

But April is looming closer, a giant towering over the both of you, one step away from crushing you under its boot.

“You know,” Jungkook says while the song continues in the background.

“Mmh?” you let out, looking up to meet his gaze.

His eyes are heavy with emotions, and you swim in them, bathe in them. You feel complete, cherished, and you hope he knows you feel the same way.

You hope he knows you’ve been falling in love with him despite the odds.

“I’ve never been like this with anyone before,” he admits, his voice gentle. “I’ve had situationships, I guess, but nothing like us.”

You smile softly, your heart racing in your chest. “Me neither. You’re the first.”

It’s true. Though you’ve sort of dated Sam Hwang for a few weeks during the summer, it was nothing like it is with Jungkook.

Sam Hwang never looked at you the way that Jungkook looks at you.

Jungkook leans forward, resting his forehead against yours as he keeps on swaying you both to the music, the song nearing its last chorus. Your eyes flutter shut from the proximity, and your breaths mingle as you fall silent for a few seconds.

“I love having firsts with you,” he whispers.

You almost reply that you love him. The moment calls for it - the atmosphere is that of romance, the music is close to your soul, and he… He’s the blood in your veins and the oxygen in your lungs. Yet you can’t say it - you’ve never told anyone you loved them before. And you’re not even sure you truly love him. Yes, you have feelings, but everything is overshadowed by the knowledge that you’re bound to end.

You don’t want to tell him you love him and make it too real only to have him slip from your fingers the second Taehyung learns.

“Me too,” you instead reply. “I love spending time with you.”

It’s as close to the truth as you’ll get, and he allows it, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. It’s slow, patient, like the whole universe will pause for you two. He pulls away when the song ends, bending to grab his phone on the table.

He restarts the song, and the second his phone is back on the table again, you pull him back in, tiptoeing to kiss him again. He wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight against him, and you sigh at the pillowy softness of his mouth, at the way his piercings feel just right pressing indents in your lip. His free hand cups your cheek, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, almost hesitantly, but you open up for him immediately, tasting the rosé in his mouth as he kisses you deeply, languidly. The kiss never accelerates, yet it’s infinitely passionate.

Much like that first kiss you’d exchange, during the power outage on Valentine’s Day.

You think you knew then - he’d kissed you so softly, like you were fragile, just a flower petal a second from being blown away. Even then, he’d cared for you, and it’d scared you.

But there’s nothing scary about this. There’s nothing scary about the way he gently hikes your shirt up to slide his hand underneath it, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. There’s nothing scary about the way he sighs when you run your hands through his hair, gently tugging at the soft strands. There’s nothing scary about the way he backs you towards the couch, spinning around at the last second so that he can sit down.

There’s nothing scary about him pulling you in, always, so that you straddle his lap, connecting your mouths again a second later. No, it’s only natural. He’s the wind and you the leaves. He’s the sun that shines on you, his moon.

You were always meant to collide after all, and though the aftermath might be terrifying, all you can do right now is enjoy it while it lasts.

Jungkook tentatively grinds up, his arousal evident as he presses against your clothed self. You let out a breathy sound that makes him push his tongue in your mouth, and you suck on it, earning a grunt from him as his hands drop to your hips to drag you on him again. You grab at the hem of his shirt, disconnecting your mouths just long enough to pull the fabric off him, and then you’re kissing him again, crashing your lips on his hard enough that you think you taste blood, though you don’t care.

You just want him. Need him, so viscerally you think you’ll combust.

“Peach,” Jungkook lets out as you move to his neck.

Unable to resist, you suck a hickey on him, a bright purple mark on the spot where his shoulder connects with his neck. He groans, leaning his head back against the couch to give you better access as you lick at the spot, soothing the sting.

When you straighten, Jungkook meets your gaze, his chest quickly going up and down. You’re just as out of breath as him, and when he reaches for the hem of your shirt, you let him take it off you, leaving you in only your black lace bralette. He looks at your breasts, cupping them in his large hands as he sighs appreciatively.

“Every time it’s like you get more beautiful,” he murmurs, and he looks up at you then, his eyes crinkled at the corners in what you can only call adoration.

“Kook…”

His hands return to your waist, and he wets his lips, playing with his piercings. You grind against him, and his eyes immediately flutter shut.

“You think we can fuck out here?” you tease, rolling your hips.

“On the couch that your brother bought,” he replies, and there’s something so sinful about the thought that you know you’ll do it.

It’s not like Taehyung is around and will know.

So you bend forward, capturing Jungkook’s mouth in another languid kiss while you unbutton his pants. When the button comes undone, you straighten, standing between his legs so that you can pull the jeans down his legs. You leave the boxers on, eyeing his length as you kneel, hands resting on his thighs.

“Can I suck your dick?” you ask.

He chuckles. “Yes. But please be quick, I want to be buried inside of you.”

You narrow your gaze at him, but let out a laugh despite yourself.

You focus on his dick again then, on the wet spot at the top where his purple underwear has turned darker. You bend forward, littering small kisses along his shaft, and you tentatively lick at the wet spot, the taste of his precum filling your mouth. And though you’d planned to tease him, to be the brat you know he likes, you give in right away, pulling his boxers down just enough so that you can lick at his slit.

He lets out a breathy sound that has you bite your lip as you look up at him through your lashes. He’s got his head thrown back, eyes closed, and from this angle, all you can see is his sharp jaw.

You pull his boxers down more, and he helps you by raising his ass for a few seconds. His dick springs free, already rock hard, and you immediately grab the base to hold it up as you finish taking off his boxers, letting them tangle around his ankles. You’re quick to lick a long stripe from between his balls up to the tip of his cock, and then you take him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around him.

He bucks his hips, fucking up into your mouth, and you moan when he hits the back, your eyes immediately watering.

He lets you lead after that, hands lost in your hair as you bob your head up and down, working him closer to his high. You love the feel of him in your mouth, love the way he grunts and praises you under his breath, and you think you’d be able to come from just hearing him, pleasuring him.

It doesn’t get to that though. When Jungkook truly nears his high, he pulls you away from his dick, and you meet his gaze to see his pupils are blown wide, filled with so much lust all you can do is obey when he says, “Go get a condom in my room, mmh?”

You nod, and you get up to walk towards his room, feeling his gaze burning on you as you pass the threshold and head to the night table. You pull a condom out, and you walk back to the living room to find Jungkook jerking himself off, his grip on his dick tight enough you know it has to hurt a little.

“Put it on for me,” he says, and he stops jerking off, holding his dick up for you.

You sit next to him, pulling the condom out of the tinfoil package, and then you roll it on his dick. He hisses as you do so, but the second it’s on he pushes you back until you’re lying on the couch and he’s hovering over you.

His hair falls in his eyes, and you quickly push the strands back. He leans in, pressing his lips on yours for a kiss far softer than what you expected, and you smile against him.

He grins when he pulls away, eyes shining with lust and adoration again, and then he’s taking off your pants, taking his sweet time. Kissing every inch of skin revealed, from your inner thigh to a spot below your knee. He stops after that, instead eyeing the wet spot on your underwear, and then he pulls at his piercings, sending you a dark look that makes you go molten.

“I want to fuck you in this,” he says as he finishes taking off your pants, his free hand going to your hip where he traces your underwear. “Want to ruin your panties.”

“Do it,” you challenge him.

He doesn’t need to hear more before he’s returning over you, and his hand pushes your panties to the side so that he can run a finger between your folds, and then circle your clit. You grind your hips, seeking more friction, but Jungkook doesn’t oblige, instead pulling his finger away from your pussy.

“Be patient,” he whispers, and then he kisses you again.

The kiss is feathersoft, gentle, and you lose yourself in the very essence of him. You don’t care - you just want this moment, forever. A scene constantly replaying, away from the atrocity of the world, with your favourite song as the background music.

“Please,” you beg in a soft murmur when he pulls away from your lips, and this time he obliges, returning his hand to your pussy. This time, he pushes in, and you sigh against him as your walls clench around his digit.

“You’re already so wet,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again, his tongue lapping at yours.

You moan in his mouth, hands lightly scratching his back as he adds a second finger. You can hear squelching sounds between your legs, and you’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good that you can’t form a single coherent thought.

“Fuck,” you curse, and Jungkook chuckles, pecking your cheek.

“You take my fingers so well, peach,” he praises. “Will you take my cock just as well?”

You moan again, and you nod your head yes. “Yeah. Please.”

He smirks, pulling his fingers out of you. You both eye them - they’re covered in your juices, and it’s decadent, sinful.

Even more so when Jungkook puts them in his mouth to clean them thoroughly, drinking in your juices.

“So sweet,” he whispers after, and then he shifts, straightening between your legs so that he can align his dick with your entrance, your panties still pushed to the side. He meets your gaze, his own dark with lust. “How do you want me tonight?” he asks, rubbing his dick on you slowly.

“Just fuck me, but come near,” you say, pulling on one of his wrists so that he leans over you again.

He smiles, infinitely soft despite what you’re doing, and then he pushes in, ever so slowly. Inch after inch, Jungkook spears you with his dick until he bottoms out. He stills there, and you wrap your legs around his dainty waist to keep him as close as possible. He obliges, stealing a deep kiss on your lips, and he slowly pulls out before slamming to the hilt again, and you moan in his mouth.

The rhythm he establishes is slow and steady. Deep, in a way that makes you see stars in his gaze. Or maybe that’s just the way the light reflects in his eyes, or the emotions still swirling in the depths of him. You don’t know. All that you know is that you’re falling and falling, with no chance to ever stop now.

You’ve crossed too many lines to ever be able to stop. So you’ll enjoy it while it lasts. Chase all the cars around his head until you can’t anymore, until the last nail is in the coffin and you have to say goodbye to this, to him.

But for now, you enjoy. And you enjoy as best as you can, eyes fluttering shut as he slightly picks up the pace, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You hold him close, arms and legs tight around him, and you moan as he makes love to you.

At least that’s what this feels like. And you wouldn’t want it any other way. You just want the warm proximity of his body on yours, of his lips kissing your mouth. Jungkook gives you all, and you hope he knows you’re giving all to him in return.

Everything. You’ll give him everything until you have nothing left to give, if he so takes it.

“Fuck, peach,” he whispers. He slows down his rhythm, meets your gaze. “I’m really in love with this pussy of yours.”

You know why he says it that way. Know exactly what he truly means but can’t say, and you take that too, keep it locked up in a safe corner of your heart.

“I know,” you whisper, cupping his cheek, and he rests his forehead on yours again.

“I’ll fuck you like this every day,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.

A promise that maybe you’ll make it past your brother’s return.

“Please do,” you beg, and then you’re kissing again, and he’s pounding into you harder, seeking completion for the both of you.

You come before him. Nails digging in his back while you arch yours, walls pulsing around him. That’s what sends him over the edge, and Jungkook climaxes, his head falling in the crook of your neck as he comes and comes.

He’d paint you white if it wasn’t for the condom, and the thought makes you grind your hips instinctively. He kisses your neck in retaliation, and you moan softly, tilting your head to give him better access.

When you’ve come down from the high, you glance towards the coffee table and your abandoned game of Ticket to Ride. The sight makes you laugh, and you press a soft kiss on the mole on Jungkook’s neck as he asks, “What’s got you laughing?”

“We never finished the game,” you remind him.

He lifts his head just enough to look at the coffee table. “Damn,” he lets out. “I totally forgot about that.”

You can’t blame him. When you’re together, you forget about everything, too - he becomes the center of your universe. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Should we finish it?” you ask.

He meets your gaze, pecks your forehead once. “Shower first?”

You can’t say no to those big doe eyes, so you follow him to the bathroom.

And while he washes your back, you hear the clock ticking, your expiration date looming closer with every second that passes.

Saturday, April 13th

The movie theatre is packed.

You’re waiting in line for popcorn with Nabi, Namjoon and Ria, while Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi go to the bathroom. The hall of the movie theatre is loud, and you’ve been standing in silence with your friends as you wait for your turn, though you’ve been eyeing the menu as you’re trying to decide what to order.

You settle on a medium-sized bag of popcorn to share with Yoongi, and Namjoon and Ria grab different candies and chocolate bars for themselves and your other friends. You’re walking towards your movie room when you notice an all-too recognizable tattooed boy, who stands taller than the group that surrounds him.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and he grins broadly as he waves at you.

Four pairs of eyes turn to look at you - Jimin, Sera, Lisa and Eunwoo - and you smile at them, though your gaze quickly shifts back to Jungkook.

You’d told him you were coming to the movies with your friends before going out for drinks. You’re not surprised he’s decided to pull up - despite everything you’ve told him, he’s jealous of your friendship with Yoongi. Which you reckon is funny - Yoongi is trying to fix things with Hoseok, and all you’ve been doing is offer help to him when he needs it.

You don’t think the relationship is fixable, but you haven’t had the strength to break it to Yoongi yet. Not when they had a moment last week, and he’s been far too happy about it since then.

You walk over to where Jungkook’s standing, your friends in tow. It’s hard to stop yourself from hugging him, but you manage to do it, instead greeting everyone and smiling at Jimin as he asks what movie you’re going to see.

“Dune 2,” you reply.

Jimin snorts, saying, “Thought so.”

It sounds ominous, and you slightly furrow your brows, glancing towards Jungkook. He only shrugs his shoulders as he purses his lips.

And that’s how you end up mixing friend groups for the movie. You’re not surprised when Jungkook manages to sit on your left - he’s clearly been scheming for this all along. Yoongi, entirely oblivious, sits on your right.

“I haven’t even seen the first movie,” Yoongi says as he leans towards you. He quickly glances further down the row, where Hoseok sat with Namjoon and Nabi.

Jungkook mirrors Yoongi, and he’s so close you catch a whiff of the detergent he uses to wash his clothes. “It was practically a walking simulator in the desert. Not much to miss.”

Yoongi nods, sitting back in his seat. He offers you a knowing look, and then turns towards Seokjin and Ria on his other side, joining whatever conversation they’re having. You purse your lips, before sliding your gaze back to Jungkook.

“What are you doing here?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“My friends wanted to see the movie,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Thought we could go at the same time.”

You look up to the ceiling, though a smile is playing at the corners of your lips. “What a coincidence.”

He grins. “What a coincidence indeed.”

It makes you chuckle, and before you can say anything else, the light of the movie theatre dims, leaving you in only the glow of the screen as it comes to life.

You eat your popcorn as many movie trailers pass on the screen, Yoongi taking some once in a while. The movie starts when you’re halfway done with the bag, and soon you’re lost in the scenes, too focused to eat.

That’s when Jungkook strikes, stealing a handful of popcorn from your bag.

“Hey!” you whisper-shout, and he winks at you as he eats a mouthful of the snack.

“What?” he whispers back once he’s swallowed.

“That’s mine.”

He flicks your nose, leaning closer to say directly in your ear, “What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours, peach.”

You narrow your gaze. “You haven’t even bought any snacks.”

He shrugs. “I knew I’d steal yours.”

You roll your eyes, slightly shaking your head as you look back towards the screen, and he chuckles softly. Scenes flash in front of your eyes, and you get lost in the action. It might be an hour later, or just a few minutes, when Jungkook pokes your knee, attracting your attention.

You glance at him, but he’s focusing on the screen, his skin looking honey-like in the light. You furrow your brows in question, but when he doesn’t say anything, you shrug, looking back at the screen.

He does it again thirty seconds later, and this time he’s stifling a laugh when you glance at him.

“What do you want?” you whisper as you lean closer to him.

“You,” he replies simply, his eyes darkening as he meets your gaze.

You gulp. “We’re in the middle of a movie theatre with all of our friends.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging. “I’ve just been thinking of how you feel around my…”

You punch his shoulder before he can finish his sentence, and Lisa throws you a look that makes you sit back in your seat, folding your arms on your chest.

“Just focus on the movie, Kook,” you mumble.

He chuckles again, but before he can say anything else, Lisa nudges him. He glances at her, leaning closer when she whispers something you can’t quite hear.

His whole demeanour changes after that, and he sits back in his chair, a slight pout on his lips. Gone is the playfulness, but you think it’s safer that way. He’s way too obvious when you’re in public, and though Taehyung still hasn’t said a thing, you know it’s bound to explode in your face soon.

Jungkook is leaving for Paris in just a few weeks after all.

It douses you, and you finish watching the movie with a lump in your throat, one that doesn’t disappear even when you’re at the bar later, your friend group mixing with Jungkook’s far too easily. Of course, Jungkook notices, and he sits next to you, nudging you.

You glance at him, noticing the concern in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No,” you lie, but he sees through it immediately.

“Is it your cramps?”

You’re on your period. Obviously, he knows, and he’s been sweet about it, buying you snacks and putting his hands, always warm, on your lower stomach while you cuddle.

You purse your lips, shaking your head. The concern doesn’t disappear from his features though, and you feel bad. Enough so that you say, “I’m just…”

You trail off as Lisa appears, sitting on the other side of Jungkook with two beers in hand. She gives one to Jungkook, who thanks her quickly before setting his gaze on you again. Yet she lingers, and you find yourself unable to speak, shrugging your shoulders.

“If there’s anything, just let me know,” Jungkook says, and he offers you a small smile that does nothing to tame the worry in his gaze. “I don’t mind heading home earlier.”

You nod once, and the conversation dies as Hoseok appears on the other side of the table, cheeks red with the shots he’s already downed.

“Not drinking tonight?” he asks you.

You shrug. “Not really in the mood.”

Hoseok narrows his gaze in his suspicion. “I’ve never seen you not in the mood to drink.”

You chuckle. “Well, now you have.”

You’re relieved when he lets it go, especially as you sensed Jungkook tensing by your side, an indication that he was going to intervene if Hoseok didn’t drop it. There’s a short silence, during which you notice Hoseok looking at Yoongi where he’s drinking with Namjoon and Seokjin, a few tables over.

You glance at Jungkook, motioning towards Hoseok. Jungkook frowns, not understanding, and you quickly pull out your phone to text him.

[10:37 pm] You: i want to talk to hobi about yoongi but not in front of you guys

Jungkook pulls out his phone to read your message. He doesn’t reply, yet he nods, turning towards Lisa. “Where are Sera and Jimin?”

“Ordering something at the bar,” Lisa replies, entirely unaware. “Why?”

“Want shots?”

Lisa beams under Jungkook’s gaze, and you taste bile in your mouth as they get up and walk away together, Jungkook shooting you a quick glance over his shoulder.

You can complain all you want about Jungkook being jealous of Yoongi, but you’re just as jealous of Lisa after all.

“What’s up with you and Yoongi?” you ask when they’re out of earshot, gaining Hoseok’s attention.

“Man…” he trails off. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel.”

“Is that why you’ve decided to switch universities?”

You’ve been asking yourself that question for weeks, but Hoseok has been good at avoiding you, clearly realizing that you’ve grown closer to Yoongi.

Hoseok widens his gaze, and the blush on his cheeks deepens. “No? I said it’s because I’m following a professor.”

“What professor?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Hoseok shrugs, his eyes dropping to a knot in the wood of the table. “Why do you care?”

“You’re my friend,” you remind him. “No matter the history that we have. I’d be sad to see you go.”

He chuckles, and it’s a lot more bitter than you ever expected to hear him. “Listen, I don’t really want to be questioned. Is Yoongi the one that asked you to ask me this?”

“No,” you say. “Not at all. I’m just worried about you.”

“About me?” he repeats. “I’m all good, Y/n.”

He doesn’t sound convincing at all, so you say, “Just make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“I already did,” he admits, and his glance towards Yoongi is far too telling. “I’m not into him like that. I don’t even know if I’m into men like that.”

“Have you told him?”

He shrugs. “Here and there. I think he knows.”

You think so too, as Yoongi had mentioned it when you’d studied together a few weeks ago.

“Just make sure you’re honest with him, and honest with yourself,” you say after a few beats of silence.

Hoseok purses his lips, nodding once. “Will do.”

The air turns awkward as Hoseok just keeps on staring at the knot in the wood. You feel bad - you used to be a lot closer to him, and in just a few weeks, your relationship shifted. But you think it might be for the better - you can’t imagine how Jungkook would feel if you were close to someone you used to sleep with, considering he’s jealous of a friend you’ve never done anything with.

Not that that would stop you from being friends with someone. Especially not when April 29th is coming soon, and with it, your situationship - you’re not sure you can call it a relationship - will end.

“Where are you moving?” you ask.

“San Diego,” he replies quickly, and a shy smile appears on his lips, like the thought excites him. “I can’t wait to not have to deal with winter anymore.”

“I can imagine,” you say, chuckling. “Though winter wasn’t too bad this year.”

“If there was an inch of snow then it was bad.” He says it wisely, and this time you laugh as he breaks into a smile.

The conversation is easier after that. Still heavy, because you both know the friendship likely won’t survive the distance, but you still manage to have fun as you speak about classes, about life, and about what he’ll do once he’s in California. Half an hour passes like that, and then you move to the bar, agreeing to grab a single drink.

You settle on an Amaretto Sour, and Ria and Nabi join you at the bar. You end up doing Lychee bombs with them, and then you follow them all back to the table where the rest of your friends are, along with Jimin, Sera and Jungkook.

You’re relieved to see Lisa isn’t there. Not that she’s not nice. She always is, despite her obvious attraction towards Jungkook. And though she clearly senses that something’s happening between you and Jungkook, she’s never said anything, and you respect her for it.

You sit between Nabi and Ria, and Nabi quickly melts against Namjoon next to her. You snort at the sight, turning to say it to Ria, who seems to be in a staring contest with Seokjin across the table.

You don’t really know what’s happening between the two. Ria mentioned that she’s not interested in him, saying he’s just gotten out of a relatively long relationship, and you’re not close enough to Seokjin to know his opinion.

You’re just observant, and you know just how much the air fills with electricity when these two are concerned. Lightning is bound to strike at some point, and you just hope it does so without hurting anyone.

You wonder, is that how the people around you perceive you and Jungkook?

The evening unfolds, calmer than your usual outings - you find yourself going home just a little after midnight. Jungkook’s with you, and he unlocks the door as you slowly walk up the stairs, shooting you a glance.

“You sure everything’s okay?” he asks as you finally reach the top.

You purse your lips, meeting his gaze. The streetlight down the stairs reflects in his gaze, and he looks angelic, innocent like this.

“Yeah, I’m just…” you trail off. “You’re leaving soon.”

His features soften, and he opens the door for you to walk in, following behind you. “I know,” he says once he’s shut the door.

You turn the lights on, meeting his gaze. Unable to help yourself, you cup his cheek, thumb swiping at his skin. “Want to share a bed tonight?” you ask.

As if you haven’t been sharing a bed for weeks already.

“Yes, of course,” he immediately agrees, and he covers your hand with his own, tugging you closer. “If you kiss me first.”

That makes you smile, like only he knows to do, and you tiptoe, pressing your lips on his in a featherlike peck.

“That doesn’t count,” he complains, lips jutting out in a small pout.

“Then kiss me,” you challenge. “Kiss me stupid.”

You don’t need to ask twice - he closes the distance between your mouths, lips ravaging yours, and you lose your hands in his hair.

Later, after you’ve sucked his dick in the shower - you don’t like having sex on your period, but you still wanted to make him feel good - you lie down in your bed, the fairy lights making the atmosphere far gentler than it should be.

It’s treacherous, and you lie with your head on Jungkook’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Chasing Cars is playing on his speaker, and you hold him tighter, putting all of your love in the act. He kisses the top of your head, mouth lingering against you.

“I’m happy you came tonight,” you admit. Indeed, despite the anxiety of Taehyung learning, you like hanging out with Jungkook. Like spending as much time as possible with him right now - the clock is ticking after all, and the sound resembles that of a bomb about to go off.

“Me too,” he whispers.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Have you talked to Taehyung recently?”

The question takes him aback, and his eyebrows knit together. “I speak to him almost every day, why?”

Because you’ve been avoiding your brother like the plague. Because you know the second you speak to Taehyung, you’ll blurt out the truth, and you’re not ready to face his reaction yet.

You doubt you’ll ever be ready.

“How is he and the girl doing?” you ask. “Ariane?”

“Good,” Jungkook answers. “They’re pretty much official now.”

Your lips stretch in a thin line, and you rest your head on his chest again.

You don’t want him to see the jealousy in your gaze.

“Good for him.” It sounds just as flat as you feel - like a tire pierced with a nail, emptied of all air.

Jungkook must feel it too, because his grip around you tightens, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. As if it’d save you from the looming heartbreak.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jungkook whispers a while later, when you thought he was asleep.

You hope he doesn’t take your silence personal - you just don’t think you can figure it out.

Taehyung would never let it happen. So silence is what you offer Jungkook, and you wonder if the beat his heart skips is an indication that he’s breaking, much like you are breaking too.

Sunday, April 28th

Time goes by fast. Sometimes, you think it’s even faster when you’re trying to hold on to something - like sand slipping through the fingers of a fist held tight, time has been slipping away.

The end is near.

You’re sitting on Jungkook’s bed, watching him as he packs his suitcase. He’s been lazy, stopping often so that he can kiss you, hold you. He’s been clingy lately, much like you’ve been.

Like you’ve been trying to fit a whole relationship in just a few weeks.

Jungkook lifts his head from his sock drawer, meeting your gaze. He smiles, but there’s sadness behind his pupils, lurking in the depths of his eyes. You want to take it away, but all you manage to do is smile a weak smile.

“I wonder if they’ll want to go to the Catacombs,” Jungkook says.

He’s been saying random stuff once in a while as he packs, grasping for a conversation you haven’t been able to join in. But you try, you always try, and you know he’s not mad at you for it.

Jungkook could never be mad at you.

It’s strange how he changed in the last four months. You think back on the Incident, that dreaded Incident you had believed to be the most embarrassing thing in your life. Today, you know it wasn’t. It was the start of something great, something you wish never had an expiration date.

But nothing gold can stay, or so they say.

“I bet they’re creepy,” you answer. “Not sure I’d go if I were you.”

“I assume you’re the kind of person who gets scared while watching horror movies too, huh?” Jungkook teases, and he walks towards you, hands full of socks.

He drops them in the suitcase at your feet as you slightly shake your head, a teasing smirk growing on your lips. You doubt it meets your eyes, but it’s the best you can do.

“Says you, who prefers watching romance over action,” you tease.

Indeed, the first few times you’ve watched movies together, he’s suggested going for action first. But he never once appeared disappointed when you chose a romance movie, instead beaming at you as he nodded enthusiastically. It was adorable, endearing, like everything is when it comes to Jungkook.

You can hardly believe he used to sleep around, used to be the most renowned fuckboy in your college. Nowadays, Jungkook appears more like a hopeless romantic, and it’s easy to figure out why.

As someone who never received love from his family, he’s been craving it his whole life. At least you think so, and you’ve been giving it to him, pouring it to him, by actions rather than words.

“Nothing beats romance,” he declares, and you chuckle as he plops down on the bed next to you.

You turn your head towards him as he lies down, one hand on his chest.

“Is that why you cry in every movie?”

He frowns, a pout adorning his lips. “I don’t.”

You cock an eyebrow, because obviously he does, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

No matter how dreaded the circumstances are, the chemistry between you and Jeon Jungkook is undeniable. And as you look at him, you wonder if there’s a universe out there where you’re allowed to be with him. Where older brothers aren’t a thing, and where you get to call him yours, to scream it from the rooftops.

It douses your enthusiasm, and your smile falls as you look away.

Jungkook sits up, cupping your cheek to force you to look at him again. He scans your features for a few seconds, and you stare at his eyebrow piercing, as if that will keep you from crumbling.

“You know…” he lets out. He sucks on his lower lip piercings, pulling at them so hard you think it has to hurt. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I really want to make us work.”

His simple sentence empties everything in your head, in your soul, until there’s just him left.

“But how?”

“I’ll speak to Taehyung,” he says, for what has to be the thousandth time. Indeed, you’ve had that conversation before, but you never once agreed. “I’ll speak to him in Paris, and then when I come back this doesn’t have to be over.”

“This?” you repeat.

“Us.”

You sigh, and you look between his eyes. Hope lights his gaze, and you think there has to be a museum out there to exhibit such beauty.

Jungkook is breathtaking in every way that matters.

“Tae will kill you,” you say, and the hope slowly withers like flowers in the fall. “Try to have a nice trip instead.”

“Then we can talk to him when I come back,” Jungkook suggests. “Together. I can use you as a human shield if he tries to kill me.”

You snort, and the hope reignites in his gaze. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then he’ll be mad,” Jungkook simply states. “I don’t want to lose you, peach.”

Fuck. You’re in love, and you’re in love deep.

“You might lose his friendship,” you say, but your resolve is melting away far quicker than you expected. Because he’s offering you a silver lining, a life vest in the storm that’s been raging inside your head for weeks.

“I honestly don’t care,” Jungkook says, but you see it in his eyes: he cares, and he’d be hurt. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

You highly doubt so but… what if he does? What if he forgives Jungkook, forgives you?

Then you wouldn’t need to travel to another universe. You’d have this one, and you’d have Jungkook.

Maybe you should try.

“Are you sure?” you ask, voice smaller than the atoms holding your body together.

He nods vehemently. “I am. 100%. I don’t want to lose you when we’ve barely just started.”

“Kook…”

He kisses you then, as if he needs to show you with action instead of words. You end up tangled in his bed, your bodies connected on a level deeper than the physical, yet you wouldn’t dare say it. And he doesn’t either, not even when you inevitably go to bed later that evening.

You’re nestled in his embrace, a few minutes after he’s turned his LED lights off, when you say, “Kook?”

“Mmh?”

“Don’t talk to Tae in Paris,” you say. “We’ll wait for you to come back. And we’ll talk to him together.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. If that’s your wish, then I can do it.” He’d said so earlier after all.

You nod. “I think it’s better if it comes from us both instead of just you.”

“Makes sense.” Jungkook kisses your forehead, and a soft smile spreads on your lips. “And peach?”

“Yeah?” you murmur.

“If you miss me too much, feel free to sleep in my bed and wear my clothes, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kisses your forehead again, and despite the words exchanged, you fear it might mean goodbye.

Prev | Chapter 10.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

no but why did I forget how sad this chapter was? Help, they are so afraid to lose each other :') anywayyys what did you guys think about this chapter? Did you like it?? Please let me know:)

#chasing cars ch 10 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

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diamonddaze01 · 14 days ago

Text

oh, baby!

pairing: husband!seungcheol x fem!reader, bestfriend!jeonghan x fem!reader wc: 5.4k genre: fluff, crack | au: non-idol!au | rating: pg warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol consumption a/n: based on an ask by an anon! i love writing miscommunication LMAO. i'm not the best with stuff regarding pregnancy though, so if this reads bad...im sorry // big thanks to @tusswrites for beta-ing and giving me ideas for the scenes! and thank yoj to @wongyuseokie for the lovely banner!

summary: in which jeonghan knows he's the bestest of friends, so why can't you tell him your secret? read as: jeonghan knows you're pregnant. you have to be, right?

Jeonghan prides himself on being a really good friend. The best, even, if you asked him. He’s the kind of friend who remembers everyone’s favorite coffee order, who diffuses arguments with that easy smile (just ask Seungkwan and Seokmin about the infamous Jeju incident), and who somehow manages to be exactly where you need him, exactly when you need him.

He’s the one who introduced you to Seungcheol, and later, he turned down Seungcheol’s offer of being best man just so he could stand by your side during the wedding. He held back tears as he watched his two best friends exchange vows, hands trembling with how much he cared for both of you. Jeonghan even caught the bouquet afterward— everyone relentlessly teases him about it—and he keeps some of the petals in his wallet, pressed flat like they’re part of his heart.

So, yeah. Jeonghan considers himself the ultimate best friend—which is why he’s feeling a little miffed that you didn’t tell him. You’re pregnant, and he had to overhear it like some nosy bystander. Granted, it’s not like you’re obligated to share every detail right away, but he can’t help the small sting of hurt, the sense that he’s been left out of something monumental. And if there’s one thing Jeonghan’s always wanted, it’s to be the cool uncle— the one your kid would adore, the one they could go to for all kinds of secrets and stories.

Jeonghan knows he shouldn’t have eavesdropped (he knows, truly), but he couldn’t resist when he saw the two of you murmuring in a corner outside the bar, expressions far too serious for a simple night out. He presses himself against the door of his car, praying he’s hidden in the shadow, and watches as you drop your head against Seungcheol’s shoulder, your hand gripping his tightly.

“It’s okay, baby,” Seungcheol’s voice is soft, his hand gently circling your back. The quiet reassurance sounds so intimate, so tender, it tugs at something in Jeonghan’s chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you whisper, your words muffled as you press your nose into Seungcheol’s neck.

Jeonghan holds his breath as he watches Seungcheol pull back, his hands moving to your hips, fingers splayed protectively. His thumbs start tracing soothing circles at the bottom of your stomach, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity Jeonghan has rarely seen. “We’ll do whatever you want, my love,” Seungcheol says, voice steady. “It’s your choice.”

And that’s when it hits Jeonghan, right there in the cold. His heart skips a beat. Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

A thrill courses through him, excitement mingling with nerves. You’re going to be parents—something he’d always imagined would happen one day, but he never expected it to feel this real, this soon. He’s already picturing himself as the “cool uncle,” the one your kid would adore, the one they could go to for all kinds of secrets and stories.

But why hadn’t you told him? The sting of hurt starts to creep in, subtle yet unshakable. He’s your best friend—shouldn’t he have been one of the first to know? He sighs, leaning back against the car, the chilly metal pressing into his back, anchoring him. Maybe it’s early; maybe you’re waiting to process this as a couple. The thought soothes him slightly. And while he’d love nothing more than to rush over and demand answers, he knows he’ll have to wait until you’re ready.

His phone buzzes, startling him. Joshua.

joshuji: u coming in or what

joshuji: we want alc hurry UP

Jeonghan glances up, heart still racing, as he spots you and Seungcheol walking toward the bar’s entrance. He straightens his jacket, quickly pasting on his most nonchalant smile. Nothing happened, he tells himself. Just a regular night out.

Inside, the bar is alive with the hum of laughter and music, dim lights casting warm shadows across the wooden tables. Usually, Jeonghan would soak in the energy, but tonight he’s got a mission. He spots Joshua waving him over to the booth, where you, Seungcheol, and the rest of the group are already seated, laughter spilling out as Seungkwan finishes a story. Jeonghan can see the happiness on your face, the ease in the way you lean against Seungcheol—and it grounds him, if only a little.

Sliding into the booth, Jeonghan flashes a quick grin. “Alright, what did I miss?”

“Just in time!” you say brightly, reaching for the menu with a casualness that Jeonghan can’t help but find a little too… normal. “We haven’t ordered yet, but I’m thinking something fruity. Maybe a cocktail?”

His heart skips a beat. Cocktail? Oh, absolutely not. The protective instinct kicks in faster than his thoughts.

“Actually…” He reaches across the table, plucking the menu from your hands before he can even think twice. “Maybe tonight’s not a cocktail night for you?”

You blink, confused. “Huh? Since when are you my personal bartender?”

His laugh is quick, covering his nervousness. “Oh, I just… well, you’ve been looking kind of tired lately. Right, Seungcheol?” He tosses a hopeful glance in Seungcheol’s direction.

Seungcheol, clearly not expecting the cue, fumbles slightly before nodding. “Uh, yeah, babe, now that he mentions it… maybe.”

Your gaze sharpens, suspicion creeping in as you study Jeonghan’s face. “Tired? I’m not tired. I’m fine!”

Jeonghan quickly backpedals, his mind racing. “Of course you are! It’s just, well, you know, the cocktails here are pretty strong. Maybe a soda or a nice glass of water, just to keep things… chill?”

Joshua’s eyebrow arches in amusement. “Since when do you care about people drinking, Jeonghan?”

“Just looking out for my friends!” Jeonghan insists, pulling you close and throwing his arm around your shoulders in a playful half-hug. “Only the best for you, buddy! Besides, wouldn’t want you, uh… getting woozy on us.”

You narrow your eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “I think I can handle one cocktail, Jeonghan.”

He glances around, desperate. “Right, right, but you know, Seungkwan was just saying how amazing the mocktails are here. No… risks. All the flavor. Right, Seungkwan?”

Seungkwan’s mouth opens, clearly taken by surprise, but he gives a quick nod. “Yeah! Mocktails. They’re, uh… very safe. Delicious, too.”

You fold your arms, your amusement turning into a mix of suspicion and annoyance. “What’s going on with you tonight, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan stammers, adjusting his posture but keeping his smile intact, though his face flushes under the dim lights. “Nothing! Just… just looking out for you. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Your expression softens, the suspicion melting into exasperated affection. With a sigh, you shrug. “Fine. I’ll try the mocktail, I guess.”

Relief washes over him, his shoulders relaxing as he shoots a quick grin at Seungcheol, who shakes his head, clearly amused but in on the act. For the rest of the evening, Jeonghan doesn’t let his guard down for a second. Every time the waiter brings over a drink, he discreetly “taste-tests” yours with an exaggerated nod before passing it along.

“Just making sure it’s up to your high standards,” he says with a smirk each time you raise an eyebrow at him.

You laugh, shaking your head, your hand instinctively slipping into Seungcheol’s under the table, your thumb stroking his knuckles. “You’re acting so weird tonight, Jeonghan.”

If only you knew.

Jeonghan wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He swears. He’s just standing by the kitchen counter, the crinkling bag of chips in his hand an innocent alibi, while scanning the room for something—or someone—interesting. The dinner is in full swing, music humming softly in the background, conversations buzzing like white noise, and he’s basking in the satisfying quiet of being a wallflower in a room full of social butterflies.

He pops another chip into his mouth, savoring the salty crunch, when Mingyu’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a spotlight snapping on.

“Seungcheol, man, we’re so proud of you!” Mingyu says, loud enough to turn heads.

Jeonghan tilts his own head slightly, his chip midair. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Yeah, seriously,” Seungkwan pipes up, clapping Seungcheol on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “It’s about time!”

Jeonghan’s hand hovers, chip forgotten as he shifts his attention. A small crowd is forming around Seungcheol now, congratulatory pats and cheers echoing through the room. Seungcheol, as always, wears the kind of bashful grin that makes it clear he’s soaking in the attention, even if he pretends he doesn’t like it.

“It really did take years,” Seungcheol admits, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always does when he’s being humble.

And there you are, standing right beside him, smiling so warmly that Jeonghan swears the room tilts a little. “But he didn’t give up. I’ve seen him work so hard, day and night,” you say, the pride in your voice impossible to miss.

Jeonghan’s brow furrows as he slowly lowers the chip to the bag. Pride. Hard work. Years. What’s this about?

The murmurs of approval spread through the group like wildfire. Jeonghan catches Mingyu and Seungkwan clinking their beers in silent celebration.

“It’s not easy breaking into this industry,” Mingyu says sagely, though Jeonghan knows for a fact the most Mingyu’s ever ‘broken into’ is a tub of ice cream after a long day.

Jeonghan frowns. Industry? His mind races as he flicks his gaze between you and Seungcheol. What industry?

“Man,” Seungcheol begins, shaking his head with a small, nostalgic laugh, “those years in the bedroom and basements—”

Jeonghan chokes on his chip.

Heads whip around to look at him. He coughs, hand over his mouth, scrambling to recover.

“Bedroom?” Jeonghan croaks, louder than he intended.

A few people snicker, but Seungcheol looks more confused than anything, one brow arching as he crosses his arms. “Uh… yeah?”

Jeonghan blinks rapidly, his mind running laps. Years in the bedroom? With you? And basements? What does that even mean?

“That’s where I started making music,” Seungcheol continues, his voice steady but tinged with the slightest bit of defensiveness.

“Oh,” Jeonghan mutters, the word barely audible over the thudding of his pulse. “Music.” He forces his face to remain neutral, though his brain is screaming. He takes another chip, if only to have something to do with his hands.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop, his voice gaining momentum like a runaway train. “It was rough, honestly. I spent hours in there, pouring everything into it, over and over again—”

Jeonghan’s hand freezes in the bag, his eyes going wide as unbidden images flicker through his mind. Images that have nothing to do with music. He fights the urge to slap himself.

“And you supported me through all of it,” Seungcheol says, his voice softening as he turns to you. His eyes practically glow with sincerity.

You smile at him, your expression so warm, so open, that Jeonghan feels a twinge of secondhand emotion. There’s something private in the way you look at Seungcheol, something that feels too big for a moment like this.

And yet, Jeonghan can’t help but tighten his grip on the chip bag.

Mingyu breaks the moment with a hearty clap on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “It’s inspiring, really. You just kept going, even when it got hard.”

Jeonghan’s chip crumbles in his hand. Did no one else hear that?

“Well,” you say with a laugh that’s just shy of teasing, “he never does things halfway. When he’s passionate, he’s all in.”

Jeonghan presses his lips together tightly, his shoulders shaking as he stifles a laugh. He risks a glance around the room, but no one else seems fazed.

Seungcheol chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck again. “What can I say? It’s worth it when it’s something you love.”

Jeonghan is two seconds away from either bursting into laughter or leaving this dinner altogether. He doesn’t know which option will save his sanity faster.

“Man,” Seungkwan says, grinning broadly, “and now you’re a producer at that studio! You really made it, Cheol.”

Jeonghan freezes mid-breath. Producer?

“Oh,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. “Music.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrows as he turns toward Jeonghan. “Yeah? What else would it be?”

“Nothing,” Jeonghan replies quickly, brushing off the crumbs from his hands as nonchalantly as possible. “Congrats, man. Really proud of you.”

Seungcheol eyes him for a beat longer before Mingyu distracts him with another round of enthusiastic pats.

As the conversation flows back to lighter topics, Jeonghan sneaks another glance at you and Seungcheol. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand swatting his arm playfully, and Seungcheol leans down to whisper something in your ear. The way you nudge him back, your smile soft, makes Jeonghan’s chest feel oddly heavy.

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet laugh to himself. I’m definitely overthinking this.

But no matter how many chips he eats, the phrase “years in the bedroom and basements” echoes in his mind, refusing to leave.

Sunday brunch has been a sacred tradition ever since you and Jeonghan were broke, hungover, and shamelessly nosy college kids. It used to be a chance to pick apart every terrible decision from the night before—who ended up with who, which of your friends was blacklisted from your favorite bar this time, and whether that one prof actually knew how to teach or was just winging it. Now it’s all slightly more respectable, though the core vibe is the same: hungover, nosy, a little too loud for public, and still hung up on the drama of the week.

When Jeonghan strolls in, spotting you at your usual table with an iced Americano in hand, he stops short. For a second, he feels a wave of pride—he’s got his act together, and you’re clueless as ever—but it’s quickly followed by a flash of concern. So he switches gears, zeroes in on your coffee cup, and slides into the booth with what he hopes looks like an easy grin.

He prides himself on subtlety, Jeonghan does. He’s sure he can manage this without causing alarm, without making you feel pressured or spied on. Just a small adjustment to the routine. Easy.

“Hey, what’s that you’re drinking?” he asks as he slides into the seat across from you, keeping his tone light but shooting you a grin that’s maybe a little too tight. He plucks the coffee cup from your hand before you can react, inspecting it like he’s never seen iced coffee before.

“Uh… an iced Americano?” You raise an eyebrow, more amused than anything, but he can already tell you’re getting suspicious. You take in his tight smile and his sudden interest in your drink. “Why?”

He takes a quick sip and barely stifles a grimace. “Iced Americano. Really? You drink this every Sunday?”

You shrug. “Yeah, since forever. What’s your deal?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, shrugging it off as he slides the coffee back. “Just thought you’d want something herbal, maybe? Like… chamomile? Peppermint?” he offers, trying to sound casual. “Soothing stuff, you know? Maybe something decaf?”

“Herbal?” You narrow your eyes. “When did you get all wholesome on me? Since when do you care about herbal tea?”

You stare at him, an eyebrow quirking, skepticism starting to creep into your eyes. “Herbal? Are you okay? Since when do you care about, like, chamomile tea?”

He gives a quick shrug, faking his usual breeziness. “I’m just saying! Caffeine’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know? All the jitters, the heartburn…” He trails off, flashing a strained smile. He’s proud of how smoothly he’s handling this, trying to steer you away from the iced coffee without raising any red flags.

You give him a look, deadpan. “Han, I have one coffee, once a week. And half of it’s in your stomach now, so don’t lecture me.”

He barks out a laugh, forcing himself to look casual as hell as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. My bad. But you should try water instead—hydration is key, y’know.” Without giving you a chance to argue, he pops out of the booth and heads to the counter for a bottle of water.

He keeps an eye on you from the counter, grinning to himself like he’s just scored a major win. This is step one, and he figures if he plays his cards right, you won’t even notice his sudden caffeine-sabotage campaign. He grabs a bottle, quickly sidling back over to the booth.

He plunks it down in front of you with a wide smile, as if he’s doing you the world’s biggest favor. “Stay hydrated. That shit is better than any iced Americano.”

You just stare at him, bewildered. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“Nothing!” Jeonghan insists, a bit too enthusiastically. But then, maybe he overplays his hand. The next thing he knows, he’s sliding the bottle over to you and muttering, “Gotta stay hydrated, buddy.”

“Buddy?” You shoot him a look that could drill holes. You’re not buying it, not even a little. Jeonghan practically flinches because, yeah, he never calls you “buddy.” Normally, it’s just your name—or a well-timed “ho” when he’s feeling especially feisty. He can tell the second he says it that he’s tipped you off, just a bit.

And now, you’re watching him, that too-sharp glint in your eyes. “Since when am I your buddy?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion.

Jeonghan keeps his grin intact, waving it off like he’s got nothing to hide. “What? Aren’t we buddies?” He goes for his water glass and takes a long, slow sip, playing up the nonchalance. “Just looking out for you. You need a buddy to make sure you stay hydrated, that’s all.”

But he’s starting to see it in your eyes—that look you get when you know he’s up to something. He can feel his casual act slipping, so he pulls back, deciding to ease up on the hints. “Anyway,” he says, tone lightening, “I’m just messing with you,” He leans back, stretching with a lazy grin that he hopes comes off as relaxed, not calculated. “So, anyway. Tell me about what that idiot boss of yours pulled this week.”

You’re still squinting at him, but he can see you filing his “buddy” slip-up away for later. Probably already figuring out ways to make him squirm next time he tries to pull something over on you. The thought almost makes him laugh.

Despite the coffee swiping, you settle back, leaning into the usual rhythm of your weekly debrief, losing yourself in the vent session as you pick at your food and Jeonghan eggs you on. He throws in his own commentary—“I swear, that guy’s one bad review from a lawsuit”—while giving you sideways glances, watching to make sure you’re sipping the water. And every now and then, he slides your plate a little closer, pushing you to take another bite.

But in between the jokes, he’s already plotting his next move. Subtlety is the name of the game, after all. He just has to keep you guessing long enough to make sure you’re taking care of yourself… without letting on that he’s keeping watch over two of you now.

Seungkwan has chosen a sports park for the monthly hangout, a classic Seungkwan move—something energetic, competitive, and likely to end in some hilarious disaster. Everyone’s in high spirits as they gather under the bright sun, ready to kick off the day with some casual sports. It's the perfect opportunity for some fun, but as usual, Jeonghan’s on a different wavelength.

Jeonghan prides himself on being subtle—too subtle, probably. He doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to make you feel pressured, but his instincts are... well, Jeonghan instincts. And right now, they’re telling him something’s off.

There’s been too much of you skipping out on things, and while he would normally chalk it up to your “weird habits” or just you being you, today it’s starting to feel... different. You’ve been playing it off, pretending everything’s normal, but he can feel the change. And he's not about to let this slip by.

First, there was the iced Americano incident. The way you looked at him when he tried to take it away—it wasn’t just you rolling your eyes. You were trying to hide something. Then last night, at dinner, you hardly touched your drink, instead opting for water—water, for god’s sake. And now... here you are, standing way too still in the middle of a busy sports park, looking like you’d rather be anywhere else. Jeonghan is practically scanning your every move.

Seungkwan’s already yapping about his plan for a “friendly” soccer match, while the others are warming up on the sidelines. You’re laughing with the girls, joking about who’s going to be the first to get a goal past Seungkwan’s notoriously awful defense. It’s all very chill, very normal, but Jeonghan’s eyes keep darting to you. It’s subtle—he’ll give you that—but there’s a difference in the way you’re standing.

Yeah. This is definitely it. You’re pregnant.

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to say it out loud. He knows. He knows in his gut. You're keeping it from him. The way you’ve been acting—it's obvious. You’re pregnant, and you’re hiding it. But he’s not about to make a scene. No. He’ll be subtle about this. He’ll protect you without you knowing he’s doing it. He’s not going to make you feel uncomfortable or pressured. He’ll just... look out for you.

He watches you take a sip from your water bottle, and the sight of you not reaching for something more exciting (like your usual iced Americano or even a bloody beer) sends alarm bells ringing in his head. No way. You’ve been on a healthy streak all day. Something’s wrong.

Slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage, he leans on the edge of the table, giving you his most easygoing smile. "Hey, buddy," he says, eyes flicking to yours, a little too sharp.

Shit. There it is. “Buddy”—again. He’s almost positive you’ve caught him red-handed. His instincts are getting worse, and it’s almost like he can feel the sweat forming at the back of his neck.

You blink, confused, and he feels a little too caught off guard. Shit. Did he just say that out loud?

“What?”

“Just checking in,” Jeonghan continues smoothly, his tone dropping an octave. “You sure you’re alright to just... watch today? You know, I’ve been thinking, soccer is a little intense, don’t you think? It could be a lot on your body...”

You look at him, a little puzzled, probably trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. "It’s just a game, Jeonghan."

“Yeah,” he shrugs, trying to mask the panic that’s bubbling up. He needs to keep this light, keep it casual. "But still, with your... situation.” He trails off, forcing himself to look like he’s just making a suggestion.

You frown now, clearly starting to get suspicious.

Without waiting for you to question him further, he quickly slides into a new tactic. “You know, hydration’s important,” he says, snatching the water bottle from your hands and taking it upon himself to force it into your grip. "I think you should drink more water. It’s the best thing for you right now." He gives you an exaggerated smile, all teeth. “You’ll be just fine if you stay hydrated.”

You’re about to protest—he knows you are—but before you can get the words out, he quickly walks off, telling himself it’s fine, just fine. Keep it cool, Jeonghan. You’re fine.

But his mind is still working overtime, running through all the signs he’s seen—skipping drinks, staying still, not participating. And every single one of them is screaming the same thing.

You’re pregnant.

He glances back over his shoulder to check on you—thankfully, you’re still sitting, still sipping the water like the good little soldier he’s turning you into.

Suddenly, Seungcheol appears out of nowhere, grinning like a fool, pulling you away from the picnic table. “C’mon, babe, time to stretch those legs. Don’t tell me you’re already done being the cheerleader?”

Relief washes over Jeonghan, and he feels a knot in his chest loosen. There you go, Seungcheol, swooping in to save the day—taking you away from all the chaos he’s cooked up in his head. You’re in good hands. For now, at least.

Jeonghan watches as Seungcheol sweeps you into the crowd, joining the others on the field. He’s grateful—so grateful—that you haven’t caught on yet. Not yet.

The party is buzzing, the clinking of glasses and laughter filling the room as Seungcheol’s birthday kicks into high gear. It’s the usual mix of their close-knit friend group—Seungkwan, Mingyu, Vernon, Jihoon, and all the others—each in their own little bubble of conversation, but you? You’re standing off to the side with that damn glass of champagne in your hand, eyes glancing around, and there’s something about the way you’re holding it that has Jeonghan’s mind spinning.

You’re standing there like you belong to no one, not even yourself, but something about the way you keep looking at your glass makes him uneasy. Maybe it’s the way your fingers are wrapped around it too carefully, almost like you’re avoiding drinking. Or maybe it’s the way you keep glancing at Seungcheol, who’s busy chatting away with Mingyu and Vernon, like he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s hard to tell, but Jeonghan can’t shake the feeling something’s off.

Then it happens. The moment he’s been waiting for.

You raise the glass, like you’re about to toast. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses grows louder, and it’s like the whole room pauses. Jeonghan’s mind clicks into overdrive, his instincts kicking in, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, his hand is moving.

One smooth motion, and the champagne is in his hand, your glass no longer where it was just a second ago.

He doesn’t look at you when he does it. He doesn’t need to. He just takes it, like it’s nothing. Because, in his mind, it’s something. He’s doing you a favor, right? He’s looking out for you, protecting you from something—something you don’t even realize you need protection from.

Your frown is immediate. Your eyes narrow, and you turn to face him, the glass now mysteriously missing from your grasp.

“Jeonghan, what the hell?” Your voice is sharp, confused, but there’s an undertone of concern. And for a split second, Jeonghan feels his stomach tighten. He’s not sure if it’s nerves or guilt, but damn if it doesn’t feel like something.

He keeps his cool, though. It’s Jeonghan, after all. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t falter. He smiles, giving a shrug like this is no big deal. “I’m just trying to protect you,” he says, voice light, playful, even though there’s a certain tension in his shoulders that he can’t quite shake.

“Protect me?” You stare at him, eyes widening in disbelief. “From what?”

His heart beats a little faster now, because this—this is the moment. He knows he’s been right. He’s sure he’s been right. It’s been building up, the signs have been obvious, and if he doesn’t stop you now, he could be too late.

“Pregnant people can’t have alcohol,” Jeonghan says, his tone turning a little more serious, but he’s still keeping it light. Too light. He barely catches the way your brow furrows as you process his words.

You blink at him, the confusion settling into something far more incredulous. “Okay, thank you for that little factoid,” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Who’s pregnant?”

Jeonghan can feel his pulse picking up, his gaze darting nervously from you to the champagne in his hand. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but you look like you know. You’ve caught him. You’ve noticed the signs, and this is it. He’s been caught red-handed.

“You are?” Jeonghan’s voice comes out in a high-pitched squeak, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop them. He doesn’t even recognize the tone of his own voice—he just knows that this is the moment he’s been dreading and, somehow, waiting for.

And then you start laughing. Laughing.

It’s loud, it’s spontaneous, and it fills the entire room. Your shoulders shake with it, your face turning pink with the force of your amusement. And for the first time since he walked in, Jeonghan feels like a damn idiot. A total idiot.

“WHAT?” Jeonghan can barely get the word out before he realizes what he’s said, and now, you’re laughing even harder, clutching your stomach like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you.

Seungcheol’s head whips around from where he’s talking to Mingyu and Vernon, his curiosity piqued by the sound of your laughter. You’re still giggling, though, and Jeonghan watches in utter confusion as Seungcheol’s grin slowly spreads across his face.

“What are we laughing about?” Seungcheol asks, his voice thick with amusement, his arm sliding around your waist as he walks over to you.

Your laughter is still uncontrollable, and you’re leaning into Seungcheol as if this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened. “Jeonghan over here thinks I’m pregnant,” you say between laughs, and Jeonghan feels a lump form in his throat.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense.

Seungcheol starts laughing too, looking from you to Jeonghan like he’s just stumbled across some inside joke. His arm around your waist tightens, and he pulls you onto his lap with that effortless strength of his. You’re still giggling, though now, you’re half sitting on Seungcheol’s lap, your face buried in his neck, clearly enjoying the chaos you’ve unleashed.

Jeonghan is standing there like he’s been hit by a truck. His brain’s scrambling to catch up. Wait, this isn’t what he thought was happening, is it?

“You’re not...?” Jeonghan stammers. His voice is a little too high, like he’s a kid who just learned that Santa isn’t real. You're not pregnant?

You wipe the tears from your eyes, finally able to speak. “Pregnant? No, Jeonghan, why would you think that?”

Jeonghan’s hand tightens around the champagne glass, his mind replaying every little thing he’d witnessed over the last week. The water at dinner, the soccer game, the way you were avoiding alcohol— it all clicks into place, and he can feel the weight of his mistake crushing down on him. “But at the bar—the whole ‘it’s your choice, you can do whatever you want’ thing?” Jeonghan’s voice cracks slightly, but he keeps going. “And the drinking water at dinner last week instead of wine? And the not playing soccer?”

You just stare at him, eyes wide with disbelief, but this time, there’s a trace of sympathy in them. “Jeonghan,” you say, a little quieter now, “our lease is up. We were stressed about finding a new place to live. That’s why I didn’t drink, and the whole soccer thing? I had a cold that day.”

Seungcheol, still holding you on his lap, leans in with a grin. “Dude, she had to drive us home,” he adds, voice full of playful exasperation. “And she was sick that day. You seriously thought she was pregnant?”

Jeonghan blinks a couple of times, like the whole world has just shifted. The understanding starts to dawn on him, slow and painful. Oh. He almost wants to bury his face in his hands. “Right. Oh.”

“Yeah, OH,” you say, still chuckling. “Now, give me back my drink so I can drink to my beautiful, spectacular husband, whose baby I am NOT carrying.”

Seungcheol laughs and presses a quick kiss to your temple, his arms tightening around you as he looks over at Jeonghan with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Jeonghan. She’s not pregnant. But I’ll take the champagne now. You can go ahead and get her some water, though. She might still need it after all that laughing.”

Jeonghan lets out a long breath, his face a mix of embarrassment and relief, and finally hands your champagne back to you, though he looks like he wants to sink into the floor. “Right. Right. You’re welcome. No baby. Got it.”

You raise your glass toward Seungcheol with a grin, finally able to focus on the toast you’ve been trying to make all evening. “To my incredible, perfect husband—who, I assure you, I’m not pregnant with.”

Jeonghan, though, is standing off to the side, looking like he just got hit with a truck. He rubs his temples, muttering to himself. He’s definitely not going to live this one down. Not today, not ever.

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lucysarah-c · 1 year ago

Text

Not in season?

Summary: Winter had settled in, and the scouts were busy training and preparing for the prospects of spring, still far away, to retake Wall Maria. Despite the snow accumulating outside, the building was freezing cold, and the world had secluded itself until the temperature rose. So, why was Captain Levi boiling in his own body? Something felt off, but his mind was quickly slipping into insanity as he tried to find a rational explanation. Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. I'm self-conscious about my smut, so… practice makes perfect. That's it. In case I forget any warning or tag, feel free to remind me. Pairing: Levi x fem! reader. Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Levi Ackerman, Top Levi Ackerman, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Possessive Levi Ackerman, Possessive Sex, Possessive Behavior, Knotting, Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Smut, Breeding, Forced breeding, Biting, Breeding Kink, dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Forced Pregnancy, Unsafe Sex, Nurse reader, Alpha Levi x Omega reader, Captain Levi Ackerma, Captain Levi x Nurse Reader, Dirty talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Alpha Hange Zoë, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Erwin Smith, Alpha Eren Yeager, Alpha Jean Kirstein, Alpha Mikasa Ackerman. Omegaverse. Word count: 8.6k words of pure porn. You had been warned lmao

Saliva accumulated in his mouth, pooling before he spat it into the sink. The rush of water from the tap washed away the residue as he continued spitting and splashing his face with cold water. A sense of uneasiness clouded his mind, lingering like the scent of smoke. He had showered, shaved, tidied his hair, cleaned under his nails, changed clothes, and brushed his teeth. What else was there to do?

A thick, almost sticky sensation coated his mouth, as if he had a stomach ache without the actual pain. Despite the cold weather, sweat formed on his forehead as he pushed the dark hairs out of the way, splashing his face with freezing water once more. Perhaps it was due to his inability to concentrate on work since early morning, causing him to pace around the room like a caged lion.

Correction, he did have a stomach ache, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the source or if it was even physically painful. It felt more uncomfortable than painful. Waves of acidic heat started in his groin and spread throughout his body. He had already consumed three cups of tea by 9 am. When he crossed paths with Erwin in the higher-ups' kitchen, the commander questioned him, noting the honey in all the teas. Unusual for him. Both of them were extremely busy, their minds preoccupied elsewhere. The commander didn't have time for extensive questioning, yet Levi couldn't shake off the extremely unpleasant sensation that Erwin's presence was the most annoying and irritating thing he had encountered.

"I'm craving something sweet," he added curtly, hoping it would suffice. It was true; he felt the need for something soft, sweet, cute, filling, and warm. He was irritable, easily bothered by Eren and Jean's silly actions during early practice. The display of youthful hormones and their desperate need for attention and dominance grated on his nerves. Oddly enough, he had grown accustomed to them and their displays of testosterone.

Newly presented alphas always behaved that way—baring teeth, growing, and fighting. Their disinterested and desperate cries for attention garnered no reaction from fully grown alphas. They were closer to pups playing pretend, training for future occasions in their lives than actual threats. Levi was sure of it, both as a mature alpha and as a high-bred one. Usually, the two boys only annoyed him with their strong, uncontrolled scents and nothing more.

However, that morning marked the moment he sensed something was off. Eren's insistence on asserting his dominance over the Kirstein boy with his scent almost prompted Levi to interfere, baring his teeth and loudly declaring that he was the one in charge. It had never struck him in this way before, these two newly presented boys. On the contrary, in previous instances, it had strengthened his sense of responsibility and paternal instinct, correcting their behaviour when he felt the need to show them the right way to behave. The captain secretly blamed that time spent alone with his squad in the cabin or Eren's fresh presentation under his watch at the former HQ.

Women usually precede such occurrences, they naturally present earlier than boys. So the Ackerman girl must have sensed something, her penetrating dark eyes never leaving his figure during training. Levi's suspicions were confirmed as soon as he called it a day and left. He could no longer bear it.

“Finishing so early?” Erwin inquired when they crossed paths again. The taller man wrinkled his nose slightly but stood in place, demanding an answer.

“I feel like shit,” Levi spat out, giving his back to the taller man as he stopped on his way but refused to face the commander.

“I see,” Erwin replied before adding, “consider going to get checked by the nurse.”

Levi clenched his teeth irrationally. Once again, the blond’s presence felt utterly annoying. 'I know! I can smell it all over you,' he thought.

“She’s at her station. I just came from there as she was checking my arm,” Erwin explained calmly, obviously not considering a deeper topic. “Y/N is young, but she’s very-”

The commander was cut off mid-sentence as Levi turned over his shoulder, deadly piercing eyes, and hissed at the taller alpha. Erwin stood in place, denying the idea of backing up as he kept his eyes glued to the shorter soldier, completely confused. “Did you just hiss at me?”

Levi shook his head, as if trying to snap some sense into his brain. “Fuck, sorry,” he said, then returned to his pace, feeling the judging blue eyes of his superior stuck to the back of his head.

He contorted in pain, bending over his desk as his body burned. His skin felt as if it were boiling in his own blood. Saliva filled his mouth, his jaw clenched with uncontrolled tension. "Too many," his sharpened senses detected the repugnant stench of too many competitors surrounding him.

The military was full with Alphas, lower or higher breed, but most of the members were either that or betas. Omegas weren’t allowed, at least no at the main activity divisions. More appropriate positions were reserved for them if they desire or unless they were low quality breeds, in order to avoid creating unnecessary commotion during their heats.

"I don't understand," Levi cursed under his breath as he contorted in pain, his body drenched in sweat. He slumped against the desk chair, tilting his head back as ragged breaths escaped his accelerated mouth. Ruts were something that had almost disappeared since he joined the military, and he was grateful for that. Without constant exposure to the presence of omegas, most purebred alphas reduced their ruts to near non-existence. Nature was wise—why waste energy and precious seed when there was nobody to claim? It was better to save it for a worthy occasion. Yes, there were perhaps a couple of instances when his body experienced reactions during particular seasons, but they were easily manageable.

This, however, was all-consuming. It began and ended with each breath that left his lips.

"Fuck, it's like I'm 18 all over again," he cursed, recalling previous ruts. The muscles in his legs twitched and contorted as he spread them apart. Every fibre, hair, and cell in his body strained, expanded, tightened, and prepared with ecstasy at the idea of "Fight, win, dominate, claim, breed, and secure." All of these required him to be exceptional.

Levi had always been fearful of confessing to anyone, but being an Ackerman and an alpha was quite the combination. The Ackerman powers granted individuals increased strength, agility, and combat prowess. When combined with an alpha's innate physical abilities during a rut, an Ackerman alpha became an even more formidable force. Their already heightened strength and endurance would be further amplified, allowing them to excel in protecting their pack and omega.

The Ackerman powers also enhanced an individual's senses, including perception and reflexes. This heightened sensory awareness complemented an alpha's already acute sense of smell during a rut. The combination resulted in an alpha with incredibly sharp instincts, capable of swiftly detecting danger or sensing the presence of a compatible omega.

In conclusion, every inch of his body was working diligently to find a suitable partner. His fingers reached for the cravat around his neck, loosening the pressure and seeking some relief. The cold leather of the chair briefly provided a deceptive sense of calmness until it warmed up and clung to his body. Two, three buttons were undone, and the air within the office began to thicken with his own pheromones as his neck became exposed. These were shameful actions that his body performed of its own accord, attempting to attract a potential mate.

Dry chuckles reverberated in his chest as he contemplated the absurdity of it all. "I'm humanity's strongest soldier. I fought the entire MPs to put a queen on the throne. I don't need to produce a bunch of hormonal shit to show an interested partner that I'm strong enough." Because that's what his body was doing—it was a display, a show, a performance, almost, of virility, strength, and power.

The idea of being dominated by the very thing he was supposed to control made him shudder. He wasn't just any alpha; he was Levi Ackerman, the clean freak who prided himself on maintaining order and discipline. Yet here he was, a mere pawn in nature's cruel game. "Fucking biology," he growled under his breath as if cursing the very laws that governed him. He knew what he had to do, but it felt like betrayal. His mind screamed at him to resist, to fight against the urge but little he could do.

Hange was quick to slap the door open, enthusiastic, and wrinkled their nose at the odour inside. They covered their mouth and nose with their hands, the stink being too much to bear.

"God, get your shit together, shorty!" they replied almost immediately. “Fuck, I can even feel the pheromones in my mouth,”

Levi groaned uncomfortably before adding, "You think it was something I could control, I wouldn't just do it?" He spat out his words, contorting uneasily in the chair.

"I came because Erwin mentioned that you cancelled training earlier. Well, this just makes sense," the brunette paced around the room, keeping their distance. As an Alpha themselves, with a strong bond of camaraderie between them, the titan lover understood the other's need. "You seem too far into the rut already for me to give you something to shut it down."

Another uneasy groan escaped Levi; this was not happy news.

"You'll have to deal with it like a big boy. I could give you something to make you more docile…"

"Fuck it," he quickly complained, being docile and Levi weren't two words that mixed well.

"Yeah," Hange chuckled as they kneeled next to the desk to inspect the short man better. "I thought you'd say that…"

Brown eyes fixed on Levi as if he were Eren during an experiment. "What?" Levi quickly snapped, feeling too much under scrutiny.

"… may I see your fangs? I've never seen you bare them, and now that you've admitted with the whole Kenny stuff to be an Ackerman, I'm curious how they look."

He bared his teeth; he was no subject of tests. "Fuck off," he replied, clearly irritable, but the brunette laughed as the sight was there for them to behold.

"There they are… god, they are huge. Poor omega… that's why only their bodies are meant to support the mating," While Hange insisted on inspecting the Captain and rambling about biological details and dynamics, the other poor alpha of the room was dying of heat. His body wasn't taking it easy that he wasn't collaborating willingly to go out there and search for a mate, especially when he had allowed another alpha inside his territory. "Talking about omegas," Hange picked up the topic after their rambling, "who have you been around with to trigger a rut? There are no omegas in the scouts."

"You tell me!" he replied between clenched teeth, almost drawing blood as he felt the stitches in his groin and the imperious necessity to bite something down and hold it as he pounded into it.

"God, I better go before you think about bitching me," Hange commented, not meaning it seriously. "I'll let the rest know you're sick to leave you alone. I'll leave a tray of food at the door and a change of water."

Levi hummed a sort of reply; he felt so humiliated. The mere thought of not having control over his body felt like an insult to his honour, to everything he stood for.

"Cheer up, have fun pounding your pillows," Hange's sing-song voice came through the door as it closed behind them.

It took a tremendous effort to rise from his seat, walk to the door, and add the lock on. Only then did he pace around the room like a caged lion, closing the window despite his need for coldness and drawing the curtains. The last thing he needed was some stupid cadet watching him jerk off over his desk. He kicked his boots off and started to undo the harness; it was done, it was inevitable at this point. Neatly putting them away while he still had some semblance of self-control and lucidity in his brain. It was going to be a long ride, a good couple of days closed inside there, almost ready to tear his skin off because his body "claimed" that this was the rightful time for mating.

Uniform off, he took a cold shower, thinking that he might have little to no mind to do it later on. It wasn't his first rut, of course not, but it had been definitely a while since his last. And he had no fond memories of the previous experiences. Once showered, he felt slightly at ease, a drop of water for a man dying of dehydration. Sweatpants on, no bothering with underwear, not even a shirt. Like a man waiting to be hanged, he prepared for what was about to come while he still had time to prepare.

It was winter, but he felt as if the air burned his skin, so warm it felt. He took off the bed cover to avoid getting it dirty, leaving only the sheets. Before he could even notice, his teeth were biting into his pillow, triggering his mind into thinking it was something else and also muffling his sounds. Thick expert hips thrusting in rhythmic movements, seeking fraction and release, his right hand squeezing the base of his dick, simulating what an omega's hole would feel like. So he could knot and feel a wash of relief until it started again. And again.

First, the rut, then the heat. In nature, it's rather a simple dynamic. Alphas go into rut first to showcase their capabilities, and when the heat hits, omegas have probably already had their eyes on one or two alphas.

Third chamomile tea, warming up her hands. She sighed slowly, trying to calm down her pounding heart. His hands did a calming massage over her neck, but her hair was getting loose as it escaped the low braid she had done during work. Something was off; she couldn't quite put her finger on what, but she started to wonder if she had caught a cold. Her body trembled as she got a fever; despite her rising body temperature, she felt rather cold, craving the warmth of her tea. Anxious thoughts clouded her mind, unsure why.

As the new nurse of the scout, she felt most of the time rather pointless. They had been preparing to retake Wall Maria during winter; there weren't expeditions, and accidents during training weren't that frequent, luckily so! She didn't want to appear as if she was waiting for someone to get injured to justify her presence. Her presence there wasn't only new; she had freshly graduated, and the surprise that they had chosen her as the main nurse made her anxious and happy. But the scout facilities were deep into the training areas, and the place was quiet and busy. Perhaps too quiet sometimes.

'Captain Levi is sick,' 'Oh goddess, doesn't he need me to check him out? I saw him a couple of days ago to check the healing of his ankle, and he seemed just fine!' 'No… better leave him alone; he's grumpy by nature. Imagine when he's sick.'

The conversation of the day before yesterday stuck in her mind far too much for her liking. Perhaps because she had checked his ankle, and while it seemed to be healing suspiciously fast, Captain Levi had explicitly asked her not to tell anyone how serious the injury had been. Her mind began to wander; had he gotten it infected somehow? What if it was more than just a cold? What if he needed someone to change the cold cloth over his forehead?

But the moment that kept replaying in her mind was when he brewed her tea, almost proud of how he had secured a deal for the best supplies from the Reeves Company. The soft touch of their fingers, the piercing colour of his eyes fixed on her—these memories lingered with an underlying haze each time she entered the room, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was from her last visit, the previous week when her necklace had come loose and fallen to the ground. Levi's sharp eyes quickly found the silver piece and handed it back to her.

Feeling embarrassed, she attempted to fasten the necklace herself, but it was challenging. "Here, let me help you," he said, his calloused fingers moving her hair aside, knuckles ghostly brushing against her neck as he placed the necklace around it. The sensation left her feeling warm, her heartbeats echoing in her ears, and the inviting aroma of lavender and citrus filled the air, slightly musky. It made no sense; she was a beta!

'Maybe we both caught a cold.'

Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling above her, beneath the higher-ups' personal chambers. She knew that Levi's room wasn't directly above hers, but metaphorically speaking, it felt that way. She couldn't sleep; her body felt uneasy, tired yet expectant, hot yet cold, restless yet weak. Curling into a small ball on her mattress, she wished to hide from the world. A feeling of defenselessness washed over her. Her mind and body felt exposed and alone, craving reassurance and longing for her worries to slip away.

'Maybe I should check on him… ' 'Yes, yes, check on him,' a voice inside her head quickly agreed.

Armin had been tasked with delivering some food and fresh water to Levi's chambers, and since she couldn't sleep, she contemplated making a late-night visit to check on him and offer assistance with medicine. The night was bitterly cold, and she felt oddly exposed, much like a doe in the middle of a meadow, her big round eyes scanning for danger in the unprotected surroundings, perfect prey for lurking predators. She added a thick, long cardigan over her nightgown and left her bedroom, her loose hair flowing as her slippers echoed in the scout facilities' corridors.

As she made her way through the facility, a shaky candle's light flickered under her steps. She struggled to keep her cardigan closed around her chest, multitasking as she carried a few loaves of bread, a couple of nuts, and a jar of water. The closer she got to the higher-ups' chambers, the heavier her chest felt, and she started to consider the possibility that she might have caught a cold or something worse. Each step on the stairs to the upper floor felt torturous, and her body weakened.

Finally, she reached the door and softly knocked, trying not to wake the other superiors sleeping on the floor. "Captain? Captain Levi? It's me… I was wondering if you needed medicine, help… anything," her whisper felt absurdly loud in the still of the night. There was no response, so she knocked softly again and attempted to turn the doorknob. It was, of course, closed.

She had a moment of clarity as she thought, "I don't know what I was thinking." If Levi was feeling so unwell that he had been absent from work for almost three days, he was likely asleep, and that was the best medicine. Her legs flexed as she prepared to leave what she had brought with her on the floor when she snapped to attention as the door creaked open in front of her.

The air that slipped through the door hit her like a wrecking ball. It entered her nostrils, invaded her senses, and intoxicated her brain so quickly that she could barely process it. Levi's grey eyes observed her through the door's crack.

"Captain?" She whispered as her body grew warm, her cheeks flushed, her legs trembled, and her hands shook. The air felt heavy and lacking oxygen, and before she knew it, her natural response was to start apologising. "I… I brought you rations," she stammered, as if her brain was trying to come up with excuses.

As that intoxicating scent grew stronger, her body reacted. Her walls contracted, her legs pressed together, and she felt ashamed, especially since Levi was intensely staring at her through the crack of the door.

"Cap-?"

Before she could insist, the door opened slightly more, barely allowing her to slip inside. Once inside, the woody, pine scent with subtle undertones of mint, citrus, and lavender overtook her senses, leaving her devoid of coherent thought. Despite Levi's stature on the shorter side, the breadth of his shoulders and his imposing shadow against the door as he pushed it closed captured her attention. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she might have noticed the sound of the lock as he stood behind her, allowing her to venture inside his territory. But the pheromones worked their magic on her, causing her knees to weaken, her body to liquefy, and her face to flush. She felt a pulse of wetness down her core, dampening her underwear.

After placing the jar of water and rations on the desk, she leaned against it, feeling nearly incapable of standing. She had clearly overestimated her health; she was suffering from something more than just a cold. Her mouth grew dry, and she was about to turn and leave, back to her own bed, when Levi deliberately licked the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She let out a loud gasp, trying to push him away.

Levi had her pinned against his desk. When had he moved so close to her? How was it possible that she hadn’t heard him? Most importantly, this wasn’t the Levi she knew, the one she peacefully drank tea with in the afternoons or the one who asked her if she needed anything from downtown when he was going to pick up rations with his squad.

Levi's pleasurable groans and purrs reverberated against his chest as he shamelessly licked the back of her neck and sniffed the area, softly caressing his canines against her skin.

"Captain, wait!" she tried to struggle away, pushing him off.

"Shh," he hushed, "no need to resist. I'll give you exactly what you came looking for, Omega."

Her body skipped a beat as she heard his hoarse voice. She felt her wetness spreading, an inner voice whispering, ‘Yes! Yes, this is what you want. Be good to him, be calm for him, be receptive, be a good little omega.’

Her legs trembled in desperation to stand straight, but the musky scent in the room awakened something deep inside her, almost animalistic. Levi's hands held her hips, pushing them backward, and his groan joined her pants as she felt the thick, throbbing member under his sweatpants. Her soft gasps weren't just because of the sweet friction she didn't want to enjoy as much as she did; Levi's half-hard member felt impossibly thick and demanding against her.

His fingers crept up her legs, her attempts to grab his wrists and stop him proving futile. "I-I'm not an omega! I'm a beta," she insisted.

Levi chuckled, the vibration reaching her as his fangs lightly grazed her vulnerable skin on her neck, not biting just yet, but teasing her with the idea of it. "Is that so? Well, this part of you says otherwise," his fingers moved up and down her soaking wet underwear.

"No- I… I'm not…"

"I can smell you, how sweet you taste, how wet you are, how desperate you are for it," Levi's voice was surprisingly calm, deep, and smooth, but with an undertone that made him sound as if he was lost, not completely in control of his own mind. "Submit, and I may take you to the bed, where your knees won't bruise."

"I'm not an omega," she repeated, her voice trembling. She could feel the wetness on her thighs seeping through her underwear and onto his fingers. It was humiliating yet exhilarating, confusing yet intoxicating. The scent of him surrounded her, consuming her senses, and despite herself, she couldn't help but arch her back, pressing herself closer to him.

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears; it seemed like a drum roll announcing their inevitable surrender. "But I… I can't…" His hands held her hips firmly, preventing any chance of escape while also keeping her close enough for him to sniff and lick her neck whenever he wanted.

"You are mine," he whispered hoarsely, his voice vibrating with raw desire. “That tight little hole of yours is twitching for me, begging for my knot. You’re obviously in need of a proper mate,”

His fingers danced along her hip bones, teasingly close to the place where they met but never touching. He leaned down further, his nose almost brushing against her hair. "I can smell your wetness, your readiness to take my seed.” His hips pressed and jerked against he, breathing heavily against her neck as he rocked his cock against her ass.

“I’ll breed you properly, do not worry,”

"It's because of the rut," she said quietly, trying to rationalise the situation but incapable of controlling the gasps "We both are affected by it."

Levi chuckled darkly, his hands moving up her sides to cup her breasts through her nightgown. "Yes, I’ve triggered your heat," he agreed, his voice husky.

His fingers brushed against her nipples through the thin fabric, sending shivers down her spine. She moaned softly, her body betraying her resistance. Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to run, but her body yearned for more.

"You’re not thinking straight" she cried out, her voice shaking with desire and anger.

"I know exactly what I want," Levi murmured, his breath warm against her skin. His dick swelled in his pants, this time ready for the actual act not some pathetic fantasy in his sheets. He spoke as if he was in trance, drunk on something sweeter than honey, softer than silk. His mouth started to salivate, teeth clenched and his hands lost control of his own strength as the veins of his hands and forearms popped as he tightened his grip.

She felt so small in his arms, so vulnerable yet so desired, and it was a confusing cocktail of emotions that left her feeling disoriented and helpless. But despite everything, there was an underlying thrill coursing through her veins, telling her that this wasn't something she should resist.

Her heart pounded against her chest as if trying to escape its confines. It was almost comical how desperately she wanted him, how eagerly she craved his touch, his scent, his possession. And yet, deep down, there was a part of her screaming at herself to fight against it, to run away, to save herself from becoming someone else's plaything.

The struggle inside her mirrored the one outside; Levi's grip on her hips tightened, pulling her closer while simultaneously pushing her back against the desk. His other hand moved up, tracing along her neckline until he reached the clasp of her nightgown. With a swift movement, he undid it, revealing more of her skin to his hungry eyes.

She gasped as the cold air hit her bare shoulders, making her nipples erect and visible beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. Levi's gaze lingered on them for a moment before moving further down, taking in the sight of her wet underwear.

"You're so fucking wet," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing. "I could take you right here, right now, against this damn table."

His fingers slid into the waistband of her underwear, tugging it down slightly. The sensation was exquisite yet terrifying, like walking a tightrope without any safety net below. Her body trembled with anticipation and fear, each breath she took only heightening her senses further.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is how arousing it was, him manhandling her to his own wishes. Hands squeezing and kneading the skin of her body to his own pleasure, his legs parting between hers to force the space and secure her own hips to the sturdy wedge of Levi’s hips.

"Please…" she whimpered, unsure whether she was begging for mercy or for more. “Please, not here,”

Levi's pupils dilated. It had been so long, so stupidly long. Perhaps the last time he recalled being inside something warm and releasing one load after the other, squeezed almost to death by soft, tight, warm walls, was during his thug days back in the underground. The anticipation festered in his mind, his chest rapidly rising and falling at the mere thought of it. Maybe that's why Omegas weren't allowed in the military, those pretty little things, the perfect match for his knot to force his seed repeatedly until it took. And God, it would work perfectly—the perkiness of her breasts, the pertness of her ass, the roundness of her hips, the glistening of her inner thighs as she moistened herself perfectly for him to slide right in. Every inch of her body was made for him to claim and breed.

His large, pale hand groped her ass, squeezing his fingertips against her skin until it left marks, the bruise of his strength. She felt like a doll in his hands, moldable and ready for his every whim. Yet, there was something strangely comforting about it too. To be utterly at his mercy, to surrender control and let him take charge—it was terrifying and exhilarating, all rolled into one. Her head turned to the side, her glittering eyes looking back at him expectantly.

Levi's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze fiery and possessive. Her eyes met his, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, she saw something different in them. There was no humour, no coldness, no distance. Only raw desire, hunger, and possessiveness reflected back at her. "You want this, don't you? You fucking crave it," he chuckled darkly, his voice barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing.

"I'm not…" she tried to protest again, but her words caught in her throat, trapped between fear and lust. She wanted him, needed him, yet part of her fought desperately against this primal urge.

Levi chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing along her inner thighs, barely touching but enough to send shivers down her spine. "You are," he whispered hoarsely, his breath warm against her skin. "And I plan to take advantage of it."

She whimpered again, a sound that was half protest, half pleasure.

Desperate to finally touch that sweet pool of warm slick between her legs, calloused fingers slipped upwards, running up and down her folds. Anything around her hole was dripping wet, almost to the middle of her legs. It felt absurd how her body reacted. Two unceremoniously fingers slipped in, her back arched, her lips parted, and she let out lewd moans that must have caught the attention of one or two higher-ups.

The sounds that reached his ears were obscene. It was ridiculous how she felt his fingers sliding right in and out, merciless but smooth. Her senses caught every humiliating detail of how wet she was for him. Levi didn't bother with detailed foreplay; there was no need. Her instincts had done all the work for him. Stupidly slippery, he parted his fingers, filling the pull of her walls that easily succumbed to the pressure, allowing more space for him, her cervix welcoming his load.

He withdrew his doused fingers, raised them up for him to take a good sniff before sucking them with delight. Almost throatily purring at the flavour, he said, "You're in the perfect cycle. I'm going to mount you and breed you as you deserve."

She emitted soft mews, her hips pushing backward, her ass slightly shaking to the sides, desperately trying to regain the alpha's attention. His head throbbed with determination as much as his manhood did inside his pants.

"Nngh.." she moaned, rocking against his desk, mourning the loss of his touch “Levi.. please,”

He stepped back slightly, giving her an illusion of freedom that was quickly shattered when he grabbed her hips again and lifted her off the ground. He wasted no time, she gasped as his fingers dug into her flesh, but it wasn't painful. Carrying her to his attached room as his hands sneaked under her ribs and pushed the nightgown over her head. Leaving her completely exposed. Levi's gaze roamed over her naked body, taking in every curve, every dip, every inch of her exposed skin. His canines gleamed dangerously as he licked his lips, almost like a predator sizing up its prey. Placing her on his mattress, the sheets were a mess and he had no mind in the past few days to even bother. Only serving further to his mind state.

Quickly he took off the sweatpants that hung lazily over his hips, tossing them aside not minding where they landed before he sinked a knee on the mattress crawling over her frame. How welcoming her body was, legs parting to show her leaking hole as a trophy for him to claim. Widening his knees to brace himself for what was about to come. Her watery eyes looked at the throbbing cock between his legs, it wasn’t just the length or the grid of it. It was the curve, the glycerin of the tip with pre-cum and the base that was already inflating in anticipation, softly twitching under the night light in arousement. The idea of being bred by an alpha as strong as Levi made her rock her hips against absolutely nothing, feeling her wetness sneak between her ass cheeks into the bed.

“Alpha… please ah- Come on,” She mewled, obviously already too far gone into it.

Her eyelashes fluttered while she laid trembling in the sheets, soft mewls convinced with keens as Levi’s lip latched on one of her buds, fingers massaging the softness of her breasts. Levi moved forward, hovering over the smaller omega. Yanking one leg over his shoulders only for his fingers to find the place he was going to claim once more, harshly biting the tender meat of her inner legs.

Levi's finger, slick with her arousal, slid into her tight heat with ease. He allowed a soft grunt of satisfaction to escape his lips, his eyes fixed on her flushed face as he carefully gauged the reactions. He curled his finger inside her, searching for the spot that would bring the sweet creature the most pleasure. His touch was controlled and skilled, determined to bring her to the peak of ecstasy.

"You like that, don’t you? Fuck, you’re sucking me in. Desperate little bitch for my seed. Trust in me, my omega."

His thumb found her clit, gently rubbing circles against it as his finger continued to thrust in and out of her wetness. The stimulation from his finger and thumb working in tandem left her teetering on the edge of pleasure, her moans growing louder with each passing moment.

"Alpha," Y/N moaned, feeling herself close, seeing him with residues of her wetness in his mouth "It feels good… I feel full,"

Levi's eyes darkened with desire as he heard her moans of pleasure and felt her walls tighten around his finger. He had to bite down a smirk as the mere thought of someone hearing him claiming what was rightfully his felt like a wet dream come true. Her words of satisfaction only fueled his own pride.

"You're doing so well, my omega," he murmured, his voice filled with husky approval. "Just let go and surrender,”

With his skilled touch, he increased the pace of his finger, thrusting deeper and faster inside her, while his thumb continued to rub herclit with firm and precise movements. Levi's own desire burned within him, his cock twitching against his lower abdomen, leaking shamelessly.

His movements became more urgent, his finger thrusting faster within her as his thumb pressed harder against her perfect spot. The dual sensations sent powerful waves of pleasure coursing through her body, bringing her closer and closer to the edge of climax. With one final, powerful thrust, Levi's fingers found that sweet spot within her, his thumb exerting a steady pressure on her bud. The combination of sensations was overwhelming, all consuming. Crying out his name, sweet body convulsed with pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over the poor creature.

Red swollen lips swollen and flushed face, she observed him withdraw his fingers and lick them cleans with a satisfaction smirk.

"Full?" He questioned, almost mocking "Oh, already? but I'll stuff you even more"

His words drew her eyes to his cock, that at this rate looked painfully ready. "Indeed," he replied, his voice laced with a mixture of lust and dominance. "I will show you what it truly means to be filled, to be completely consumed by an alpha."

A soft breath of rationality crossed her mind, forcing her to contour under his frame and seek liberation, fighting back and struggling. Levi's eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the lack of cooperation. His dominant demeanour increased as the prospect of losing his potential mate felt outrageous.

"Your body is capable of accommodating me. Your body was made to be claimed by an alpha," he insisted, letting out an irritated snarl.

Drawing back into his knees, harsh hands gripping her hips and flipping her over. “Present,” he snarted commanding. Soft mewls left her lips as she sinked slightly into the mattress but Levi had run out of patience. Strong hands pushing between her shoulder blades to force the correct arch of her back, muffled cries left her lips as her face was buried into the mattress. No thought crossed her mind, she was devoid of any real rational capability as she felt her own wetness oozing out of her raised ass. Fingers sinking into her hips bones to secure the position and thick muscular thighs parting between her to find the perfect levalege for what was about to come.

The tip of his cock ran up and down her folds gathering the wetness and his hands spread it over his length, mixing it with his own leaking pre-cum. Thick head of his cock began to sink into her tight and wet heat. The sensation of her walls wrapping around him, the way her body tried to miserably accommodate him so willingly, sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. His breath held as it was a tight fit. Her nails sinked into the sheet as she squirm and wiggle her hips. Knees sliding over the bed, finding any way to create more space for him as he sank deeper.

He could feel her body twist and adjust to his size, her walls clenching around him in response. The feeling of being completely buried within her warmth made his breath hitch in his chest.

“Ah-Nnhg! Wait,” she cried out as the pleasure and pain mixed extremely well inside her fogged brain.

"Relax," he growled, rambling his hips forward. Both of them let out a loud moan as he finally sinked all the way in. With slow, deliberate movements, he began to move within her, withdrawing his length and then pushing back in. And not fully because he wanted, if it had been left to him, he would have been pounding the body below him in animalistic rhythm to the point her knees raised from the bed but she was definitely not accustomed to being mated by an alpha. His thick length spread her deeper and faster each time, as her own body eased out the process as she felt herself become ever wetter.

At this rate, if the rest hadn’t woken up, then they must be deaf. The squeaks of the bed, the slamming of the frame against the walls. The high detailed wet noises of skin against skin, his thick fat cock entering in her wet heap over and over again. Only adding her loud moans of pleasure that turned into winces each time he bottomed up. The pull of his cock sliding in each time deeper was maddening, to the point that her breath came out in chopped pants, finding it difficult to breathe more each time despite trying.

The grip of his hands on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into the skin possessively. His thrusts became more forceful and deliberate, his hips meeting her with every movement, driving himself deeper into her core. “Ah- Yes!” moans grew louder, echoing in the room, mixing with his growls of pleasure.

Levi's pace intensified, the sound of his hips slapping against her filling the room, the bed rocking with each powerful thrust. Time seemed to stand still, lost in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through both of their bodies.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice possessive and dominant. Both intoxicated, each on their own duty. His to fuck, bit, lick, suck anything that would him secure to be buried up as deep as possible, make sure that the head of his cock was assaulting the sweet welcoming open of her womb. And hers to slay sprawled on the bed for Levi to have his way with her, take anything she was giving and allow him to do his work.

"Yes! yes, alpha! I'm yours," she moaned back "claim me,"

Her body seemed to have a mind of its own as the eagerness of his movements told the inner instincts about what was about to come. Her inner omega knew exactly what was about to happen, preparing for something that not even herself was entirely sure about.

“Fuck! Nhg… Yes, shit!” his voice turned hoarse as he snarled in pleasure. Nothing he had been trying to provide for himself the last couple of days could ever compare to his. Anything else paled in comparison to the melting heat of her cunt, to the slippery heaven her hole was. He could feel the walls contract around him, milking him for everything he was worth. He could almost sob on how good it felt, especially after all the build abstinence. Depriving himself of this was simple torture, he wasn’t even done yet and he could already moan at the idea of repeating it all over again.

Levi's control over her was absolute as he held her down, his dominance and power asserting itself with each forceful thrust. The intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain coursed through her veins, igniting a primal hunger within her. The sound of Y/N’s moans and pleas filled the air, driving him further into a state of possessive desire. His movements became more frenzied, his hips snapping against hers with a relentless rhythm. The force of his thrusts owned her wince, the delicate edge between pleasure and pain blurring and simply adding to the intensity of the experience.

Levi moved to hover over her, his chest pressed against her back, his hands wrapping down her arms to push her back as he thrusted in.

“Ah! Ah!” Flustering lids as her eyes rolled backwards, lips parted letting out encouraging words that would be extremely embarrassing to recall later on.

“I’m gonna breed you- Fuck- I’ll stuff you full that the only reason you won’t be leaking my cum its because I’ll knot you so fucking well” Levi growled, hips stuttering. She felt the alpha shudder above her, thrusts becoming frantic.

“Yes! Yes, please,” she moaned eagerly, unaware, unconscious. In the delicious state she was in, hardly could notice any change in the process. Only how the head of his cock hit her cervix repeatedly, preparing it to accept his load. Further spreading her legs as the knees and sobs become incoherent. The prospect of being mated and claimed but such a good alpha was enough reassurance for her drunk brain.

Mouth hanging open but produced no sound as another climax was ripped through her, her legs trembling and shaking in desperation. Feeling her own walls clamping down on Levi’s length, spamming around it. Another pulse of slick forced out of her, oozing it down and obscenely wetting even his own legs as his cock kept stretching her out. Her inner instincts were so pleased, so extremely delighted of being held down and mated properly.

Levi’s desperate groans and snarts grew harsh and breathy as his own body prepared for the peak of the act. He had no idea how long he had been there, snapping his hips, holding her down, assaulting that beautiful cunt. However, Levi had concluded a simple thought. His entire life and sense of living had been reduced to this moment. One hand reached backwards to the bottom of her belly to press and feel, feeling his own cock was getting larger.

“Mhhh! Nhg” her winces as it was already too much to handle. “No- no!” she resisted, it was too much, no amount of slick and hazed pheromones could clouded her mind to the feeling of him stretching her rim impossibly wide.

His lower abs contracted, his legs twitched with the prospect, his possessive growls reverberated on his chest as he warned her of ruining this precise moment for him. His movements became even more primal, his grip on her body tightening as he pounded into her with a commanding force. The sound of her wetness and the slap of skin against skin filled the room, echoing the intensity.

Moving in earnest with a single purpose, knotting. “W-wait!” She cried, each push had that large cockhead touching my cervix, preparing it to accept his load.

Levi’s sharp snarl pierced through her body as he feared his mate escaping on the peak of the act or perhaps moving and running his calculative pounding. Pale lips parted, heavy breath impacting on the back of her head, saliva dripping from the corners of his lips. His teeth sinked mercilessly on the back of her neck, right on her scent gland and forcing submission into her frame. Latching his jaw around the back of the omega’s neck, drawing blood out of it as it mixed with his own saliva as he was drooling of the pleasure that cursed through him.

She could no longer move, her body became a pliant frame for him to deliver powerful thrust, his knots brushed against her entrance, teasing and preparing to further claim her and fill her with his seed. The grip on her frame was almost painful as he kept thrusting forward, trying to force his knot, the swollen part of the bottom of his lengths, to finally break in.

Her mouth hung open but produced no sound as she felt him finally being able to pop inside his knot with a last trust. Now unable to pull out anymore, his cock securely pressed as deep as it could go, head right on the opening of her womb, his knot secured in her entrance making sure that all his seed remained inside. No longer pushing out, only rocking against her frame. The pleasure of being stroked so deep within at such a brutal pace had her insides fluttering. Walls contracted around Levi's cock as he circled his hips jerking. Y/N squirmed as she felt the hot liquid gushing into her. Levi's shallow pumps released more each time. Rodding out his climax, growling softly as he humped desperately the soft body beneath him. Each shallow pump released more of his hot seed deep within her. With each pulsation, she felt the overwhelming fullness.

“Ah-” She mewled out as he released her neck to press his forehead against her nape, purring content to the point she could almost feel the satisfaction smile on the corner of his lips. Quick were to arrive the soft kisses and gentle laps on the claiming mark to numb the zone.

Levi’s endearing vibrations echoed on her exhausted frame as his chest was still pressed against her back. His hands now running up and down her sides as he kissed his shoulder blades delighted of a successful mating. It was a mere wash of calmness until the heat demanded them to retake the actions repeatedly.

Levi manoeuvred them to be laying on their side, spooning her from behind as they couldn't unlock yet. The cramped sheets at the bottom of the bed frame as the heat of their connected body was enough despite the winter temperatures. He dedicated to deliver affectionate gesture, a calming reassurance after the intensity of their union. He held her close, his strong arm draped around her waist as if somehow she could still perhaps run away. The tips of his hair tickled her face as Levi provided one of his arms as a pillow for both to rest their heads. It was stupid, to the point he probably would be ashamed later on how happy his mind was about it.

Pillows were spread around the floor, half-eaten loaves of bread on the night table. Shivers ran down his body as the air was humid and cold, dense and thick with confinement. The almost transparent sheets weren’t enough; his hand searched in vain and blindness for his blankets. He sat up abruptly, suddenly ashamed of his own nudity as his body felt sticky. His hips hurt, his legs contracted as if he had run a marathon, his hair clung to his forehead because of the lack of wash, his body froze as the sweat had turned cold.

Grey eyes roamed around his room that suddenly felt foreign to him. It was a mess, and he didn’t just say that because he was a clean freak. It WAS a mess. The sheets hung wrinkled on the edge of the bed, the bed frame had moved around, there were dirty dishes and jars of water half-drunk. His stomach groaned, complaining as the necessity to ingest food over any other priorities started to retake his system. The thick saliva in his mouth was gulped down slowly as his eyes admired the naked body sleeping next to him on the bed, tired and unaware. Levi couldn’t unglue his eyes from her naked back. His fingers ghosted over the purplish inflated claiming mark on the girl’s neck, not daring to touch it.

“No…” he whispered as realisation began to sink into his brain, which was finally, after almost over a week, regaining rationality. He slightly shook his head as he felt blame crawling up to him as if it was all a big mistake. Trying to search for a glimmer of hope, he carefully hovered over her peacefully resting body to softly sniff the mark he had left behind.

Shutting his eyes closed with pain and clenching his teeth, he breathed out, “Fuck!” Everything made sense now. She had mentioned that she was from a small country village and that during her nurse training, she lived in an omegas and betas only pension. Nature was wise—why waste energy and precious heat cycles when there was nobody around to claim her? It was better to save it for a worthy occasion. The way bringing her pastries from downtown brightened up her features, his necessity to provide tea for her, the chemical reaction of his face being too close to her neck that occasion. He had triggered her presentation.

‘A late bloomer,’ he thought. Unpresented, assumed to be a beta. His instincts knew better than himself.

“What the fuck have I done?” He cursed under his breath.

“Levi?”

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multi-kpop-fanfics · 1 year ago

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Hotel Voluptas: Check(ed) In (You)

voluptas (latin; noun): pleasure, satisfaction, delight

pairing: idol!Mingyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers!AU (sorta) - minors dni.

warnings: hotel sex, oral (both receiving) protected sex, mean dom!mingyu, degradation, mild jealousy (reader is a carat and her bias ain't gyu lmao), spanking, rough sex, multiple orgasms and positions, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, dirty talk, use of petnames, mentions of threesome, mentions of panic attack (it's not actually happening dw)

word count: 4k

summary: you're just a regular tourist in Seoul who visits a regular hotel to spend your nights. except the hotel isn't your regular one - let alone its patrons and needs.

Author's note: this is an altered version of a mingyu dream i had a few nights ago msdnfsmnfs thank you to @playmetheclassics for coming up with the title and @idyllic-ghost for beta-reading this fic 💕

nsfw taglist: @rosecult @bibinnieposts @ovai @littlemisssarcastic21 @tinkerbell460 @romromthedeer @y00nzin0 @llsiriusminorisll @booyouwhore17 @lovelyhan @luvv4svt @novalpha @wonderfulshinee @foxinnie8 @sstarrysshit @threedalla @enhacolor @seuomo @spk93 @snoozeagustd @strawberryya

unable to tag: @kkakkameori @patisseriam @0717luv @coachukaishairband

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2023. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

“Good evening, sir Lee. The usual?”

“You know me, Hyun,” the man clad in total black clothing whips out his credit card to slide over the machine, the familiar sound of the accepted payment ringing like music to his ears.

“We’re all good! Here’s your key, sir.” The receptionist hands over the key to the unknown man and the latter heads off with a slight nod. A couple of bills is all he leaves behind for the receptionist - a thank you gift for his continuous discretion.

Lee Saejin. That was the registered name for the room reservation.

But it’s obviously a fake name - besides, nobody would really care if a random guy was staying over in a hotel surrounded by oddly well-kept rumors.

But the idol Kim Mingyu spending his nights off in this hotel, sleeping in the arms of a different person every time he visits? Press scandal worthy, to say the least.

So he settles with a silly fake name and escapes through the danger exit doors - not that he minds, when he gets much needed sexual relief after hellish weeks of tight-packed schedules.

All of the stressful thoughts are discarded once he steps into the room and he’s met with a gorgeous lady, sipping on what seems to be expensive champagne.

“Hey there,” Mingyu greets the woman as he discards his coat and takes the hem of his shirt to remove it.

“Let me do the dirty work, mister,” she gets up and holds his wrists, gently peeling them off the fabric so she can take it off herself, “Can’t have you doing more work than you already do, right?”

“As if you haven’t been working your pretty ass off, sweetheart,” he smirks and pulls her flush to his body, his hands kneading her ass over the silky dress.

“I think we should do less talking-”

“And more fucking?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Ugh, why is it so hard to find a decent hotel at a decent price?!”

You want to slam your laptop on the table and crush it into tiny pieces. You have one chance to go to South Korea and the only thing that’s stopping you is finding a damn hotel to stay in.

It’s either an over-the-top super expensive hotel that you need to sell both of your kidneys to afford a couple of nights or it’s a very dingy motel in a suspicious neighborhood.

“No….Not this one….Definitely not this one….Not this one either….”

Suddenly your eyes fall on a neat-looking hotel, with a very good score in reviews.

“Oh? Perhaps?” You scroll through the pictures of the site, the hotel rooms looking exactly like what you’ve been looking for - it almost feels like it’s too good to be true.

You check out the reviews and a few giggles escape from your lips while reading them.

“You will not regret staying in this hotel ;)”

“10/10 would go visit again, spent the best nights of my LIFE”

“you’ll literally spot celebrities in there I’M NOT FUCKING KIDDING”

“Celebrities? Wow, people have a lot of humor,” you chuckle, “But it’s a pretty good hotel - Got nothing to lose, right?”

You don’t hesitate to book a room with a double bed (a girl just wants to lay like a starfish) and pay with your credit card, the booking confirmation arriving in your mail inbox shortly after. You proceed to book your flight tickets with a beaming smile on your face, excitement coursing through your entire body in the forms of jitters.

I’m gonna have so much fun.

You feel like you were put in the blender and got splattered on the floor.

Maybe it’s because you haven’t traveled by plane in a long time, maybe it was the duration of the flight, or a combination of the two - either way, you just wanted to faceplant in the mattress of the hotel bed.

You feel very grateful to the taxi driver who offered to carry your suitcase until the entrance of the hotel. You thank him for the ride and hand over the corresponding amount of money, bidding him farewell.

You walk through the glass doors of the hotel and you suddenly feel very much awake.

The whole place feels so luxurious yet not intimidating, as if it’s calling you to explore its deepest parts. You look around you and see people waiting at the lobby, the majority of them wearing face masks and you feel conscious for not wearing one.

You timidly approach the reception counter, dragging your suitcase behind you. You ring the bell on the marble counter and wait for someone to appear.

“Good evening, miss. What can I do for you?” The receptionist appears and you’re blown away from how dashing he looks.

“Um, hello, I’ve booked a room under the name Y/N L/N? I-It’s one with a-”

“A double bed, yes, I am aware,” the man chuckles, “It’s not like we have single beds in this hotel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said that the rooms in our hotel do not have single beds.”

You blink twice. Is he serious right now?

“Um,” you scratch your cheek, “May I ask why?”

“Miss Y/N, are you aware of the services we provide here?”

“What is that supposed to mean? Isn’t this just a regular hotel where people spend a few nights to rest after visiting Seoul?”

He takes a quick glance left and right and moves his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion and you inch closer, purely out of curiosity.

“Do you see all those people waiting here?”

You nod in agreement.

“They wear facial masks because they don’t want to be recognized in public.”

Your eyes go wide and your brain recalls all of the reviews you read online - they were fucking true.

“Are you saying that they come here to fuck?!”

“Shhh! Don’t be so loud!” he shushes you in a panic, “But yeah, that’s what they’re here for - that’s what this hotel is for, technically.”

Just your fucking luck.

“There was none of that crap on the website!” You whisper in a state of panic.

“What did you expect, miss? To write ‘hello we have rooms for you to fuck your brains out with other people’?” He deadpans with a straight face.

“Okay fine, you have a point,” you huff in annoyance, “But isn’t that, like….Illegal?”

“Illegal? Oh no no, there are no sex workers here, only people of high social profile who want to have a good time,” he clarifies, “We’re just the confidential party who run this hotel.”

“So, um..” you trail off, “Does that mean I’m obligated to share a room with someone here?”

“Of course not! You did book a room for one person, after all.”

“Okay….” you answer and think for a while, but your thoughts are as clear as a cobweb.

“You can call me Hyunjin, by the way.” The receptionist introduces himself after a long time.

You give him a quick smile and go back to the ordeal of putting your thoughts in a coherent order.

“Hey, Hyunjin?”

“Yes?”

“Do idols come here too?”

The man licks his lips before smirking.

“I am not allowed to disclose such information, my dear.”

“So they do,” you narrow your eyes at him.

“Again, I am not allowed to disclose such information.”

“Fine, I’ll find out for myself, then.” You muster up your confidence.

“Excellent,” Hyunjin smiles and pulls out a piece of paper and a tablet, “Want me to hand you over a pen?”

“Yes please,” you answer without lifting your head from the papers you’re reading, quickly realizing it is indeed, a NDA. Of course they would have those.

You carefully check all of the pages (including the footnotes) and you sign the NDA without a fuss, Hyunjin’s signature following right after.

“What’s that for?” You look at the bright screen, filled with a list of names and X marks.

“This is where we store the information of our regular clients and the rooms they usually stay in,” he explains, “The X marks next to the names you see indicate that these people are already with someone…If you get what I mean. Also, there are the gender symbols to indicate...well, their gender.”

A notification comes up in your phone and you slide it out of your pocket, mumbling a quick sorry to Hyunjin, so you can text your friend back that you made it safely to Seoul. The man takes a quick glance at your phone case, pursing his lips tight.

“Okay, where were we? The clients, right?”

“Yes. That is, if you want to try meeting one of them - You can always keep your reservation as it is and quietly spend your nights here on your double bed.”

“Well,” you bite your bottom lip, “I’m a single girl in Seoul to have fun, might as well get laid with someone hot, right?” You tilt your head in a cheeky way.

“As you wish, miss - Have you decided on who you’re gonna pick?”

“Hmm, let’s see…”

You carefully check the list with all the unmatched names and your eyes fixate on the name Lee Saejin.

“This one.”

Now it’s Hyunjin’s turn to be surprised, but he’s only allowed to nod and do the reservations.

“You just had a really weird expression on your face.”

“Who, me? Nope, definitely not!” He defends himself while trying to put down the necessary information to complete the process.

“What’s wrong with the name I picked?”

“Nothing at all,” he bites back a smile, “On the contrary, you picked a really good one.”

“Okay….” you side eye him, “Can I go now?”

“You’re too eager for someone who looked like splattered jam on the floor not too long ago.” He hands you over the card key for the room.

“You’re one peculiar receptionist,” you take the key and drag your suitcase on the smooth floor.

“Hope you enjoy your stay in Hotel Voluptas, miss!” Hyunjin yells before you disappear behind the elevator doors, which earns him a few irritated glares from other guests. He clears his throat and absentmindedly smooths over his hair and clothes, going back to his business

“Hoo boy, she’s in for a real treat.”

You feel like a lunatic.

If anyone else was in your shoes, they would have run the fuck out of this place and take the first flight back home.

But you feel excited. Almost ecstatic.

You never thought the reviews/rumors you had heard about Hotel Voluptas were actually true but now that you’re one step away from finding out who Lee Saejin truly is.

You take a deep breath before opening the door and check underneath your shirt to make sure you’re wearing a pretty lingerie set - just in case, you know.

You slide the card key over the electronic lock and the door opens. You enter the room and you quickly realize there’s nobody inside.

“Huh? That’s weird,” you close the door behind you and set your suitcase next to the wardrobe. You take a look around the room, noticing how neat and pristine it looks. You sit on the bed and touch the sheets, your palm gliding over the silk.

“Damn, that’s real luxury right here.” You let out a low whistle.

“You should see the jacuzzi, that’s peak luxury.”

The unknown voice scares you so much you end up falling down on the carpeted floor with a thud.

“Ouch…”

“Shit, I’m sorry! Are you okay?” The stranger bends down to help you stand on your feet, your ass slightly stinging from the sudden impact.

“Yeah, I think so-” you raise your head and look at his face, any coherent sentence dying down in your throat and any rational thought disappearing from your brain.

The man standing in front of you - the half naked man - is Kim Mingyu.

Kim fucking Mingyu of Seventeen.

You cover your mouth in shock, sitting on the bed to realize what the fuck is going on.

“You must be Y/N, right?” Mingyu speaks.

“No, I’m not.”

“What? But I’m sure Hyunjin sent me the correct info…”

“Wait, my info?!”

“Um, yeah. For the NDA, y’know?”

“Oh. Right.”

You don’t know if you want to jump out of the window or jump his bones right this instant.

“I know this is sudden, but that’s how things work in here,” he flashes his signature smile, his perfectly white canines shining brighter than your future.

“Is this even real?”

“You can always touch me, y’know?”

“NO!”

“No?”

“Wait, I mean yeah- Shit, I-”

“Do you need some time alone? I’m kind of worried right now,” Mingyu admits with a nervous look, “I don’t want you to panic right now.”

“I just- Hyunjin did tell me that celebrities come here, but I didn’t expect to see YOU of all people!” You admit with a wheeze.

“I mean, I am a guy with sexual needs as well.” He lets out a chuckle.

“But you were supposed to be at your dorms and resting!”

“Says who?”

“The news channel live…..You left the airport with the members in the cars….So I assumed you….” You trail off, your voice getting quieter.

“So you’re a fan, huh,” he smirks, “That makes it even better.”

“Y-Yeah, hence the shock….”

“You’re really cute, you know that?”

“Oh, so now you’re gonna pull the shit you do at fansigns, huh?” Your demeanor changes as you sit up on the bed.

“Is it working?” He towers over you, adjusting the towel around his waist, your eyes zoning on the water droplets cascading from his beefy chest all the way down to his v-line.

“Maybe.” You admit and you feel your cheeks flaring up as he climbs on the bed, his body frame hovering above yours.

“Good, that means my game is still going strong.”

“Or your fans are way too whipped for you.”

“You’re not a gyuldaengie?”

Fuck, wrong move.

“Who is it, darling?”

“Not telling you.” You challenge him.

“No need to tell me, I already know either way.” He grins like an imp as he stretches his arm to pick up your phone from the floor.

“Wonwoo hyung, huh?”

“Hey, give that back!” You try to take the phone back, but he pins your wrists above your head with his hand.

“You wish he was here instead of me?”

“And what about it?”

“Too bad he’s a fucking loser who does gaming lives for his fans.”

“Shut up, I love those!”

“Of course you do - It’s just that fucking pretty girls like you is way more fun, don’t you think?”

You let out a shaky breath at his words - Kim Mingyu just called you pretty and it has you melting on the spot.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks you with a whisper.

“Please.”

It’s all Mingyu needs to put his lips on yours, his hands now perched on your clothed body, fingers dancing dangerously around the hem of your shirt.

“Just take it off already!” You squirm underneath him.

“So demanding, tsk…” He takes off your shirt and unbuttons your jeans, leaving you only in your lingerie.

“Demanding yet dressed for the occasion, I see.”

“It was coincidental!” You defend yourself, “I just like wearing pretty underwear, is that bad?”

“Not at all, darling,” he licks his bottom lip, “I always appreciate pretty things on pretty people.”

He presses a chaste kiss on the column on your neck, and another one on your collarbone, and a lot more scattered over your chest and abdomen, paying extra attention to your lower stomach, just above the hem of your thong.

“G-Gyu-”

“Oh so we’re on a nickname basis now?” Mingyu hooks his fingers on the thin elastic band and slides it down your legs, letting out a whistle when he spreads your thighs all the way to your hip bones.

“Not that I mind you calling me Gyu, obviously.”

“You’re so insufferable, oh my God, just lic- AH!”

You moan out loud when he parts your lower lips with his thumbs and starts sucking on your clit.

You thread your hands in his silky black hair, pulling it each time he presses his tongue a bit harder on the spots that make you squirm beneath him.

You always knew Mingyu had very attractive lips, but feeling them making out with your pussy in such a sloppy manner makes your head spin.

You let out a particularly loud moan when you feel his thumb stretch your hole, all while he spits on your clit just to lick it even harder than before, followed by a particularly harsh suck.

“Fuck!” Your thighs squirm and almost close around his head, but he keeps them open with his arms, his chocolate eyes staring at you.

“You’re really squirmish, aren’t you?”

“It’s not my fault-”

“That I’m eating your pussy so good you don’t want me to stop?”

God, you really want to slap him. But he’s right.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, darling?”

“You stopped eating my pussy.”

Mingyu clicks his tongue in annoyance and flips you around, lifts your ass and goes back to eat you out like a starved animal.

“Oh my- Fuck, it feels so fucking good, Gyu!”

“Oh yeah? Would Wonwoo hyung eat you like this?” He smacks your ass.

“Mmmfh-”

“Answer me, pretty girl.” He smacks your ass again, a bit harder this time.

“I won’t fucking tell you!”

“Bratty little bitch,” he clicks his tongue in annoyance and gets up from his place, circling the bed to stand in front of you, finally dropping his towel.

Big would be too little of a word to describe what hangs between his legs.

You gulp audibly, mouth salivating at the sight of his deliciously thick cock, your insides jolting at the thought of his length splitting you in half.

“What, you see a nice dick and turn all dumb and drooly?” He pumps his cock with his fist right in front of your face.

You crawl a bit closer to him and slap his hand away to wrap your lips around the fat tip, pushing his cock deeper in your mouth.

“You’re so much more eager than I thought, sweetheart,” Mingyu groans and puts his hand deep in your hair, “Would you suck Wonwoo’s cock like that too, darling?”

“I’d suck it harder,” you take out his cock and stroke it with your hand, a shit-eating grin on your face, “Does that answer your question?”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue and slaps your cheek with his cock twice before he’s pushing you on your back again.

“Well too bad he’s not here now.” He opens one of the nightstand drawers and pulls out a condom, ripping the packaging with his teeth to roll the latex over his cock.

He climbs on the bed again and throws your legs on his shoulders, tapping his dick on your slicked cunt a few times.

“I’ll just fuck you to oblivion instead.”

“Now I know why everyone calls you an overgrown puppy,” you giggle, “You’re all bark and no bite, Gyu.”

Your lips morph into an ‘O’ shape when Mingyu slams his dick inside you, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“I’ve had enough of you running your mouth all evening,” he grits his teeth and tugs your bra down, letting your breasts out of the lace, “For someone who was so shocked to find out that people fuck in this place, you’re awfully bratty.”

“Then fuck the attitude out of me, big guy,” you taunt him, “Just like you’ve been boasting all evening.”

“With pleasure.”

Mingyu folds you in half and starts drilling his cock in your pussy with a newfound hunger, all the exhaustion he had accumulated from the flight gone in the blink of an eye.

“Your pussy is so fucking good, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” He moans and gropes your tits, his big hands squeezing the soft flesh.

“Your cock fucks me so good, Gyu, you’re so good to me, fuck!” You grip the sheets, nails digging into the silk.

“Oh yeah? Dick so good you’re not thinking about that bias of yours anymore?”

Your pussy clenches around his shaft, Mingyu’s eyes turning hooded.

"You greedy little slut," he juts his hips a bit more forcefully, "You would love to fuck Wonwoo, wouldn't you?"

Yes, you definitely would - you can't even bring yourself to count the times you've thirsted over the cat-like man in glasses for the most dumb reasons.

"Of course a pretty slut like you cannot be satisfied with one dick," he speeds up his thrusts, "Need something to fill your bratty mouth with, right?"

"F-Fuck, yes!" You cry out, thighs starting to tense on his shoulders.

"Maybe I should take a picture of you sucking my dick like a lolly and send it to hyung," he taunts you, "Show him what his fans are actually doing in their free time."

"Shit, Gyu!" You scream Mingyu's name and your back arches off the mattress as you cum around his cock, giving him the green light to fuck you through your orgasm, while he chases his own.

It doesn't take him long to tip off the edge and reach his own climax, filling up the condom with his cum. He quickly discards the soiled latex in the trash bin under the nightstand and lays right next to you, a wicked smile playing on his face.

"Why are you smiling like th- Oof!" You gasp when he pulls you flush to his chest and throws your leg over his hip, burying two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt.

He rapidly fucks his digits in your spent hole as he grinds his palm on your clit, trying to force one more orgasm out of your body.

And he does.

He watches your body shake harder than before and you squirt all over his hand and thighs, eyes nearly rolling at the back of your skull from the intensity of your orgasm.

He pulls out his fingers and licks them clean with his mouth, letting them go with a lewd sound.

"W-What….was that for?" You pant.

"For good measure." He grins.

"....Manwhore." You curse under your breath and Mingyu lands a smack on your pussy, making you yelp from the impact.

"Says the girl who wants to fuck two idols of the same group."

"And what about it?! A girl can always

dream!" You protest.

"Some dreams can become a reality," he says, "That is, if you ask the right people."

"You're not actually thinking of sending him a post-sex image, are you?!"

"Are you crazy? Of course not, that NDA has my signature too, missy," he deadpans, "I just said that to rile you up."

"Of course you did." You roll your eyes at him.

"So….how long are you staying in Seoul?"

"A week," you reply, "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking…." Mingyu trails one finger on your collarbone.

"Yes?"

"If I convince that loser of a hyung I have as my roommate to get out of his gaming chair, maybe you'll get to live your dirty little fantasy."

"Are you- Is this a joke? Because if you're fucking with me, you better drop it."

"I'm 100% serious, love," he dips his finger on the valley of your breasts, "As long as everyone consents to it, I'm down to share. If you behave as well, of course."

You don't hesitate to nod affirmatively and climb on top of him, giving him a passionate kiss as a thank you.

"There's something you need to know though."

"What is it, darling?"

"I have an IUD and I'm clean, got checked last month."

Mingyu blinks twice and purses his lips in a thin line.

"You better prepare yourself for next time, sweetheart," he grips your ass, "And don't worry about our little playdate getting out of here." He presses a kiss on your neck.

"What happens in Hotel Voluptas, stays in Hotel Voluptas."

#svthub #mingyu smut #svt mingyu #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen #tw alcohol

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staybabblingbaby · 8 days ago

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Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

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#stray kids fanfic #skz fic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #baby writes #Stray Kids soulmate AU #SGAU #Soulmate Garden AU #soulmate au #skz soulmate au

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sundrop-writes · 7 months ago

Note

you were nice to me and acknowledged my existence so i hope you know that means you’ve unknowingly asked for all my dumbass, hyper-specific 12AM bullshit thoughts.

you can turn this into a mini blurb or teen wolf pack headcanon - whatever works for you, but who do you think in the pack is would be into you wearing a necklace (or any form of jewelry really) with their name/initial on it? are they buying it for you or is it something you would have to initiate, do they want one too with your name/initial on it?

i know it’s not everyone’s thing but i think it can be really adorable 🥰

if this isn’t your vibe just let me know, no biggie 🩷

This is absolutely my vibe!!! I love this prompt so much omg. Also, I love it when people come to me with their random 12am bullshit - whether it's just to rant in my inbox about fictional characters or to suggest fic ideas. This is what Tumblr inboxes are for

My requests for Teen Wolf are open!! Just make sure to read my rules first!!

What would the pack think of you wearing a necklace that represents them?

A/N: I changed it from an initial to a representative symbol, partially because of a tiktok that Star sent me the other day of someone selling Teen Wolf necklaces in an Etsy shop that I can't stop thinking about and I want one so badly, and partially because I think Derek's tattoo would make a really amazing necklace.

Warnings: descriptions of canon level violence, I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible (please let me know if I messed up anywhere on that), Isaac's low self eesteem due to his father's abuse, mentions of Jackson x Lydia, references to sex (but nothing descriptively smutty), I think that's it.

Includes: Derek Hale, Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes (I got tired while writing this so that's all the characters we have lmao)

Derek would love it. It would be his idea - he would be the one to give you the necklace.

He met you shortly before becoming an Alpha, and you were the defining member of his pack. You were the first person he had bitten in order to turn them - you had been bleeding out outside of the Hale house after Peter had stuck his claws through your stomach, sensing Derek's attachment to you (even if it was something that Derek himself hesitated to admit), and he had called Derek weak for taking a liking to you. So the moment after Derek had slashed Peter's throat open, making him the Alpha, he had used his new found power to bite you, ultimately saving your life.

You were someone he had once viewed as his weakness, but he had come to realize that you were his ultimate strength. You showed him how to interact with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd with kindness and understanding, you showed him how to harness his Alpha power with more than just the anger he harboured inside. You showed him love - something his isolated heart hadn't felt in years.

To him, the triskele tattoo on his back represented the three forms of a wolf could take - the powerful, leading Alpha, the following Beta, and isolated, weak Omega. It represents how a wolf can rise to power, but he can also fall to weakness if he's not careful.

When he gave you a necklace with that same symbol as its pendant, he explained to you why it was so important to him that you wear it.

"You have helped me rise to my full potential." He told you, pinning the clasp behind your neck. "Every time I look at this around your neck, I want to be reminded of that. I want to be reminded not to fall to anything less." He kissed the base of your neck, causing you to break into a large smile as his thick, warm arms wrapped around you from behind. "I need to be reminded to serve you a good, loyal Alpha every single day. Not to fall back into my former weaknesses."

"I thought I was your weakness?"

"No. You're my strength."

Isaac would be unsure about it. And it most definitely was not his idea.

It started with you and Lydia hanging out before a lacrosse game - the two of you were getting ready in her room, and while she finished up her makeup, she said 'oh!' as if suddenly remembering something, and then went to her jewellery box. You looked on in curiosity as she pulled out a necklace, and when you squinted closer, you saw that it was a silver pendant with the number 37 on it.

"What's that?" You asked.

"It's Jackson's jersey number." She told you. "It's good luck for a player's girlfriend to wear his jersey number, and I didn't want some big ugly jacket with the numbers written on the back."

It made you wonder if you should wear Isaac's jersey number to the game, even though the two of you had been playing around with dating, not exactly official. Isaac was hesitant on PDA and labels. Lydia encouraged you, though, and she ended up using a red lipstick to write his number 14 on your cheek, making you look like a crazed fan - but everybody at the game already knew who you were there for.

Before the next game, Lydia gifted you with a necklace similarly to her own, with the promise that she wouldn't have to freeze her ass off in the stands alone - and to her, it was like the two of you had matching best friend necklaces, representing the lugheads that you cheered for on the field together. At first, you only wore it to games. But then you found comfort in wearing it all the time.

Isaac, of course, took notice of this - his eyes easily magnetized to the number 14 glimmering on the silver chain around your neck.

He felt like he didn't deserve to have a mark on you. He was undeserving of claiming you, undeserving of being called your 'boyfriend'. He was worthless, and you wearing something that represented some kind of serious relationship between the two of you - why did you want him? Why?

After a long, tiring night of talking, some tears, and eventually some kissing - he finally understood. And from then on, he was more than proud to have his 14 constantly shining around your neck.

Scott would love it. But it would be your idea.

The two of you had to date in secret - your family had a loyalty, an alignment with the Argents, so you couldn't be seen with Scott in public, creating a deep frustration between the two of you when you couldn't hold hands in the hallways or go on 'real' dates like other couples could. Scott expressed a deep frustration at loving you, being your boyfriend, but not getting to be yours twenty-four seven like he wanted to, and that's what caused you to come up with the idea.

You got a silver heart locket necklace, and inside, put a picture of the two of you. Well - it was a piece of the picture of the two of you. You grabbed a photo of the two of you kissing, and cut out the space that had formed between your necks when your lips came together in a kiss - to anybody else (most important, if your family saw it) it would have looked like a photo of blank sky. But you and Scott were the only two people in the world who knew what the photo truly was.

And you gave him the rest of the photo with the missing heart shape cut out between the two of you so that he could be reminded of your next words every single time he looked at it.

"The space between us isn't what matters." You told him firmly, pointing to the space you had cut out of the photo. "No matter how big that space gets, we always know how much we love each other. We'll always have each other."

From then on, every single time he looked at the silver heart dangling around your neck, it was something he remembered with a smile. No matter how far the two of you had to be apart, no matter for how long - your love kept you together.

Stiles would absolutely love it. It would be his idea.

Stiles would be incredibly shy and shitting his pants nervous about asking you to wear his numbers, but the week before, you had asked him to be your boyfriend after a roaring success of a first date that he had no clue how he landed with you. His first game as a first linger was coming up, and he felt like things could only go up from here.

He had you, he was first line, so - he steadied his courage as he tightly gripped the black velvet box that had the shiny gold necklace in it, praying that this wouldn't be too much, too soon. Praying that he wasn't going to scare you off.

"Um, hey." He greeted you at your locker, a ball of nervous energy that had you giving him a questioning eyebrow.

"Good morning." You smiled at him, wondering why he was acting so strange. You leaned in and kissed him on the lips - a light, chaste kiss in greeting, and he felt himself nearly knocked over by the joy of it.

This was really real. He had you.

"What's that?" You asked, motioning toward the box in his hands.

"Oh, uh - a gift." He said. "For you."

"Stiles, you didn't have to. It's not my birthday or anything."

"I know." He said. "I want to - to do something special. To celebrate you being mine."

An intense wave of butterflies overtook you at this, and you look on in awe as he opened the box, presenting the necklace to you.

"It's - um - it's my jersey number. Ya know - 24. Just - it's a thing that people usually do, wearing their boyfriend's number... and I - am I being too weird? I'm sorry." He went off rambling the longer that you didn't speak, and you quickly raised a hand to his wrist, trying to calm him with a soothing touch there.

"I love it." You assured him with a smile. "Thank you. I can't wait to wear it."

"I could... help you put it on now?"

You nodded enthusiastically, and he excitedly grabbed it out of the box.

From then on, you never took it off. You were more than proud to be his, and proud to show it off by wearing the necklace.

Erica would fucking love it, but it wouldn't really be intentional on either of your behalves.

One thing Erica never expected about becoming a werewolf - how possessive it would make her. But being able to smell when someone had touched you, being able to hear how hard your heart pounded when you were scared or anxious - it made her want to rip apart anybody who even looked at you the wrong way. The two of you weren't even officially dating. Your friendship always crossed weird lines - you were the only person who was kind to her when she was an outcast, and after she transformed, you were the only person she knew for certain didn't just want her for her body.

The sex between the two of you was amazing, but you never talked about feelings.

One night in the haste of undressing, she dropped a necklace on your floor - a nameplate necklace that her parents had gotten for her birthday a few years ago. You didn't want to forget to bring it back to her, and you thought it was funny, a kind of joke - so you put it on. You thought nothing of having the name 'Erica' dangling around your neck in bold silver letters.

When Erica saw it - it drove all of her wolfish instincts insane. Seeing her claim on you, her name literally written across you - it took everything she had in her not to throw you across a table in the middle of the library and fuck your brains out, then and there.

And she saw the way other people reacted to it too. The way guys would go to flirt with you, but then their eyes would dart down to the necklace and then look to her, as if finally noticing her presence glaring at them, telling them to back off - and then they would scatter in fear. It was the first time in weeks that the two of you actually had peace.

So she implored you to keep it. She loved having a silent little claim on you. After all, wolves love claiming their territory, right?

...

Teen Wolf Masterlist

#sundrop answers #interactions #honeysnuckle #sundrop writes #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #headcanons #derek hale x reader #isaac lahey x reader #scott mccall x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #erica reyes x reader

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myntrose · 11 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷partners in crime ︻デ═一

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾────────────────────────────────☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

ft: Alastor x gn! reader

summary: It's another night at the hotel. Everyone is lounging around the shared space, or sitting at the bar. With a boost of confidence (and a few drinks) Angel finally asks the burning question everyone had : How did you and Alastor meet?

cw: demi! Alastor, established relationship(married), Alastor and reader meet when they were alive, reader is an assassin , killing and mild gore (it's alastor yall), a lot of petnames, no use of y/n, no beta we die like men

a/n: it's the way alastor got me smiling and kicking my feet. he got me to break my 1 year hiatus LMAO. also, I am aware that he's ace. I myself am somewhere along the demi spectrum, so this fic is purely for comfort n coping. if you don't like it, pls ignore :,D

wc: 1.5 k (1,469 words)

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾────────────────────────────────☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

The hotel common was filled with low gentle music and idle chatter. Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. Nifty was running around chasing some poor roach. Even Cherri was here, with Sir Pentious attempting to flirt with her once again.

Husk was behind the bar, in ordinary fashion. Although he was mostly listening and doing his job, he would occasionally chide into the conversation the other two residents at the hotel were having. Angel was in the middle of telling you about how much of a headache Val was, while you gave him you condolences. It seemed like the only person missing was the radio demon himself, who was probably in his tower, making a new broadcast.

"Speakin of which..." Angel, who noticed Alastor's lack of presence, noted "I got a question for ya toots. How is it that tall, red and creepy managed to bag you as a partner? You're sweet and all, I get that. But how did you even meet-"

The loud slam of drinks caused the peace within the hotel to halt . Husk shoots a stern glare towards Angel, almost to warn him, be cautious about asking question's about Alastor and his darling, you never know if he's listening.

"It's alright, Husk" You send him a sincere smile. While he would never trust your husband, he can't help but believe your words.

"Well, Angel, let's start with this. If you've ever wondered why I'm down here in the first place, it's because of the occupation I had when I was alive. That's actually how I met Alastor."

Oh, maybe you were a thief and were trying to steal something from Alastor. Or maybe a detective that was on the case to solve his murders. Or maybe-

"I was hired to assassinate one of his targets."

oh.

You couldn't help but laugh at Angels' reaction. Sure, you were kind to those in the hotel, and definitely not as threatening as most overlords. He, and most people you met in Hell, just assumed you committed some mundane crime and got the unfortunate eternal punishment .

Taking a small sip of your drink, you start to recollect the unforgettable night that would define your current relationship.

It was supposed to be like any other job that you were given. Your employer would hand you a file, you would find the target, and get paid in return. Maybe it wasn't the most ethical way to make money, but hey, you knew how to kill so you made it work.

You had followed your target into the bar, while waiting away in the corner. Though your eyes were focused on them the entire night, you couldn't help but feel another pair of eyes on you.

It was probably some random patron in the bar, you guessed. It wasn't for another hour when you noticed that your target had left the vicinity.

The streets were dark, with the occasional street light every block or so. It was perfect place to finish your job. All you needed was for your target to turn into some alleyway, and as quietly as you followed him, you'd quietly go for the kill-

Quietly. Hold on, why was it so quite?

Looking up the street, you noticed that what was once where your target stood was now empty. There was no way he outran you, given that you would have heard his footsteps. To the right of you were the woods, maybe he took a detour?

No, everything felt wrong. Every single thought in your brain was screaming to run, to grab your gun that was hidden beneath your coat, to get out of here-

"Careful my dear, we wouldn't want you getting hurt now, would we?"

A cold blade found its way to your neck. Two very disturbing facts became known to you. First, was the fact that the blade was already stained red. And second, you were about to be the second kill of the night.

A million thoughts ran through your mind. Was this how you were going to die? How fast could you grab your gun? Would your employer be pissed off that you died in the job? With your eyes shut closed, you waited for the knife to make contact.

"Now now, there's no need to be so scared my dear! My, you look like a deer in headlights!"

...what?

Opening your eyes, you're met with the mysterious man who just had his weapon on you seconds ago. He seemed vaguely familiar, probably having seen him at the bar you frequent.

"It seems that I've caused you quite a scare. Do know that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to see for myself this new assassin I've heard so much about! You've caused quite the gossip, my dear. Makes good conservation."

You continued to stand in silence, with the initial shock of almost dying wearing off now. As mad as you were that you got caught, you were equally confused on just who this man was. With some more listening to his voice, the answer popped into your mind.

"You- you're that new radio host! Alastor, was it?"

Alastor's smile grew at the acknowledgment. "Indeed I am! Glad to know you've heard about me."'

Had anyone walked into the conversation you two were having, they would have assumed it was one between new acquaintances. In which one has a knife in their hand, while the other has a gun.

"You see, my dear, I've heard quite a bit about your line if work. While I am more than capable of... dealing with others, I propose that we work out some sort of deal. One where you can finally stop working for that employer of yours, and actually make a profit off your talents."

Alastor put out a hand, waiting, watching to see how you'd respond. It's been a long night for you, and you had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time you saw. Plus, if working with him meant you'd finally have to stop answering to your boss, then why the hell not. You take his hand, before agreeing to this proposition.

"...and since then, we've been business partners. Our relationship kind of just happened after a few moths."

It was nice to look back to when you first met your now-husband. Looking around the bar, you noticed that you weren't just talking to Angel. At some point, unbeknownst to you, everyone at the hotel had come over to listen to your story time.

"Well toots, I figured you had to be some sort of crazy to date smiles, but I guess it takes one to know one." Angels says while taking a shot, still reeling with that fact that someone as kind as you was a killer. Head nods and murmurs of agreement spread within the group.

Before you could say anything, a pool of dark clouds appeared to your side. From the shadows, the very man you were taking about stood before you.

"Hey, Al."

He faces you with his signature grin, before turning to the rest of the residents.

"It seems that I've became the topic of conversion while I was gone! It's quite interesting to see how interested you all are in with me and my dear's meeting."

The hint of annoyance in his voice was entertaining, to say the least. You place a hand on his shoulder, barely hovering above it.

"Aww, come of Al! They just wanted to hear how we first met! Besides, it's a fun story to tell."

"If "fun" means almost killing ya for the first time, I'd hate to know what you guys did when you started dating-" "Shut up Angel!"

You answer a few questions that were asked before everyone eventually returned back to their previous endeavors. Husk and Angel eventually sit around with the others in the common room, leaving just you and Alastor at the bar.

"It's kinda funny, now that I look back at it."

Alastor doesn't say anything, promoting you to continue.

"That night, I almost turned down that job. I was painfully tired, and all I wanted to do was go home. It's crazy to think that we wouldn't have met had I not pushed myself to take the job."

Anyone who knew Alastor would know that him asking for a partnership was simply outlandish. Hell, Alastor himself questioned why he was seeking you out in the first place.

No, underneath he knew. He knew from the first time he saw you. It was a different time from when you both officially met. When he saw you, someone so seemingly innocent, skillfully take down a man twice your size, he knew that he had to meet you.

"Well, mon chéri, it's good that you did."

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader

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sgt-tombstone · 7 months ago

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no one tells you that the worst part about editing your own fic with ADHD is that your brain gets bored halfway through every single sentence because you've read it seventeen times before...

idk if my fic is hard to read because of my writing style or just because my brain has decided to throw a hissy fit

#this is why I need a beta reader lmao #except the writing program I use makes sharing my writing incredibly difficult so like fuck me ig #ughhhhh #tombstone talks #this could be considered a request for beta readers btw if anyone is interested in beta reading for my cod/bond crossover fic #tombstone's epitaphs

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gyuswhore · 8 months ago

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Never Shall We Die (2)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »»

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final] : 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tags in following parts

[AN]: part 2 !!!! ty for reading pt1, hope you guys will enjoy this too <3 as always, ty to @highvern for beta-ing and sitting through this entire thing lmao <3 happy reading, and remember to tell me what you think !!

THE FOREVER EMPTY DECK, for whatever reason, was occupied when you trudge up the stairs in an attempt to free yourself from the stuffiness of your quarters.

You make out Seungkwan sitting cross legged on the floors, very carefully pouring himself a bottle of something unmarked into a bowl. Chan is there as well, very meticulously explaining a happening to…Hoshi, who sits by with an interested expression, mouth turned into a frown with his brows furrowed. Chan is using his hands as he continues, unaware of your presence.

“Oh!” Seungkwan calls you out by name, causing the rest of the clique to turn their heads to you. “Come have a drink!”

“What’s this?” Hoshi starts. He’s smiling, but his reddened cheeks give away his very obviously intoxicated state. “Has miss princess decided to grace us with her presence?”

You ignore him, acknowledging Chan when he asks why you were up at this hour as you sit between him and Seungkwan.

“Just needed some air,” you mumble.

“Well,” Hoshi is loud when he spills half the drink out of the cup he was pouring it into. “Air pairs well with rum.”

He holds out a cup of the liquid for you, swaying slightly from the effort of holding it far out towards you.

“I am a lady.” You resist the effort to turn your nose up.

“Okay lady, bottoms up!” he slurs.

When you continue to keep your hands folded, he retracts his hand with what you think is a prominent scowl, but it looks more like a disappointed pout if anything. He takes a dejected sip from the cup.

“Come on, just one!” Seungkwan tries to convince you.

“Leave her alone, Kwan, miss princess is too good to be drinking with pirates,” Hoshi chides.

You aren’t sure if it was meant to be a jab at all, considering the strange switch in behaviour he seems to have adopted as his drunk persona. You watch in silence as he reaches over to plant a big kiss on Seungkwan’s cheek in affection, grabbing his head strongly. He yelps, pushing his captain off with a face.

But regardless of what he meant, the defiance sparked within you anyway, and you find yourself gripping the neck of the poorly dusted bottle that sat in the middle amidst even more bottles, cups and twine. The motion has all eyes on you, even as you bring the bottle to your lips, preparing yourself for one of the dumber things you’ve done.

Locking eyes with Hoshi’s sharp ones over the bottle, you chug it of its remnants, ignoring the fiery burn and the trickles of liquid that trail down the corners of your mouth.

You hear Seungkwan and Chan cheering, Hoshi remaining stoic as he refuses to be the one to look away from above the bottle.

By the time you’ve slammed the bottle back onto the hardwood, you’re struggling to maintain your vision and you’re forced to tear your eyes away from the man that sits across from you, unwavering.

Resisting the urge to vomit, you can only smile weakly at Seungkwan and Chan who are overly excited over your endeavour, clinking their own cups as they down another one in your honour.

It kickstarted your spree in any case as the night commenced, continuing to accept refills as you sip slower than before, savouring the taste that you couldn’t really say you enjoyed. The feeling, however.

Seungkwan and Chan took longer than you’d expected to pass out, noting the way they continued to clink and drink with no regard.

Hoshi seemed to need little to be washed away, something you found yourself silently snorting at, even as both boys continued to snore quietly behind you.

“What’s so funny?” Hoshi asks, taking a sip from his cup.

You snap your head up, drunk and hot. You consider shaking your head to indicate a null, but you can’t say you have much control over yourself at the moment.

“You take so little to get tipsy,” you comment with a little giggle.

“What makes you think I’m drunk?” he asks.

His red face? The uncharacteristic warmth he’d been treating you with all night? Who knows? But right now you ignore his question, zeroed in on something. He’s wearing one of his stupid linen shirts that are always buttoned too low, the ones that make it impossible to keep your eyes on his face.

Your eyes find the distorted slash of tissue that resides on his chest, right over his left peck, right over his heart. You’ve noticed the scar on multiple occasions. Not that he seems to ever try to hide it. You decide to mention it.

“How’d you get that?” you whisper. It feels right to talk like that; the deck is silent, the sea is calm in her regard to pushing the ship where it needs to go. Your legs are pulled up to your chest, cheek on your knees.

He follows your gaze to his scar, coming round to answer you with a drunk, dopey smile on his face. “Got hungry.”

Possible, but you also get the feeling he wasn’t about to give you a straight answer if you pushed anyway. But your gaze remains on his chest, ingraining the ridges of the scar to memory.

And with every moment that passes, it looks less and less like a scary altercation of someone trying to carve his heart out, and more like he may have fallen off his horse while riding. Accidentally cut himself with a steak knife at the supper table. Took a bad blow during a practice sword fight.

And with every moment that passes, the backgrounds of your mind’s pictures turn from the rugged sea to the grassy training grounds of the palace, the hay and brown of the stables, the silver glints of the dining hall. The thuds of rusting cups and cheap sailors rum turn into clinks of wine glasses, Hoshi’s hand wrapped around the stems, skin free of every scar and darkened slash.

And with every moment that passes, you imagine what this deadly, ferocious pirate would look like if his life was a little different. If his life was a little like yours. Would he be able to be a better match against your father, would he have taken every missed opportunity to become a ruler that you only wish you could be? Could he lead a kingdom as well as he leads his beloved band of pirates?

There’s not a thought of what you’re doing in your mind as you find yourself reaching over, not to the bottles that lie empty, but to the pirate captain’s hands, taking his rough calloused palms in your soft, unscarred ones.

He does little to resist, letting his hand fall limp in yours.

“What’s this one?” you ask, tracing over the biggest scar that slashed across his knuckles.

“Piece of wood sticking out of the mast.”

It’s an older scar, clear with the way his skin has settled into the healed wound like it’s always been that way.

“This one?” you ask, tracing over another nick.

“Fell on glass.”

“This one?”

“Punched Mingyu.”

You frown at that, looking up at him and in accusation.

“I apologised,” he defends.

Was it strange that a pirate captain would apologise for assaulting his crew? Slightly, yes. But you liked to think you understood Hoshi a little better than you’d first met him, and that he considered his crew more like his family than anything else.

Never in a million years, in your pirate hating household, would you have thought that the deadliest band of pirates would soon be the ones you’d be sharing drinks with, tracing scars with, feeling somewhat secure being alone with.

Entrusting to save your future with.

You turn his hand over to his palms, now staring at a fresher looking gash that seems to still be healing. It looks painful, the redness yet to fade into its darker hues.

“What about this one?” you ask, being extra careful to not touch the wound.

Hearing him let out a small laughing exhale, you look up.

“Thought you’d recognize your own work.”

And then you remember.

The spray of blood in the air as your dagger made its first ever maim at your hands.

“Oh,” you breathe out.

When you look up from your hunched position, you’re closer to Hoshi than you’d initially thought. He went from an arms length away to brushing shoulders with you, his palm remaining cradled in both of yours.

“Do you regret it?” he asks as he looks at you like he’s gotten lost somewhere in your face.

His breath hits your face in a delicate fan, the smell of alcohol mixing from your own mouth.

Glancing down at his scarring wound, you look back up at him with your lips in a tight line.

“No.”

He smiles, less of disbelief and more of contentment, a pleasant look on his face as he reads your expression.

You felt like you’d passed some kind of test.

“Good.”

And then you’re so close you can barely make out the tip of his nose, his warmth infiltrating your own. You can smell him past the rum, a faint woody scent that makes your head spin. You push up to the alcohol.

Your stomach is on fire as you expect the final push to come, the eager build in your chest becoming near unbearable.

Just as you’re about to flutter your eyes closed, ready to take whatever he might give you, you find his face disappeared.

Hoshi turned his face away, your face infiltrated by the cool breeze once more. Your palms are cooling as his warmth retracts from them as well, leaving you cold and confused.

Blinking, pushing your chin closer to your chest, you attempt to catch your bearings, catch the notes in the air as you feel him move to his feet quickly.

“Get some sleep, it’s late,” he announces in a low, gravelly voice before trudging towards the staircase. He seems to have sobered up.

All that’s left on the deck is your empty palms, the stinging sea spray, and two snoring pirates.

HOSHI SPENT THE REST of the morning trying to sleep off the imminent feeling of spontaneous combustion.

The tingle in his right hand refuses to go away, even when he plunges the darn thing into a freezing bucket of water next to his cot, assuming his wound was acting up.

He sleeps fitfully, the frustration that simmers refuses to let him have a staggering moment of peace. His head is as dense as a whale, throbbing in the seeping light. The sounds of the sea, ones that once brought him calm, were now triggering an irrational reaction from his entire being.

Swinging to his feet is easy, it’s the aftermath of such a reckless action that has him stumbling like a fawn. Slipping into his boots, he thuds to the lower decks, to the storage area where all of the rations are.

And where all of the alcohol is.

He bumps into Minghao on the way down, who’s filling his canteen as he keeps morning watch on deck.

“Go sleep, I’ve got it,” he says to him, and Minghao does little to refute as he makes a beeline for his beloved hammock.

It’s too early for anyone to be awake, despite the afternoon sun that lingers. He takes full advantage of it as he hauls the first crate of rum up to the deck.

There isn’t an inch of hesitation as he lifts the death juice and sends it splashing into the ocean. He stares for a moment as heavy bottles disappear under the water, still full of the very thing he’d shoot his crew for wasting a single drop of.

Even more determined than before, he goes back down into the brig, this time lugging two more crates of rum, all to be met with the same fate, going down to touch the bottom of the ocean.

With every echoing slam of the wood hitting the water, he feels himself freeing.

But you plague him anyway.

Lifting a particularly heavy box, he thinks of how close you had gotten to him on this very deck. How he could breathe in your exhales. How he could feel the tactile of your fingertips tracing over every mauled slash on his hand. How you consumed his mind in ways he couldn’t fathom.

It was the rum. The rum was doing this to him.

At least, that’s what he’d chosen to blame.

Who was he to deny the effect you seemed to have on him?

The answer was that he was a pirate, especially with the way he chalked his muddled brain to not having had a woman around for so, so long.

He’d considered indulging once they reached Port Ash, slipping away for an hour into one of the beaded doors of women ready to give him what he wanted. The thought seemed like an unwanted remedy.

Every solution felt fruitless, a balm that only seemed to make the itch worse. Even as he commits a sin as heinous as feeding perfectly good rum to sea foam, he only does it in the hopes that the sea will take it as a sacrifice, to give him the kind of peace his being has begun to crave.

Hoshi has been moved to insanity.

Even as he feels the cool cylinder of Jun’s revolver on his temple, he pushes the last crate overboard as his final answer.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hears Jun ask.

When he turns around, the revolver remains stationary as it now points into the smack middle of his forehead. He has an audience, Mingyu’s face has leftover sleep on it, a mildly horrified look on his face. Chan looks like he could slice his own Captain’s throat open.

“Where’s the rum?” Mingyu asks in an airy voice, disbelief prominent.

“The rum’s gone.”

“Why is the rum gone?”

Hoshi doesn’t answer as he moves Jun’s loaded gun out of his face and makes his way back to his cot downstairs, in no mood to squabble with his too sober crew.

There’s calls of his name that follow him all the way to below the deck, even as he snatches a stray hat on the floor, placing it above his face in the hopes that he was relieved enough to sleep.

It’s snatched away as Mingyu stands above him like an angel of death, his hat in his equally deathly grip.

“Did the spirits possess you?”

“No,” he replies begrudgingly. “But good sense has.”

“Captain,” he hears Chan begin, looking about five seconds away from committing a murder on the seas. “You know I can’t fight sober.”

“Learn.”

“What is this about? Where was the rum at fault?” Jun grits.

Hoshi swings up once again. If Mingyu was an angel of death then he was the king of hell.

But he has no threats left to give, his menacing soul left with the rum. There is only a snarl that turns into him dropping his head, sighing a loud, loud sigh.

He tells his crew a sad affair as he expresses his sorrows like a eulogy. Blaming the rum was stupid, but it was what he had done. And now the fruit of his decisions sit forgotten in the reefs so far below.

His crew is not happy when they find out, in any case.

“But what did the rum do?”

“Kissing beautiful women is part of life’s pleasures!”

“I have half a mind to make you fish it all back up.”

Mingyu has simply crumpled onto the floor in his heartbreak, Chan has his face in his hands. Hoshi doesn’t look up to witness Jun’s reaction.

The crew would get over the lack of alcohol on board, perhaps a morbid brawl or two to help them get by, but what was more concerning was whether it did anything for Hoshi at all.

At the very least, he knows he won’t go around kissing people sober, but when it comes to the matter of the war inside his chest…

A phantom ache throbs across the scar on his chest.

Perhaps his heart would finally be the next to go.

PORT ASH WAS A depraved man’s heaven.

One that could easily become his downfall if he doesn’t play his cards right.

Too covered was suspicious, too much of the opposite was an open invitation to all the drunk and debauched population of Ash; pirates, criminals and councilmen alike. You were comfortable enough in what you were given to put on, to become the perfect blend in the rowdy, barely lit streets of the brothels and bars.

Despite everything, Seungkwan assured you that no one would bother a woman flanked by obvious pirates, for whatever reason that may be. If it were up to you, you would’ve remained on the ship, safe and buried in your quarters, but the threat of an ambush on the docks plagued the crew enough to risk bringing you directly into the dragon’s den.

Jun disappeared quickly, ducking behind an unmarked curtain with a nod to his captain. You could only assume this was where he’d obtain his remaining supplies for the explosives he seemed to be so good at creating. You’ve awoken to multiple median bangs during the night, so you can only assume he knows what he’s doing to a certain extent.

“Jun said it might take a while, so we might have to wait on him a little bit.” Hoshi stands at the front of the group, addressing his crew.

“Spread out, do whatever. Don’t linger, don’t drink yourselves to death—” he sends a pointed look at a shifty Chan and Mingyu, “—and meet back at the ship at six bells or we’ll leave without you.”

The announcement doesn’t seem to apply to you. You’re sandwiched between Hoshi and Seungkwan as they lead you into the throng, to wherever it was they were to pass the time till it was time to return.

If Ash was anything, it was alive. Men and women scatter in all states of drunk and sober, arms latched with their partners for the night as they let the oil lamps carry them to their abode for the night. It’s a wilder Hasry, a scarier Hasry.

The nighttime does nothing to help your nerves, every single face shrouded in the half shadows, seemingly resembling every person you’ve ever met in the Kingdom.

It makes you feel better that both men are pressed against your sides, as strange as the thought sounds in your head. Safe between two pirates.

“Nobody’s tried to kill you yet, I’d call that a record,” Seungkwan comments, but it’s not directed towards you.

Hoshi scowls as you shift your gaze from Seungkwan to him. The usually nonchalant pirate captain looks…cautious. His eyes dart around the crowded streets, like he was looking for familiar faces all the same as you.

Your eyes land on his curled lips and force down a shiver. This was the first time you’d been around him since that drunken night, since you’d promised to never drink again.

He doesn’t mention it, so neither do you.

“Captain Hoshi Kwon? How wonderful of you to show your face again!”

A woman’s voice rings shrill amidst the loud buzz and hollers of the streets, emerging like a white ghost from the throng. Dressed to the nines, face painted intricately, fan clenched in her hand that perches on her hip. She’s joined by another gaggle of women that crown behind her, displaying a rainbow of coloured gown and fans, but holding the same disdained look.

The pirate captain freezes beside you, and you feel Seungkwan’s hand on your back burn.

He seems shaken at the sight of the new woman initially, but puts on a smile you’ve only seen a few times. One that dazzles with his teeth on display, eyes squinted.

“Delilah!” he exclaims, almost too happy to see this mystery woman. “How’ve you been?”

“Who did that? I’d like to send them flowers,” she refers to the scar above Hoshi’s heart.

“Jellyfish don’t really like me, learned that the hard way.”

His answer seems to only annoy her. Delilah has a wicked snarl on her face, threat in her stance. “When was the last time I saw you?”

“Uh,” Hoshi stumbles.

“The Crowded Inn, was it? When I fell asleep to a promise and woke up to an empty bed?”

“Our dear captain seems to have thrown memory at sea,” one of the girls behind her calls out, followed by a collective giggle.

Hoshi looks cornered, at a loss for words as he attempts to save face. Regaining his prior easygoing expression, he continues.

“There’s no promises after I’ve had a drink or two, you know that, Delilah.” It scares you a little how easily he can inject all the sugar and honey in the world directly into his words, flirting his way out of the predicament.

Except, she doesn’t seem to be buying it, because as soon as the words leave Hoshi’s lips, you hear a loud thwack and a blur of colour. You gasp before you can help it, covering your mouth in shock.

There’s a reddenning mark on his cheek in the shape of a hand. Hoshi remains face scrunched, coming round, hand slowly coming up to touch his no doubt stinging cheek.

Your reaction seems to have roused this woman, because she sends you nothing but a look laced with pure venom, completely ignoring Seungkwan who stands aside doing nothing to help his captain.

“Where’d you pick this one up?” She asks, her fan now shucked open, fanning herself even in the pleasant weather. Her pale face, red lips, dark eyes all remain on your shabby form, a hint of a smirk on her face. “Is she as disappointing of a performer as she looks?”

That seems to do it, as you watch Hoshi’s facade of a cheeky bed trotter image drop to something with more depth.

“Delilah,” he says, warning in his voice.

“Ah! Looks like I’ve struck a nerve.”

You watch Hoshi take a step forward and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the crowd of people that continue to pass and linger, reminding yourself of the repercussions of causing a scene in a place like this. Turning slightly, you attempt to push Seungkwan to do something.

“Captain,” Seungkwan says, a casual but careful voice. A starting attempt at calming things down.

“That’s enough,” Hoshi says, ignoring Seungkwan’s warning. “Quit pretending you weren’t warming that privateer’s bed right after I left.”

There was no reason for you to say anything, do anything. But when you find yourself pushing forward, leaving Seungkwan’s hold, you can’t stop. Perhaps he’d have punched Seungkwan, his own crew, if he’d done the same as you were right now, but you’d like to think you know the pirate captain enough to assume he’d react less so with you.

There’s a shift in the woman’s jaw as she watches you wrap your arm around one of Hoshi’s, trying your absolute best to mimic a bright smile.

“We should go,” you announce, the stretch of your cheeks unfamiliar even to you. You turn to catch Hoshi’s stare, he’s looking at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “Right, Hosh?”

“Go on then, Captain. Your little princess awaits.”

You flinch without meaning to. Princess.

This woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about, at least, that’s what you recite in your head as your trio goes back to pushing walking through the streets. She doesn’t know who you are.

“She doesn’t know,” you hear Hoshi say under his breath, but you hear it loud as day.

You exhale, “I know.”

“Sorry about her. And him, “ Seungkwan says, before turning to Hoshi. “I told you not to get involved with that one, she’s a menace.”

You’ve let go of Hoshi’s arm at this point, now simply watching him attempt to calm himself down as you walk. He doesn’t reply to Seungkwan’s jab.

You feel strange, a feeling you can’t exactly pinpoint. You’re too aware of yourself, in a way that’s different than just the fear of being recognized. Shifting your eyes to your attire, your usual linen skirts and corset, an added grey shawl for your own anxious sanity.

The woman’s voice rings in your head. Shabby.

“You didn’t let her get to you, did you? She’s always been vile, she can’t live without being a bitch about something every five minutes.”

Seungkwan’s grumbling goes in one ear and out the other as you don’t answer. He seems to read you better than you thought he could. He sighs.

“Congratulations Delilah, you’ve made a princess feel shabby,” he says in a sarcastically chipper voice, one that earns a hiss from his captain for being too loud.

Before you know it, you’re being led down a flight of stone stairs and you’re informed that it was an underground pub of sorts. Something about his undertone told you it was probably more, but you ignore it as the darkness is let alight beyond the musty curtains of the basement entrance.

It’s a sizable expanse, a bar on one of the long ends of the hall, busy and overflowing with mugs, jugs and plates. Wooden tables and chairs, almost all of them occupied by patrons of all kinds that do nothing to regulate their volumes. It smells like a rancid mixture of alcohol and people, but you push past as you find yourself seated on one of the wooden seatings in the corner.

“I’ll go get us drinks,” Seungkwan announces as he walks up to the bar. You watch as he’s greeted by nearly every passing customer, all smiles.

Hoshi sits beside you like a begrudged toddler, arms crossed and glaring at nothing.

“Didn’t realise how popular you were around these parts,” you comment, scanning the crowd in excruciating detail, blaming force of habit as you do.

He clicks his tongue, and you can’t see him, but you can almost visualise his grimace.

A too clean councilman that has his hands on the upper thighs of an outlandishly dressed woman. A man so grimy and dusty who has nothing but an array of empty jugs for company. Another flock of fan yielding, hair towering, gown exploding women that swarm a man you cannot see past the bodies.

It’s organised chaos, immoral yet is the only thing that seems to work on this island.

Another entrance is being made from the curtains that block the pub from the outside, you steer your eyes automatically.

Looks like he could be a pirate, beyond just the dark hair and chiselled face. He has a girl under his arm, a pretty brunette that giggles at his side as he whispers something in her ear. She’s wearing something similar to you, a corset and a linen skirt, and a pirate's hat that’s too big for her that’s perched on her head.

Subconsciously, you feel better about being so severely underdressed.

Hoshi sits up next to you and you glance over your shoulder to assess his shift. He’s also staring at the couple that’s just walked in. You briefly wonder if this was going to be another showdown.

The man catches Hoshi’s eye from across the room, and you notice how his smile falls a little.

“Who’s that?” you ask quietly.

Your question is answered when the man himself begins to walk towards your table, leaving the girl at his table, a confident strut as he makes his path.

Hoshi rises next to you before you realise what’s happening, and you have the sudden urge to call out for Seungkwan.

“Why are you getting up?” you hiss. He doesn’t answer, yet again.

“Captain,” the man greets.

“Captain,” Hoshi replies.

Captain. So he was a pirate.

“Hm. That’s not gonna go away, is it?” The man comments with a smirk, eyes trained on the scar on Hoshi’s chest.

“Wonder who’s fault that is.” Hoshi’s voice is levelled.

Oh. Was that scar his doing?

“I hope you won’t mind if I don’t apologise?” The smirk on his face remains as he continues, motioning towards his own cheek, eyes trailed on the side of Hoshi’s face. “Looks like you’ve got enough enemies without me trying to carve your heart out.”

Hoshi doesn’t answer as he grimaces, a frustrated blink and a hand that runs over his sore cheek.

“Delilah was quite adamant on having your head on a pike after that,” the stranger adds with a chuckle of his own, before trailing his eyes behind Hoshi. Right where you sat watching the two men interact. “Perhaps she does have some consideration left.”

“Delilah cared more about looking like a fool than she ever did me leaving. You’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Wonwoo?”

There’s a flash of irritation on Wonwoo’s face at the jog of a memory. “Handled it better than you did. At least I wasn’t walking around with a handprint on my face.”

“No, no you weren’t. Just a leash around your neck,” Hoshi’s own eyes darted towards the girl seated at Wonwoo’s table, a silent jab.

Wonwoo’s face morphs into something a little more dangerous than just irritation, his jaw tightening as he takes a step forward. They’re nearly nose to nose.

To your surprise, Wonwoo smiles. “I guess brothels don’t teach many manners after all. My mistake.”

For the second time that day, you spring from your position in the shadowed table, giving up on praying for Seungkwan’s arrival. The man seems to have disappeared somewhere along the barline, and you curse both the men that stand before you for their horrid temper management skills.

You don’t have to do much, however, as you find Wonwoo pulling away by himself. At least, you thought so, finding a hand wrapped around his upper arm. The brunette spares neither of you a glance as she simply murmurs furiously under her breath, hand now on her lover's chest as she pushes him to move back from the brewing altercation.

Hoshi doesn’t seem to be breaking, remaining standing with his eyes shooting daggers at the man that’s reluctant to walk away from a budding fight.

Being gentle wasn’t going to work right now, and you weren’t feeling so soft anyway. Instead, you reach over to grab his wrist tight, positively yanking him back as hard as you could.

“Wh—ow!”

He slams into the seat next to you, deadly eye contact with the other captain broken as he winces at the impact. When you glance up, Wonwoo is gone.

“You said to blend in, how is this blending in?!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You were two seconds away from drawing knives,” you hiss. “We’re in a pub, for goodness’ sake!”

Despite your irritation, and with the newfound information that rests in the back of your head, it’s difficult to keep your eyes off the scar that stands against the lamplight of the pub.

Someone did try to carve his heart out.

Context for an altercation that could lead to something like that remains unknown, and you doubt you’d ever get a straight answer from him if you asked—as always. Besides, you forget they’re pirates.

Hoshi goes back to simply ignoring you as he festers in his grumbled silence. Choosing to keep his arms folded and staring straight ahead. You make no moves to entertain him.

“I guess brothels don’t teach many manners after all.”

This mystery captain’s left you with enough ammo to keep you wondering for days. What on earth was that?

As if Hoshi’s (and yours) mood wasn’t sour enough, your attention is brought to the front of the room where another entrance is being made, quite loudly so. You very quickly recognise the gowns and fans and shrieking giggles of women as Delilah and her posse.

You note the woman herself is nowhere near.

“Fucking hell,” you hear Hoshi swear under his breath. He’s sitting up, eyes darting around the room, almost like he was trying to find a hiding spot. You doubt he's too excited over another conversation of similar nature, let alone a matching mark on the other side of his face.

The women hadn't seen him yet, and were approaching far too quickly for him to get up and leave anywhere to hide. A quick scan of the room yourself and you realise there’s only one remaining option.

They didn’t seem to recognise you for your title before, and you assume the current extent stays within simply being another seductress in the pirate captain’s company. You push the sickening feeling away as you realise you might have to play the part.

So you do the sensible thing and push Hoshi’s head under the wooden table, forcing him to leave his seat and crouch beside your legs. In a split second, you’ve lifted your linen skirt and draped it over his hunched body.

This would have to do.

And it seems to have been the right move because as soon as the man is out of sight, you find the opposite end of the table more occupied than you ever would have been comfortable with.

“Oh! You’re that Hoshi’s girl aren’t you?” one of the women who's made themselves comfortable asks, fan in front of her mouth and nose as you note her sharp eyes.

“Uh,” you laugh nervously.

“Oh, nothing to be embarrassed about,” she assures, a snap in her voice.

Another woman decked out in a green ensemble speaks in a teasing voice, “We’re all quite accustomed to his…mannerisms.”

The table erupts in a fit of giggles and cackles and you’re forced to laugh weakly along, hyper aware of the man that sits under your skirt right below. You try not to flinch as you feel his clothes brush against the side of your calf.

“So, tell us,” she says, taking your hands in hers, a contact you really wish you could break free of. If only you weren't quite as terrified of the women seated at your table. “How far along in heaven has this man taken you?”

She spares you an answer as you gape with square shoulders. She fans herself in a whimsy as she looks like she’s reminiscing. “He’s almost as good of a pirate as he is a beast in bed, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night.”

“Quite generous with the tongue too, if you know what I mean.”

The pirate captain’s breath hits your bare knees in its own fan, goosebumps almost immediately erupting across the expanse of your skin. You fail to suppress a shudder.

Goodness, this man stays busy.

“Oh look at her, she’s gotten all flustered!” one of them laughs. You take it as an opportunity to slip your hands out of the tight grasps of the bold ladies. “It seems he’s taken to a newer liking. How innocent.”

These women seem to like talking more than they wish to hear a word from you, of course, you couldn’t tell them anything they already didn’t know. Of which, according to their interests, you knew nothing of it anyway.

“Don’t get too attached now, we’re all mere expendables in this busy pirate’s—”

Slam!

Rum. You smell rum.

It’s like you’ve been transported back onto the main deck, the smell of rum mixed with….with—

“Ladies!” Seungkwan announces, slamming bottles of alcohol on the table with a force unnecessary. “Funny seeing you again.”

For a moment you may have even thought Hoshi had clambered up to the table to announce himself, and you feel a hand fly down to your skirts.

He’s still there, head now actively leaning against your knee. You pray the man hasn’t fallen asleep as you attempt to greet Seungkwan.

“Took you long enough,” you grit through a sickly sweet smile.

With your hand somewhere on Hoshi’s upper back, you guide him with you as you make space for Seungkwan next to you.

“The—oh!” Seungkwan is quick to notice the breathing lump under your skirt as he sits himself next to you, but manages to compose himself with a cough. “Long line. What were you ladies talking about?”

One of them smiles big as ever, slowly lifting themselves from their seats, “We were just…leaving. Wonderful speaking with you!”

And with that, you can finally feel your breath coming back to you, the table significantly lighter with the lack of colours, perfume and humans.

Releasing a long exhale, you let your shoulders drop and lean backwards.

“Are you going to explain why the captain is hidden under your skirts?”

With a jolt, you're forced to consider his presence under the table, scanning the room to find the women gone from the pub altogether.

Hoshi emerges from under the fabric, and shuffles over to the other side of the table to sit down, bringing an instinctive hand towards the fresh bottles on the table. Halting, he instead reaches for the jug of water on the edge and pours himself a helping.

You refuse to look at him. Refuse to acknowledge the red in his face. Refuse to acknowledge the sudden cold under your skirt.

Seungkwan’s stare is burning holes into the side of your head, even as he uncorks one of the bottles as an offer. You also refuse; both to look him in the eye and the drink itself.

Bottle to his lips, he moves his glare to his captain, who sits nursing his water like it was something stronger.

“I haven’t gotten an answer yet,” he finally breaks.

Instinct has your eyes lifting to meet Seungkwan’s inquisitive one’s, answers frozen in your throat.

“Why are you asking like you don’t know who they were?” Hoshi snaps.

“I can understand not wanting a matching handprint on your other cheek!” he refutes. “But how do you decide the solution is to dive into yet another woman’s skirts?”

Your only solace to the heat that prickles your body is the way Hoshi himself flushes.

Seungkwan sighs as he takes another sip of his drink, eyeing Hoshi’s still red cheek. “I’m starting to think you deserved it.”

Hoshi makes a motion like he’s about to send his half full cup flying into Seungkwan’s face but stops short. Perhaps he’s realising he’s become the problem child for today.

You contemplate telling Seungkwan about Wonwoo and the near pub brawl you would’ve had to deal with, but decide it to be a story for another time. Besides, you weren’t about to risk mentioning his name while it was still fresh.

You realise just how unstable this island can turn a person; not just the pirate captain.

Because as you look at Hoshi on the other side of the table, you find how difficult it is to look away.

“YOU NEED TROUSERS.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t look so scandalised, you’ve been prancing around with pirates for goodness’ sake.”

Seungkwan haggles with the stall owner over the price of padded coats, blankets and an array of other things the crew would need. The journey was only going to take the ship further North, and it was only going to get colder as you neared the icy water of the Green Islands.

Seungkwan’s suggestion to buy you trousers came out of the blue, but it seems you couldn’t refuse when you find both Hoshi and Chan (who joined you after he was tired of the others) agreeing.

“You can’t possibly stay warm in linen,” Chan argues. “Trousers are the only way you won’t freeze your limbs off.”

“Too much airflow in a skirt,” Seungkwan agrees, eyes closed, head shaking solemnly. “Captain would know.”

“Hm?” Chan looks at him confused.

“Fine!” You snatch the folded brown lump in Seungkwan’s hands. You keep talking in a louder than necessary voice in the hopes that Chan won’t ask any more questions. “I’ll wear them.”

“Perfect! Now we need to get you boots.”

“I have boots!”

“Warm boots!”

“But—”

It was difficult to argue with Seungkwan once he’s got his mind set on something. But that paired with the loud noises of the Ash port market was sending pulsing throbs across the sides of your head. You simply surrender as Seungkwan leaves Hoshi to pay the vendor before pushing you across the street to where a stall held boots and slippers for sale.

In the midst of his bargaining, Chan had disappeared into the throng, returning with a steaming plate of something that smelled doughy and delicious.

“What is that?” you ask as Chan shoves the tray in front of you.

“Whatever they are, they’re delicious. Try one.”

He was right, one bite of the warm, soft goodness covered in syrup had you taking a moment to ponder. It melts in your mouth, barely registering the rest of the group scarfing down the tray like it was their last.

“God, you can never get them this good on the mainland,” Seungkwan cries. “We’ll get another tray before we leave.”

Speaking of leaving, you turn to ask about the time.

“How many bells has it been?” you ask Seungkwan whose cheeks bulge with the amount of dough balls he’s stuffed in. He looks like a child caught stealing when you ask.

“Oh—”

“Five,” Hoshi answers instead, eyes remaining on the pile of goods that he’s gathered to remain in his line of sight. You suppose there was no delivery system here like in Hasry, and you doubt how secure it is to be walking around with a pile of supplies on this island in particular.

“You need to hurry, I told the rest of them to meet at six bells.”

Seungkwan’s quick to wrap up, but not before shooing Chan away for another tray of those sweet dough balls for the journey. You manage to whisper to him to bring extra.

By the time Seungkwan’s done with the last vendor, dropping the giant coil of rope onto the already large pile of supplies, you begin to wonder how you were supposed to get all of this to the ship.

“Shove those in a bag and carry some of this,” Hoshi says to Chan who has returned, brandishing another steaming tray of the sweet treat. He grumbles as he complies, complaining about how the sticky sweet syrup was going to ruin the inside of the pack.

You look a little lost as you attempt to help, all three men grabbing their share of the load.

“Let me hold something,” you attempt, reaching for a wrapped pile.

You watch as Hoshi snatches it before you can grab it for yourself. “Keep an eye out instead.”

“But—”

“Here.” Chan drops the pack with the now rolling dough balls inside. “Snacks for the walk too, how lucky.”

There’s a light push from behind you as Seungkwan urges you to move forward, face slightly obstructed with the tower he’s holding in his arms. “Go on, straight and then left. We’re close to the port anyway.”

You’re left feeling slightly useless as you remain caged with Chan in front while Seungkwan and Hoshi follow you from behind. The walk is short, but crowded nonetheless.

It’s only later in the night, which means the crowds in the bustling streets and alleys of Ash only multiply, clear with the case you’re pushed into right now. You pause in front of a particularly busy patch, needing to take a breath before following Chan’s fearless footsteps.

It’s immediate suffocation, bodies on all sides as you try your best to not lose Chan in the midst of the crowds. Perhaps they were right to keep your hands mostly unoccupied—it would’ve been impossible for you to not completely lose yourself here.

Gaining a rhythm of walking with the crowd before moving slightly against to near your exit, you’ve almost made your way out.

Just as you find the bend leading to the open air of the port, you hear a distinct rip sound from behind you.

If your skirt was airy before, it was a windstorm now.

Craning your neck at an impossible angle, you find the bottom of your skirt ripped so high up the back of your knees are out for the population of Ash to see.

Gasping loudly, you halt in your tracks. A horrible mistake, because you’re only being bumped and shoved by the evermoving bodies.

“Why are you stopping?” Seungkwan hisses, before realising what’s just happened. “Uh oh.”

“I…”

Both Seungkwan and Hoshi push past the throng making their way out of the crowd, leaving you there frazzled and practically naked

You barely consider that they’ve just left you there as you scramble to cover your calves with what overlapping fabric you had left, registering the threats and curses being sent your way for being the idiot that stops in what is essentially a fast paced parade.

The rational part of your brain checks out, refusing to consider that perhaps the back of your knees were the least scandalous thing this island has seen, especially after the conversations you’ve had in your short time here. But alas, a few months of the pirate life wasn’t enough to push the princess out of you, and you stand like a paralysed fool about to get stampeded.

Just as you’re convinced you’d die here, embarrassed and utterly panicked, you feel a body press up from behind you.

It was too close to be a bystander pushing past, which was saying something since most of these patrons were practically climbing over your form.

You whip your head back to look at the person who’s invading your space more than usual, hands tight around your upper arms in an effort to push you forward.

Hoshi stands behind you as his body covers the ripped damage of your skirt, eyes trained in front to survey the crowd.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” he grunts, pushing to get you to move your legs. You stumble in the beginning, still not registering anything.

He was helping, but with the way you can feel every dip and shallow of his chest and abdomen pressing into you, you can’t help but think he’s only made matters for your already speeding heart worse.

Your legs move automatically, letting him steer you wherever. Trying not to think about how his entire front is pressed onto your back like a mould. He’s so close you can even smell him despite the crowd.

Like your head isn’t spinning enough.

By the time you’ve exited the main rush of people, you’ve begun counting your minutes.

Emerging to the bend that leads straight to the docks, you find the rest of the crew already there, running sprints to get all the new supplies to the ship that remained a few yards away.

Despite having left the crowd behind, your exposure remained, which meant you’d have to be tailed all the way to the ship. You curse your luck as you watch Jun quirk an inquisitive brow at the both of you stuck like you’ve been glued.

You pray you never have to show your face here again, because the looks don’t seem to stop until you’ve reached the ship. Perhaps the crowd where nobody was paying attention was better.

In any case, you respond to Minghao’s questioning noise with half shut eyes and a joint sprint towards the stairs leading to the lower decks.

Hoshi keeps behind until you’ve gotten to the heavenly doors of your quarters, springing inside before Hoshi could register looking lower.

It’s silent for a few sparing moments as you breathe tightly, convincing yourself that you were alone and uncompromised. You're pressed up against the door, almost like you’re afraid the entirety of Ash would barge through to witness your calves.

“I’ll handle the boys, don’t worry about that,” you hear Hoshi speak from the other side of the door.

There’s nothing you could do other than slide down the door in a beyond dramatic fashion, head in your hands as you grip the strands like you were moments away from ripping them off. Every instance of your upbringing flashes before your eyes, every crack of your mentor’s canes on your thighs and calves, every waking pain in your back from the impossible postures, every bruise and nick on your feet from being stepped on and trodden over.

Despite the ridiculous nature of the situation, you feel your eyes grow heavy with tears.

Was this panic?

Taking in the circumference of your cramped quarters; the unmade bed, the strewn clothes, the thrown covers.

It was nothing. Yet, at the same time, it was everything.

Amidst the pile, there’s a glint of metal where your knife lies on your nightstand, the tiniest smear of uncleaned blood on the blade. From your position on the floor, you find the half broken lamp discarded under your bed, shunned from your sight. The desk in the corner is empty, save for the staggering mountain of letters from your father.

The only suggestion of normalcy, yet the one you itch to be rid of the most.

The letter opener necklace that was exchanged for the ring on your finger sits warm against the valley of your breasts, a reminder of the first weapon you plucked from this very room. The weapon that began it all.

The smell of gunpowder fills your nose, the forever echoing bang of Jun’s revolver as you took that child sailor’s life with your own two hands.

You lay like that, on the cold floors of your quarters. Refusing to touch the court appointed comfort of your bed, for fear of reigniting the guilt with a fire stoked.

You aren’t sure if you sleep, but you do dream.

LIDS OPEN, EYES WIDE, but nothing to perceive.

It’s a pit of obsidian, unrelenting and unproposing in its press against your lungs.

The familiar ball of prickling embers makes itself known in the pit of your stomach, rising and penetrating your senses in ways worse than even the darkness. It's alarm, dread and swivet; the concoction sticking to the walls of your lungs, throat and mouth.

And then there’s pressure.

Something envelopes you from behind, an unidentified lump that pulls you into something warm and sturdy. There’s another pressure at your stomach, another pull keeps you grounded between a wall built just for you.

The air is perfumed, something beyond a flower or an incense. You know what it is.

And then you're falling, slipping into nothingness and landing between sheets warm enough to suggest you never left.

The scent remains, and this time, Hoshi towers over your frame in something that might have been domineering. But with the distinct feeling of a wet mouth over your collarbone, a small whisper of words unintelligible, you melt like frost in front of a fireplace.

“What?” you question his muttering, hands hovering just above the expanse of his covered back, barely touching.

He rears his head like a gentle beast, wet lipped and zeroed in on your face. His response comes in the form of his lips enclosing your own.

He tastes like rum.

OPENING THE DOOR TO an expectant Seungkwan, you only wave off his reference to you looking like you have one foot in death’s mouth, grabbing the stack of clothes and boots he delivers.

He leaves you alone, something you cannot decide is a blessing or a curse as you take in the unchanged state of your quarters.

Sleep gives you nothing but more troubling images to keep your mind utterly occupied, so you take what you can control in consciousness.

You drop the clothes on a cleaner corner, yanking one of the thinner pairs of dark brown trousers to change into from your still torn and tattered skirt.

Moving inside the room, you pick the littered papers, ropes and rags on the floor, swerving and crouching with more vigour than necessary.

Hoshi’s scent sticks to you.

Grabbing the pile of letters on your desk, you shove them in a sack and throw them under the bed.

Hoshi holds you like he might die if he doesn’t.

Ripping the covers off the bed, you fold them into a giant ball of fabric, hoisting it into your arms as you strut to the door.

Hoshi’s lips have left a bruise on your chest.

The late morning sun combats the chill in the air, the salt sticking to your hair.

Hoshi’s mouth is hot and wet on yours.

Hoshi stands before you, manning the wheel on the deck.

You halt in your tracks.

He turns to register you with your arms full and shielding most of your body.

Clearing his throat, he states, “You’re up.”

Eyes darting, you respond. “I’m up.”

Somehow, his presence makes you forget the audacity of your own brain to stew the play it did. Depositing the sheets on the floor of the deck, you attempt to look for a reasonably long coil of rope.

In your pointed distraction, you miss how distracted the pirate captain has also become.

His elbows, initially perched on the wheel, slip in a comical manner, unintentionally pushing the wheel to the right.

You don’t expect the minor lurch of the ship, landing on your bum with a yelp when you lose your footing all of a sudden. Your elbows take a worse hit, spiking pain across your upper limbs at the hard contact.

His hands are pulling you to your feet before you can register what’s happened, coming round as you open your eyes to an open mouthed captain.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you grunt, dusting off your brand new pants as you move past him, refusing to make eye contact.

Picking up a coil of rope, you bring one of the ends to a mast on the end of the ship, stepping on a crate to tie it around the pole. By the time you’re stepping off the crate to tie the other end to the opposite mast, you find it already done, the pirate captain tightening the knot from across the ship.

He meets your eyes for a moment, before you step in the direction of your piled sheets, breathing in a heavy inhale.

Untangling the mess, you pull them over to the suspended rope, throwing the sheets over with a grunt. You’d only ever seen the palace maids do this when they’d beat the carpets to oblivion, dusting the ages of dirt.

“I just…”

When you turn around, the pirate captain is closer than you anticipated, hands encased around a smaller slab of wood. He trails off when you turn to face him, like he hoped he could speak to the back of your head instead.

You take an instinctive step back, putting space between the both of you. You bring your expectant eyes up to him.

“I just wanted to tell you to ignore what happened at Ash.”

You flush, stuttering, embarrassed at your previous predicament all over again. “Oh, um—”

“Wait no!” he drops the wood onto the floor, hands flying as he waves them all over, seemingly as flushed as you are. “I meant—what Delilah and the others said. I just– they’re horrendous gossips—”

“What are you trying to say Hoshi?”

He falters.

“I’m trying….” he exhales. “There’s nothing on my roster. Nobody. You aren’t expendable or disposable or whatever it was she said, you aren’t a used rag—”

“What am I then?”

The question is tumbling out of your mouth before you can help it, stoned jaw and tight fist.

“What?”

“What am I then? If I’m not expendable or disposable, what am I then?”

“You’re…”

Taking a step forward, you move back to your initial spot, closer to him, chests almost touching.

“I’m?”

“You’re a princess and I’m a pirate!” he blurts, his previously apprehensive face morphing into something intense.

You huff a short breath, an incredulous stretch to your lips. Of course.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask in a low voice.

“Like what it is,” he heaves, chest inflating and deflating like he’d run the course of the deck about thrice. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

If your ears weren’t deceiving you, it sounded more like he was trying to convince no one but himself.

You take a step closer as he takes a step back.

His face is scrunched ever so slightly, eyes blinking quicker than normal. The sunlight blurs the edges of his features; his usually sharp, stinging stare is hazy, the slant of his nose curvier, the ridges of his lips blending into your muddled perception of his face.

The only thing dividing you is the silence, the bore of your stare and the war in your mind. You cannot speak for him, but you also aren’t a fool.

“Everything they say about you is wrong.”

“What?” he asks again.

“You don’t have a deadly bone in your body. You’re a coward that hides behind his knife and his big bad pirate ship that you can’t even defend.”

For once, he remains speechless while you persist.

“To think we spent all these years trying to subdue you, push you to the edge,” you can feel the anger seep into the hottest centre of your bones. “All for you to be some scared sailor all along.”

“Your father ruined my life,” he says. It’s a strange voice he uses, one that’s somewhere between disbelief and a warning.

“And mine with it.”

He laughs, blinking rapidly, backing away even further, running a hand through his hair. Coming around, he looks over his shoulder. He looks like the man you met the day your life fell apart, a strut in his step that runs your blood cold.

“Are you sure this has nothing to do with you simply wishing to spite the man?” He walks back over. “Prance around with the filthy pirate he hates just for the fun of it?”

“Oh and you haven’t just been itching to ruin the kingdom’s beloved princess.”

Your mouth seemed to have a mind of its own, spewing the accusation with a vigour you never realised you possessed. Lies. Lies. Lies.

This was your own deteriorating mind’s doing. You were the debauched princess painting lewd pictures of a pirate in your mind. It was your heart that couldn’t stand being near the man for longer than necessary. It was you that had the scripture somewhere in your chest, the tiniest speck of a daydream, that perhaps this inner turmoil didn’t end with just you.

Did you want to be another woman he doesn’t have to remember?

You don’t know. All your mind registers is the unbearable twist in your chest, and how it feels like you can’t do nothing about it.

You’re used to getting your way, and you hate that your mind seems to have drifted away from you.

Hoshi’s expression is nowhere in your mind, too preoccupied with sucking in inhales and trying not to begin spiralling right on the main deck.

“You’re projecting.”

Eyes snapping up like he’s proposed to sink the ship itself, you feel yourself hit a mental wall. And a physical one as you feel the brush of the suspended sheets against your hair, having taken an unconscious step back.

He’s cornered you. Yet again.

“Everything about you screams vulnerable,” he says, moving closer. “Not very sharp to show in front of a pirate.”

“Hoshi.” A warning. A sharp, hurtling sting of fear.

“What? Big bad pirate too emotionally removed? Beloved princess trapped and defenceless on unfamiliar lands?”

He’s moving closer, too close.

“I take it back,” he says. “Perhaps drunken Ash does speak the truth—”

Not a familiar plane on his face, like the pirate king had absolved a long held mask. His eyes mortified you, his stance was a walking threat.

Despite the morning sun, the cave of the hung sheets, the shadows of the high masts and the towering gloom of the pirate captain creates enough darkness to throw a shadow in your mind.

It’s like the day his crew dropped on the deck for the very first time. The emotions you wished you’d never have to feel again.

“Stop.” A whisper.

“Itching to ruin the kingdom’s beloved princess—”

“Do not move any closer!” you shout, eyes squeezed shut, hands fisting the suspended sheets so hard you can feel your fingernails dig into your palms. Scarring.

The world halts, and you feel the darkness beyond your eyelids, lighten. The air is forgiving, cool and blowing.

When you open your eyes, you’re alone.

THE WAR ROOM LOOKS the same, but everything has changed.

For one thing, you were significantly more bundled up with coats and lined boots. The cold of the green islands wasn’t the creeping frost you’d anticipated. You simply woke up one day without feeling in your fingers and toes, fog in the air as you breathed.

The coat wasn’t nearly as thick as it needed to be, but you doubt you would’ve found anything better even at the ports. The green islands weren’t meant for life.

“You need to get into the hold unnoticed, and as quickly as possible,” Minghao says. “We don’t know what’s gonna happen after the exchange is made but we know we can’t help you once you’re on that ship.”

Clenching your jaw, you nod tersely. It was high stakes, you couldn’t hurt any of the soldiers to keep it clean; planting a bomb where a King resides was difficult—princess or not.

“Getting you out of the wreckage is our job,” Hoshi says, and you pointedly refuse to look at him. You weren’t quite convinced. “We’ll be on Tigress by the time the bomb goes off. Leave nothing of importance on this thing, we’ll be blowing it up too.”

“You need to get in the water as soon as that bomb goes off,” Jun says. “Their priority is gonna be you and your father. You need to make sure they can’t find you when they realise the ship’s sinking.”

The ship the King should be transported in was the same as the very naval vessel you sat in right now.

“They might be on one of the smaller ships,” you say.

“Why?”

“You know what the ships that hold royals look like, they aren’t risking you having that advantage.”

If your father was bringing out all the guns of deception to take down these pirates once and for all—which you don’t doubt he was—every move you were about to make was based on assumptions. Assumptions that might as well cost this entire crew’s heads.

“Do you know what those ships look like?” Minghao asks.

“I’ve only been on them a few times, but never in the hold,” you say. “I think I’ll figure it out well enough, they’re all the same more or less.”

There’s a blanket of silence, a quiet regard to how utterly unprepared all of you were. Limited information and the most important man’s head at the butt of the target; your bow pulled too taut, too wobbly, your arrow too blunt.

“Are you sure we can’t risk shooting a couple of ‘em in the head?” Chan asks from across the room, running a tired hand across his face.

Sighing, you ignore the burst of fog erupting from your mouth, answering, “I can convince an entire Kingdom their King drowned, but I don’t know if I stop them from trying to find his body. Imagine their surprise if they find a supposedly drowned man with a bullet in his head.”

“It’s fine,” Hoshi interrupts, eyes downcast and arms folded. He leans against the wall of the war room and you can’t help it when your mind flashes to that stormy night. Your hands finding refuge on his chest, the heat of the moment.

Nose flaring, you look away, the rage hurtling up your throat like vomit.

“We’ll just have to figure it out. Stay vigilant, we all know what’s at stake. We all know what we have to do,” he continues, a glance around the inhabitants of the room.

Something about it almost insinuates an underlying question of trust, a confirmation to sweep an unanswering room.

“The bomb’s done,” Jun says, and heat crawls up your entire being. “I made a couple extras, I’m gonna chuck ‘em out into the water for a test and that’ll be it.”

Somewhere on this ship lies the bomb that would kill your father, and if you didn’t do your job like you were supposed to, it might as well kill you all.

YOU LEFT YOUR SOUL on your bedside table the moment Seungkwan entered your quarters with a rapt knock, informing you that the ship was nearing the rendezvous point.

It had only been a few hours since that meeting in the war room, and it felt like only a week since this had all begun.

Seungkwan invites himself in as he continues to talk. You aren’t sure if he’s doing it to calm you down or not, but you appreciate it regardless.

“Keep those trousers on and make sure you look good. You have to look like we cared while we kept you prisoner,” he says, and you can’t help but smile just a little. “Take anything important—pocket it, give it to us. We’re not gonna see this ship after we’re done.”

The idea is strange, that your home for so many months would soon be forgotten, resting on the frozen ocean bed for eternity. You think of what you wish to keep, eyeing the stack of letters on the desk. You won’t be able to keep them on you if you were going to be jumping into the ocean at some point.

Collecting the smaller pile, you hand them to Seungkwan. “You might have to take a dip in the ocean too, but at least you may have a chance to skip that bit if luck’s on your side. Keep these for me?”

Seungkwan smiles as he takes the stack of letters, pressing them to fit inside his coat. “Aren’t these all from your father?”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “I’d like to remember them in case I forget why I did what I’m about to do.”

Seungkwan stands in front of you, an unreadable expression on his face. “You know this can’t work unless we trust one another. All of us. The entire crew.”

“I trust you,” you say. “Pirates are impatient. If you wanted me gone I wouldn’t be here.”

He sighs, almost like he was dissatisfied with your answer. With a laugh you ask, “Did you want me to say no?”

“No, it’s just,” he starts. “I wasn’t going to bring it up but, since we don’t have time…I don’t know what’s going on with you and Hoshi but…”

You stiffen at the mention of his name.

“I need to make sure you aren’t about to do something rash because of him.”

Your corset lies on the sheets, and you snatch it off, a bite to your movements.Your coat is already off, your linen shirt is the only thing that covers your upper body

“It was my mistake. I misunderstood. I won’t be letting it affect anything tonight.” You push the loosened corset over your head, too frustrated to unlace it and lace it back up. Your fingers are freezing cold, even too much for your palms to bear as they come in inevitable contact.

Beyond yourself, you continue to grit through your chattering teeth, the pulses of irritation in your brain only encouraging you to spill. Turning around, back now facing Seungkwan, you fiddle with the strings on your corset as you rant.

“I can’t say the same for him, but you can ask.” Your arms are bent at a strange angle, but you attempt to make the loops and knots anyway. Having never had to do this by yourself ever, you’d found a practice after your peculiar situation. You were alright, but the cold was making it near impossible to simply loop the string through the existing holes.

“He seems to have a lack of emotional control, of course, you’d know, but I can’t say I find it too charming,” your grunting front he effort as you speak.

Seungkwan seems to have noticed your struggle because you feel a pair of warmer hands replace yours, unlacing the loop you’d just made only to loop it again, tighter this time. He takes the liberty to tie the final knot, tighter than you’d usually have it but you’re too busy to correct him.

“I don’t think I need to explain what happened, your captain seems to be content with the way he is,” you scoff slightly before continuing. “I’m not quite sure what else I was expecting. Actually, I do know what I was expecting, but again, that’s just seems to be my fault—”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s like an entire ocean’s worth of ice water has been poured down your back. Perhaps being buried under the glaciers of the Green Islands would be more forgiving.

Turning around, you find the hands on your waist do not move, Hoshi’s face coming into view instead of Seungkwan’s.

The room is bare besides the both of you, the door to quarters closed. You don’t know when he came in nor when Seungkwan left, but he stands before you now, hands touching you where you shouldn’t let him. But you do.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his eyes locked in on yours.

“W-what?” you breathe.

“I’ve been quite stupid.”

“Have you?”

It sounds like he breathes out a laugh, but composes himself. “I didn’t realise I was cornering you on the deck the other day. I’m sorry for making you feel unsafe. I’m sorry for everything I said.”

Every fibre of your being wants him to suffer, to withhold your forgiveness. But then you realise where you are, in the middle of an ocean that’s been designed by the heavens to kill.

“Thank you for saying that.” You don’t have the courage to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry too. You aren’t…you aren’t what I implied you were. You’re right. I was projecting.”

“I don’t want us to go out there walking on eggshells around each other,” he says as his breath fans your face. Warm. “We have to come out the other side. All of us.”

You nod slowly.

“You have it the hardest out of all of us, I just…” he trails off and you feel his fingers tightening on your waist, even through the material of your corset. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. No matter what you lose, I think it’s safe to say you’ve gained me. All of us.”

The thought of not making it out alive has you flexing your numb fingers in front of you slightly. You might die. This crew might die. Your crew might die.

The man that’s begun to mean more than just a saviour might die.

Not considering your frozen fingertips, or the absurdity, your body moves on its own.

In a split second, your iced lips are in contact with the pirate captain’s warmer ones.

You don’t doubt they’re cold as well, but they differ from yours enough for them to feel like the only warmers you need.

Your hands have grabbed his face, light brushes against his skin as you tiptoe to reach his lips. They’re soft. Softer than you could’ve ever imagined on a pirate, and you find yourself forgetting where you are for a moment as you feel the plush of his mouth against your own.

Pulling away first, your noses still brushing, you whisper to him through the creaks and groans of the drifting ship. “I had to do that. Just in case.”

“In case?” he whispers back.

“In case… we don’t make it.”

It only takes him a moment to remove his hands from your waist. For a heartbreaking second, you think this is him pulling away from you. Again.

And then both of his arms are looping around your waist, pulling you into his chest hard, your lips slamming into each other even harder.

He takes the liberty to move his mouth against your own, hot even in the cold air. Moving with a restrained pace, yet appropriately desperate nonetheless. The cold tip of your nose brushes against his cheek and he pulls away to hiss.

“God, you’re freezing.”

The discovery only seems to urge him to pull you impossibly closer. If your lungs weren’t already occupied, you wouldn’t have been able to breathe. Despite it all, you find your arms coming up around his neck and shoulders, one hand finding refuge in his light hair.

You might never need a drink of anything ever again, not with the way his mouth alone seems to have you drunk and deranged, begging for time to stop so he’d never stop kissing you, never stop moving his beautiful, glorious mouth against your own.

There isn’t a thought in your mind as you pull away for wretched air, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

Hoshi places his forehead flush against your own, both of you exhaling into each other’s faces, still holding you so tight it hurts. It’s warm, his breath seemingly defrosting the formed icicles on your face.

“Hoshi,” you slip from your mouth instinctively.

“Soonyoung,” he breathes, and it takes you a moment to realise he’s talking. “My name. Soonyoung is the name my mother gave me. I want you to have it.”

Opening your eyes, you register his face so close to yours. His eyes are screwed shut, he’s still breathing heavily.

“Soonyoung,” you repeat, hands finding his face again, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Soonyoung.”

He opens his eyes.

“I like it. It’s very you.”

He smiles and you can’t help but think how beautiful he looks when he does, and when he leans forward to give you another elongated peck, one that has you chasing his lips again. He relents for one more.

“Well, Soonyoung, can I give you something too?”

He looks at you expectantly.

Reaching up to the back of your neck, you find the knotted bind of the leather cord that hangs from your neck. Undoing it, you bring the charm out from under your shirt, leaning forward to tie it around his neck this time.

He stares at the charm that dangles down his front as you give it a light tug, “A letter opener. So that’s what you were getting from that lady at Hasry.”

“You knew when I left?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“I was more worried about you wandering off than I was about anything else, what made you think I didn’t know exactly where you were?” He has a cheeky smile on his face, one that you’ve never seen without an underlying threat or the usual glint of unhinged in his eyes.

You can’t help but grin, of course he knew.

“If you wanted a letter opener as a weapon, you should’ve just asked.”

“Aren’t knives just bigger letter openers?” you ask with a soft chuckle.

He responds with a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose before saying, “Since we’re exchanging gifts—”

“You started it.”

“And I’m ending it.”

He emerges from one of his many pockets with what looks like a bracelet in his hands.

“That’s—”

“From Hasry,” he confirms. “I bought it for no real reason, never even wore it.”

He rolls one of the pink and blue beads between his thumb and forefinger, and you remember it sitting at the stall in Hasry like it was yesterday.

“Didn’t realise I only bought it because I saw you looking at it.”

The twist in your heart is the worst it’s ever been, even while he holds you closer than anyone ever has, you feel the need to squeeze him beyond measure hoping it’ll fix the turmoil in your chest.

He attempts to take one of your hands, in an obvious attempt to slip the bracelet on your wrist.

“Wait.”

Hoshi stops.

“Keep it,” you say as you grab his wrist, pushing the beads down his hand so it sits on his wrist instead.

“But—”

You cut him off with a kiss. “A reason for you to come out of this alive.”

There’s a silent understanding between the two of you as you stand in each other's arms.

“We still have much to talk about. But I think this is alright for now,” you say.

“We will,” he confirms. “But when we go out there and put everything on the line, remember you aren’t just a princess anymore. You’re a pirate, too. So fight like one.”

THE COLD HAS COATED the deck in a fine layer of ice, one that makes it a hazard to simply walk on. Your boots feel unstable and it takes a conscious effort to plant your feet firmly on the wood to ensure you don’t fall like Chan almost has the last four times and the one time he did.

It’s less foggy than you’d anticipated, and you can see Mingyu and Minghao working overtime to ensure the giant ship doesn’t hit one of the absurdly large icebergs that float in the freezing water, the crow’s nest occupied by Hoshi himself as he peers through his telescope. It was strange seeing him use it, you’d begun to think he only kept it like an accessory.

He yells something from his place high up; it’s unclear, but you know.

And then you see it, the naval ship with the unmistakable flag that ripples proud in the cold air. Your family crest is barely decipherable, but knowing what lay ahead was enough to have you taking significantly deeper breaths.

Your father’s—the King’s— ship bobs in the water with a near empty main deck, not a soul on board.

You hold your breath, and as one of the blocks of ice are swerved, you find a second ship. The indicative jolly roger is nowhere to be seen, but it's obvious what ship that was.

The Tigress stands proud with her years of darkened wood, the unmistakable figurehead at the prow in the distinct shape of a fanged siren.

And only a smaller sailboat away, lay a flat of ice.

Another white flag with the royal crest, lines of uniformed soldiers that stand at attention like protectors of the ice, a pattern of dotted blues. The admiral stands next to your father, who’s donned his own Naval uniform complete with a purple cape pinned at his shoulder.

The purple cape of a victor that returns home from battle. The purple cape he’s donned before the battle has even ensued.

The King has noticed your arrival, his face becoming clearer the nearer the ship gets to the block of ice that would act as common ground.

And then the ship stops, you turn around and realise the rest of the crew has their eyes on you, expectant.

“We have a message,” Mingyu says, looking at you but handing the thing in his hand to his captain.

In your fixation, you did not notice the small boat that had floated near the ship, bearing a scroll with the royal seal.

Hoshi reads it, lips tight shut and jaw clenched.

In the next few minutes, all seven of you are cramped into a single, tiny wherry to be rowed onto the iced land. None of you speak, none of you acknowledge the other. The canister that Jun had given you presses against the side of your bare hip, your knife strapped inside your boot.

That was it. That was all you had.

But there was some confidence in it, the way the entire crew was asked to present themselves at the exchange was enough to tell you there was truth in what you presumed of your father’s plans.

He had knives of his own up his sleeve, and he intended to provoke his worst enemy while looking him in the eye.

As the boat reached what was a hardened shore, the crew stepped off the boat one by one. Very carefully, you stepped on the block of ice as the group moved forward, reaching a point where you stood parallel to the other rigid party.

In a purposeful attempt, you were kept in the middle of a herded circle, shielded by the crew as Hoshi stood front and centre, the crew’s mouthpiece. You can’t help but swallow, the ringing in your head growing louder than ever.

There’s a loud voice that plagues the sheets of ice, and your stomach flips so violently you lose both your vision and your hearing. You take an unconscious step back before you feel a hand on your back.

It was Chan, who whispered, “Keep it together. Calm down, it’s okay.”

It was the obvious response from him but you find yourself calming in any case.

“The crown commands you, Hoshi Kwon, to bring forth Her Royal Highness, the princess, at once.” Your father’s right hand man, the royal advisor, and his more trusted friend speaks for the throne, his voice recognizable as it rings on behalf of his king.

From standing behind him, you watch as Hoshi simply raises his fist to place at his hips.

“Captain. Captain Hoshi Kwon,” he corrects, before continuing. “And my hostage will not be brought anywhere till I have my money ship.”

“As proposed by Hoshi Kwon, His Majesty, The King will cooperate in the exchange of Her Royal Highness, the princess for said ship.”

“Give me my ship first.”

“Hoshi Kwon—”

Hoshi groans loudly, loud enough for the other party that stands multiple feet away to hear, before continuing, “This is why I despise dealing with you insufferable lot, why must everything be so formal?”

But you knew what game he was playing at, the deadliest pirate on the seas does not comply with government officials so easily, and he wasn’t about to drop his masquerade now.

“You know what,” Hoshi starts, and you see him eye the wooden boat you had just reached the island on. “We do it this way.”

There’s a pause.

“Me and my harmless little crew will sidestep back over, zip our way to our ship and leave you with your precious princess. Is your royal highness majesty in agreement?”

“Hoshi Kwon is commanded once again to bring the princess forward.” There’s less formality in his tone now, and you realise very quickly that there was no other way to separate yourself from the crew.

“Hoshi,” you whisper under your breath, hoping he would understand. Taking the risk, you move forward in the little space you had, hand very gently placed on his back.

There’s a pause before he speaks, “Fine. Have your princess.”

Turning around, back facing the crowd, he makes eye contact with you before moving to discreetly meet the eyes of his crew. “Let them take you.”

That’s the last thing you hear him say to his crew as you find a larger shadow approach from behind Hoshi.

“Ho—”

Hoshi grabs your arm harsher than he usually would, dragging you forward in his attempt to present you, but you find that Hoshi’s turned back was taken as an opportunity, the dozens of soldiers having already made their way across.

If you hadn’t heard what he had whispered to the crew, his shocked face would’ve fooled you too. He looks like he wasn’t expecting the way the crew was immediately surrounded by swarms of armed soldiers, guns perched directly at each member of the crew. He looked like he wasn’t expecting to be cornered.

But you liked to think you knew this man, and he had once told you to never turn your back to an enemy. Too much to be a rookie mistake of his, so you trust him.

And then you’re being tugged by someone who’s not from the crew, the distinct feeling of softer, more respectful hands that wrap around your elbow, urging you forward.

You find it within yourself to not look back, sending a prayer to every entity in the world to keep them safe, to keep the trust in your heart that they knew what they were doing.

Eyes downcast, you know immediately who you’re being led towards, and when you stop, bracing yourself to meet your father’s eye, you find yourself feeling nothing.

“Are you hurt?” he asks in his strange form of greeting. No embrace, no sign of relief that his daughter and only heir was alive and well.

“No, sir,” you reply, shifting your eyes back down to your shoes.

“Go back to the ship with the guards. We leave as soon as I’m done with this lot.”

Your stomach jolts, but you bite your tongue and let yourself be led to one of the smaller boats. The canister burns against your skin.

Seated in the smaller boat, flanked by guards, you can’t stop your neck from craning to look at the scene behind you.

Far away, on the other side of the glacier, the pirates are being ordered to strip themselves of their weapons.

Hoshi’s dagger glints against the sunlight and you spot Jun’s revolvers in the pile.

Hoshi looks up and catches your eye, face unchanged.

“You’re safe now, your Highness,” one of your guards assured you, taking your gaze as a fearful look back instead of one laced with something else.

Please be okay.

As soon as you're led up to the main deck, your eyes dart. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out that your father had not chosen to take one of the smaller ships as you’d expected of him. Instead, you stand in an exact replica of the ship you had just disembarked, except for the flag that fluttered with your family crest.

You’re pushed into one of the quarters in the lower decks, hearing the distinct click of something outside as you find yourself in the mostly barren indoors.

It looks like a colder version of your quarters on the other ship, the same dimensions, the same window that displays the clear waters of the Green Islands. Except it’s only occupied by a single bed that’s pushed into a corner, stripped of its sheets.

It looks like a prison cell.

When you turn around to try for the door, you try to wrench it open but it refuses to budge. You can’t help but question how many times you’ve landed yourself in this exact situation.

Why on Earth would they lock you in? Did they suspect you of something? But whatever for?

You give up, turning to untuck your shirt from your trousers, feeling for the bomb against your hip to make sure it hadn’t slipped. After that, you crouch down to check the inside of your boot, despite feeling the dagger this entire time, you couldn’t help but need to check.

There was nothing you could do, not when you knew nothing of what was happening on the other side of the door. The window gleams, and you find yourself bolting towards it, peering through the glass to check for any bodies that may land in the water, praying your father would keep them alive.

Hang them publicly. Guillotine them and suspend their heads at the gates of the palace. Just keep them alive for tonight.

The sun is proving a sorry resource of time, especially when you can’t tell how long it’s been since you were shoved in here. The sun seems closer to the seas when you hear the jingle of the lock.

Nearing the risk of whiplash, you turn to the door to find your father walking into the room. He walks in, his cape gone, immediately turning to lock the door from the inside once again.

Once he comes around, he stands with his hands clasped in front of him, eyes boring into your soul.

“It seems the pirates have changed you,” he comments, eyeing your new trousers that you sport. It was strange, a woman in trousers, let alone a princess.

“Not at all, sir,” you respond.

“Your newfound friends are strapped into the brigs, finally subdued and ready to stand trial for their crimes.” His voice is rough, and he looks older than when you last saw him months ago.

He acts in less alarm than you would’ve thought, assuming his definition of ‘friends’ was simply a sick way to prod at you than any indication that he suspected an alliance. But you fight the effort to let out a sigh of relief; they were in the brig, they were fine, they’d stay alive in time for you to get to them.

“I thought David less than for a fool,” he refers to the Admiral as he talks. “He proved me quite incorrect when he showed up on some shoddy fishing boat with a message from a pirate. Like some messenger boy.”

You don’t answer as you simply stare at the toes of your boots. It was foolish to dare make eye contact with him.

“A stupid proposal from a stupid pirate,” he chortled in a genuine laugh. “That pirate ship was easy bait. If only you hadn’t gotten yourself roped in like a simpleton.”

His sentence ends with a harsher undertone as he blames you for something you couldn’t possibly have controlled.

“In any case,” he continues, the gruff in his voice clearing out. “What’s a pirate to a King?”

Everything in you screams at you to halt your already moving tongue, yelling about how horrible the idea was.

“He’s more of a man than you ever could be.”

The ringing in your ears becomes a sounding blare, your vision going white at the sides. Your hands shake and you don’t know why you keep staring your father in the eye.

There’s a furrow in his brow, eyes unyielding and face stoic.

It’s silent for goodness knows how long as you wish you could sink in that very moment.

“That load of filth’s done more than just put you in trousers, is it?” he grits through his teeth. He’s seething. “Henley had said you were acting strange when he saw you at that port market, it seems he was right.”

“No matter,” he continues, exhaling loudly. “It only makes my job easier.”

He unclasps his hands, pulling his white gloves at the fingertips.

“Perhaps we may live in a world where princesses prance around with pirates, but that won’t be the reason I fulfil my duty as King today.”

He slips them off his hands entirely.

“I tried shaping you into something worthy of the throne for so many years, and I’d begun to realise that perhaps, not everyone is fit to be ruler after all.”

Was he about to strip of your inheritance? The crown was why you were born. Despite everything your father had put you through, the throne was your god given right.

“Unfortunately, I cannot simply renounce your title. Not without reason,” he continues as he takes a step closer to you, dropping the gloves to the floor soundlessly. “And while perhaps the court may not consider inadequacy as enough reason, I’m quite sure an exchange gone wrong would be enough, even for them.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, dear daughter, that our time together has come to an end.”

And then his hands were around your throat.

[AN]: HEHEHEHEHEHEHE rb or send an ask telling me your thots as always, one part left to go!!!!!

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walpu · 11 months ago

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Aventurine and Ratio hcs of their s/o performing a lap dance to them...👀 (separately)

oh 👀👀👀👀

sorry it's a bit short I'm writing this in between flights 😭a really hope I didn't mess up with Ratio's characterization since it's my first time writing for him

performing a lap dance to them

characters - Aventurine, dr. Ratio notes - gn!reader, a bit suggestive, no beta

Aventurine

Ngl he would adore it.

Having you so close to him, giving him your undivided attention while performing something just for him? Yeah.

He's greedy for your attention in general so of course he would like you doing something so intimate for him.

He's a patient man so he would not jump into actions, allowing you to tease him while his eyes linger on your partly exposed body.

May try to seek your touch, hugging your waist or unbuttoning your shirt for you. It's up for you to decide if he's allowed to touch you during the prosses tho 🤭

If you tell him that he's allowed only to watch then he'll do just that.

"My, so strict~ Will I at least be rewarded for my patience? It's no fun if there is no reward~"

He's bluffing, seeing you like that is already a reward.

He's seen you naked before so it shouldn't be a big deal anyway just some fun but damn. You, on hid lap, slooooowly removing your clothes while grinding against his hips?

Okay maybe he's not so patient actually.

He'll let you finish but as soon as you're done with the dance he's all over you, kissing you as if he's been starving for it for months, his hands caressing your body anywhere he can reach.

Don't try to play hard to get with him or he'll turn into a needy and whining mess I'm so serious. You promised him the reward for his patience after all.

dr. Ratio

lmao this man

I know a lot of people see him as a repressed virgin but I really don't think that's the case. MAYBE he's a virgin. But I he's not repulsed/embarrassed when it comes to the topic of sex or kinky stuff.

He is, however, a man with priorities. And right now his priority is to rate his students' homework.

So can you stop distracting him? You can't.

He scolds you and rolls his eyes when you laugh, trying to focus on the papers and not on the way your shirt slides down your shoulders. And differently not on the way you keep grinding against his hips. And surely not on the way you put your arms around his neck, whispering god knows what into his ear.

He could easily try to push you away if he wanted to. Don't point this out to him, he's aware.

It's so embarrassing to him because he knows he should focus but he just can't, not when you're doing this. And he needs to be fully focused if he wants to cure his students from "the persistent disease named ignorance". So dramatic and for what

Maybe if you remind him that body and mind need rest to function properly he'll relax just a bit.

Eventually his focus fully shifts to you, his hands, while not persistent, find their way to your hips, pulling you closer.

May or may not give come remarks about your technic.

Ask him to grade your performance and he actually will lol

"Zero points for your behavior" "Aw :(" "...but seven points for the technic and emotional involvement".

Now why the fuck it's only seven.

Now you just have to do it again. You know, to show your improvement.

#hsr #honkai star rail #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #veritas ratio #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #reader insert #walp's writing

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bitchface24-7 · 11 days ago

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Okay, I NEED a part two of Succubus!! I’m not joking when I say I have a black widow on my lower abdomen bellow my belly button hanging from a web thats under my boobs and torso. I CANNOT explain how much I loved reading that Viktor fic!! Would love to read about his reaction to some more of readers tattoos!

If you need tattoo inspiration I got some good ones!!! 😘🤭

SUCCUBUS PT2 - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: Viktor took you up on seeing your other tattoos. He didn't want to assume anything would happen, but as more and more of your clothes were stripped; Viktor knew his assumptions were right.

warnings: more tattoos!! piercings as well (ears and nipples (like me!) ), flirting, teasing, dirty talk, thigh grinding, overstimulation, marking, Grammarly as my beta.

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. My man deserves to have his world rocked by an undeniable baddie (i.e. You) hope Viktor survives this LMAO

Viktor honestly isn't sure how his day completely derailed itself. He just needed help soldering some wires on his prototype. Then you casually walk in in your casual outfit and a sider tattoo on display. right on your lower abdomen.

He was distracted the whole time and you took advantage of it. He can completely understand where you got your nickname from. You truly are a black widow.

He's dumbfounded as you usher him into your apartment. He glances around and lightly smiles, it's so you. The furniture, the decorations, the aesthetic. It screams you, and Viktor adores it.

"Take a seat on the couch. Do you want a drink at all? Water? Juice? Anything?" You casually state as you lock the apartment door, taking your shoes off. Viktor plops a seat, putting his cane off to the side. He gets comfortable, "No, I'm okay. Thank you. I'm more interested in your other tattoos."

You smirk at the man, "You only want a free strip show, huh?"

"Well, you did offer it."

A chuckle escapes your soft lips at that, "You're not wrong." With that, you roll your sleeves up, showing off the tattoo on your shoulder, it just casually says 'Made in Hell.' Viktor quirks an eyebrow and you giggle, "I was young, shut up."

Then your shirt goes, and Viktor's eyes wonder your torso. There's a snake coiling around your collar bone on each side, there's a gun, more snakes, a whole bouquet of flowers on your ribs, the dreaded spider tattoo, and--

"Your nipples are pierced." Viktor states, stunned. You, his kind-spirited, happy-go-lucky, genius friend... have your nipples pierced.

"Yup."

"...Why?"

You shrug casually, "I have eight piercing in total on my ears, four on each side, I love piercings. My nipples... I got done since I was a bit insecure how my chest looks. The piercings gave me a massive boost of confidence, even if nobody sees them."

Viktor is incredulous, "Nobodies ever seen them?"

"Well... my friends that came with me to get our piercings done saw them, and a few other friends; they were all women. You're the first man."

A sharp inhale is heard throughout the apartment. He's the first man. The first.

No one can ever take that from him.

You turn around and Viktor sees the phases of the moon trailing down your back, "That one I understand. You've always loved the moon, but why your back? You'll never get to see it?"

A smirk is all the pretty man gets, "So when I'm on my hands and knees the person behind me has a pretty view." Viktor almost chokes at your tease. He knows just what to say to get you back, "You are already a pretty view. No matter the position."

You feel your face heat up as you shimmy out of your pants, Viktor withholds a groan as you bend over and your ass is pushed out. You kick your pants to the side and all that's keeping you somewhat modest is your underwear. Viktor sees you have tattoos on your legs but he can barely focus on them, the tramp stamp with "Est. XXXX" with your birth year makes Viktor want to wheeze.

Your hands raise from your sides before plopping back down to hit your thighs, "That's all of them."

“Can I get a closer look?”

A light exhale of breath and a nod is all the man gets. He ushers you to come closer with a small twitch of a finger. You follow his direction without hesitation.

You sit on his lap and he hums in appreciation. His golden eyes and massive pupils wonder around your body. His hands join the appreciation. His hands harshly grip your hips and you moan out in pain and pleasure. A hand whips up to cover your mouth and Viktor’s tisk’s at you.

“No no. That won’t do. Let me hear you.”

You whine at his tone, and slowly lower your hand. Viktor repositions you so that you’re straddling his strong leg. His hands remain on your hips.

He jolts his leg up and you gasp in shock. His nicely shaped thigh grazing your sex wonderfully. A zing of pleasure shoots down your back and into your crotch.

Fuck.

“Is this okay?” Viktor asks, a whiny yes is your reply. Viktor’s eyes darken and he kisses you, before dragging his lips down to your throat and sucking a hickey necklace there.

His hands force your hips to move, so you grind against his thigh. You can’t help but moan at the pleasure you’re feeling, it’s especially amplified as Viktor sucks on one of your pierced nipples; the piercing amplifying your sensitivity.

“You’re so sensitive. So needy. Are you always this needy or is it just with me?”

“You! Just you. Viktor please…”

“Please what? Please suck my nipples more? Please rub my crotch more? Please make me cum? Please fuck me? What do you want, you need to tell me more than just please.”

A loud whine escapes you as you rut your hips harder against the long leg beneath you. Your knee nudging against his hard cock.

“Please make me cum! Please mark me up some more, my chest, my nipples. Please bruise my hips with your hands. Please make me yours.”

Viktor growls and does what you’ve begged. Your hips quickly grinding against his thigh, your knee effectively rubbing against his cock. He puts more and more hickeys on you, your hips becoming more bruised with his unrelenting force.

A loud whiny moan escapes you as you cum against his leg, the crotch of your underwear becoming soaked with your arousal.

Viktor doesn’t let you stop though. He makes sure your hips keep moving, not allowing you to calm down. The pleasure gains a bit of pain and you can’t help but cry out as he continues to suck away bruises onto you.

He groans as he cums in his pants, his face, his voice, his sounds. He’s so attractive you can’t help but cum again, it hurts but fuck it feels so good. You’re panting desperately as Viktor unlatched from your skin and hips, you lean your head into his shoulder as you essentially just lay on him.

He’s panting too. His face is flushed, his eyes are closed, and his head is leaned back. You sluggishly suck a dark hickey into the side of his neck, too high for his collar to cover.

He’s just as much yours as you’re his.

“I wasn’t expecting this.” Viktor states as he looks down at you, you smile lightly at him, “I was.”

“I know.”

“You’re not mad?”

Viktor chuckles, “How could I be mad about that? You want me, desire me, and you went out of your way to get it. I was too slow to make the first move.”

You raise from lying on Viktor and sit up, looking at him in shock, “First move?”

“I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. Neither are you. I’ve wanted you for a while, I just didn’t know how to start.”

“We’ll… you’re welcome.”

“Yes, thank you darling.”

You look down and Viktor and softly kiss his lips before you gasp, “Oh my god, did you cum?”

He just chuckles at you, “Yes my dear. I did. It’s so cute you’re worried that I didn’t.”

“Well you made me cum twice. It wouldn’t have been fair if you didn’t even cum once.”

Viktor’s head falls back to the head of the couch and slaps your thigh, a small gasp is what he gets in return, “I’d like that drink now though.”

You jolt up off his lap, “What do you want?” Viktor’s eyes open lightly and glance and you, pierced and tattoo glory all for him to see, “Water for now would be nice.”

A smile is what he gets and you casually turn and walk to your kitchen, Viktor appreciates your walk, your ass, and the moon phase tattoo trailing down your spine.

Yeah… he wasn’t expecting this. But he’ll never complain on how he got here.

He’s a very lucky man indeed.

*debby ryan hair tuck* y’all fuck with this? As one user said, my libido completely revolves around this man (a call out I didn’t need but it’s true) EDIT: BRO IT WAS A CALL OUT *I* MADE IN ANOTHER FIC I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT 😭😭 I THOUGHT YALL CLOCKED ME NAH I CLOCKED US 😩💀

Tattoos I tried to describe LOL

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #arcane smut #viktor imagine #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #fem!reader #male!reader #gender neutral reader #banners by cafekitsune

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oddinary4bts · 7 months ago

Text

Chasing Cars | ch 9 (jjk)

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Yoongi x Hoseok

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, curses, Jungkook gets jealous, mentions of smoking cigarettes, explicit content: reader catches nabi and namjoon in the act, brat!OC, car blowjob, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, praising, hickey, mouth fucking, nipple play, fingering, protected sex

☆word count: 11.2k

☆a/n: new week new chapter!! and with this one, half of the fic is done (only half LMAO). Hope you guys enjoy <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Sunday, March 10th

Jungkook’s chest moves up as he takes a deep breath, disrupting your quiet comfort.

Your eyes slide open to reveal his phone, and he’s scrolling through reels on Instagram, the sound off. You nuzzle your face further into his chest, and he holds you tighter for a few seconds.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” he says, his voice rumbling in his chest against your ear.

You sigh. Though it’s late evening and driving home has been draining - the sex you had when you finished eating dinner even more so - you don’t quite want to fall asleep right now. Maybe because tomorrow you’ll wake up and you’ll have to go back to class, to face Ria and Nabi and all your friends that know yet don’t know that something is going on between you and Jungkook.

“I was almost asleep,” you admit. “But I don’t want to sleep yet.”

“Why not?”

His attention is solely on you now, his phone forgotten, and so you raise your head to meet his tender gaze.

“I want to spend more time with you,” you whisper.

His lips stretch in the softest smile, his eyes sparkling with all the light in the universe. “I’ll still be here tomorrow, peach.”

You know it. You know you still have weeks with him, but tonight you feel like the end might be coming for you quicker than you want it to.

“And the day after?” you tease.

His arm tightens around you, and he moves so that he can peck your lips once. “I’ll still be right here.”

“In your bed?” you ask, faking surprise.

He laughs, a sound so sweet and so intoxicating to your senses. “Yep. With you in it.”

“Damn, JK, you’ve got plans for us, mmh?”

He just grins in reply, and your heart flutters in your chest as you put your head back on his own chest.

“So if you want to fall asleep…” he trails off, hugging you tighter for a few seconds before pressing a kiss on the top of your head. “Feel free.”

You take a deep breath, nodding as you close your eyes, focusing on the steady beats of his heart. You wonder, does he know your heart has synced with his?

Does he know you’re afraid he’ll rip your beating heart from your chest?

You’ve been thinking. All day you’ve been thinking, and you haven’t been able to ask him. Haven’t been able to have the conversation he said you could have today - about his family, about the shitshow of the engagement party.

All you’ve been able to do today is exchange pleasantries, stolen glances and holding hands. And you reckon, it should be enough.

Yet the reason why you can’t sleep is because you want to know. Need to know if he truly is set to marry someone else.

“By the way,” Jungkook lets out after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “Tae texted me while you were in the shower.”

“Mmh?” you hum.

“He wanted me to tell you to reply to his texts,” Jungkook concludes. “And you should, before he grows suspicious.”

“He’s suspicious because Jimin said we have something going on after you hosted your friends here the other day.”

“Right,” Jungkook says, and he chuckles lightly. “I mean, he isn’t wrong.”

He isn’t, and you hate that he isn’t. You don’t want Taehyung to know, you don’t want your brother to have the power to take this away from you. Not when you already know life will take it from you by itself.

“I still don’t want him to know,” you admit with a small voice. “He’d hate you.”

Jungkook presses a kiss on the top of your head again. “Then we don’t tell him. You decide.”

You don’t like that he’s giving you this power, but yet again it’s better than when he wanted to pretend nothing had happened after the power outage. It’s progress, steps in the right direction, but you don’t even know if you’re walking the same path as him.

Jungkook has been great to you, he really has, but you haven’t done relationships before.

Will this time around be any different?

“Okay,” you let out. You press a kiss on the warm skin of his chest, before resting your head on it again. “Besides…” you trail off, and your heart squeezes in your chest.

Because it’s time. You need to talk to him about what his mother said, no matter how much it might hurt.

“Besides?” Jungkook repeats.

“Your mother mentioned something to me yesterday,” you admit.

You hear his heartbeat picking up. “What did she say?”

You worry at your bottom lip, take a few deep breaths in to gather courage. “That you’re supposed to marry someone?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply right away. You’re pretty sure you also hear his heart entirely stopping in his chest, but you think that might be your imagination.

“That’s hilarious,” he deadpans a few seconds later, and he lets out a disbelieved chuckle. “I’m not going to marry anyone.”

You raise your head from his chest, seeking the truth in his gaze. And he doesn’t look like he’s lying, not even a little bit. Especially not as he cups your cheek, gently running his thumb on your skin.

“She said she and your dad spoke to another family,” you explain.

He plays with his piercings, raising an eyebrow. “I’d assume that they mean Gabrielle?”

You’ve never heard that name before, and you offer him a confused look.

“Or not,” he adds after a few seconds, his brow creasing.

“Who’s Gabrielle?” you ask, and the doubt that seeps through you tastes far too vile.

“A friend from high school,” Jungkook replies immediately. “No one to worry about. Our families were always friends and my parents are obsessed with her.”

It stings. It stings far more than it should - Jungkook’s parents didn’t even give you a chance. Yet they’re obsessed with this Gabrielle, this girl from Jungkook’s past. Your heart sinks in your chest, and you look away from him, unable to hold his gaze.

“Ah,” you flatly let out.

“I don’t talk to her anymore,” Jungkook quickly reassures you, forcing you to look at him again with his firm hold on your cheek. “Last news I had of her was that she was going to study somewhere in Europe.”

You worry at your bottom lip, and Jungkook is quick to pull it from your teeth with his thumb.

“I promise,” he adds. “She’s nothing to worry about. My parents can’t force me to marry her anyway.”

You take a deep breath and then nod once. The ache in your chest barely eases, but you can see that Jungkook is trying his best. There’s something so endearing about it that you feel yourself soften, and you immediately lean in to kiss him.

The kiss is soft. The kiss is a fire in the hearth during a cold winter evening. It’s a warm summer breeze and a cup of tea on a rainy day. It’s comfort and that, more than anything, finally soothes the ache away. It helps that Jungkook swipes your bottom lip with his tongue, and you sigh as you give him access, your tongues tangling a second later.

Hell, you think you might be able to go for another round. But Jungkook pulls away, lips glistening from your ministrations.

“And about my family,” he says. His voice is breathy, and you feel powerful for the effect you have on him. Though he clears his throat, and the breathiness is gone when he adds, “They’re dicks. All of them. I’m sorry I put you through this.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, and you mean it. “I was mostly just taken aback.”

He nods, adding, “I don’t get along with them well. They wanted me to take over the family business with Junghyun, but I left to study here. My father has never forgiven me, and my mother hates me for the tattoos and piercings.”

You don’t know what to reply. You feel horrible for him, for the smiling boy in the frame on his bedside table. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I got used to it. I’ve found that your friends are your true family anyway.”

His friends. Taehyung. Your brother. The one thing that will make it so you and Jungkook can’t actually be together, ever.

“And now I’ve got you too so, who cares what my family thinks?”

You know he does. Somewhere in the depths of his eyes you see the kid that wished his family loved him, wished he fit in. You wonder how his mother could hate him - he was adorable, endearing with that wide bunny grin of his, even when he was just a kid.

“I guess no one cares,” you reply after a few seconds of silence.

He offers you a reassuring smile. “Told you so.” He pecks your lips again, and then nestles his head back against his pillow. “We should go to bed, it’s getting late.”

“I just have one last question,” you say as you lay your head back on his chest, your gaze directed towards the frame of him and Junghyun. “Who did you go to Disney with?”

Jungkook follows your line of gaze. “Oh.” The silence that follows is heavy, sad. “Our nanny. She practically raised us.”

That makes sense. You don’t think Jungkook would have turned out to be such a gentle, sweet person if he’d been raised by his parents. But then again, he does act like an asshole a lot, and projects that overly cocky and confident aura most of the time. You’ve only recently started seeing this soft part of him.

“She sounds like a great person,” you say.

Jungkook tightens his hold on you. “She was. The best, honestly.”

You smile sadly, your heart straining at the ache in his voice. “Was?”

“Yeah.” He sighs deeply. “She passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shrugs, which proves to be awkward in this position. “It’s not your fault. Nothing to be sorry about.”

Silence falls in the room, and you hold Jungkook a little tighter. As if that will prevent him from breaking, from falling away from you in the inevitability of the future.

“I wish I’d been around then,” you add. “So that I could be there for you.”

“Peach…”

“I’m serious.”

You hear him sniffle, the only indication that he’s getting emotional. And it hits you like a brick to the face - you want to protect this man, at all costs.

You never want Jungkook to feel sad.

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?” he says after a few seconds. “Like… I’m really lucky.”

“And so am I,” you softly reply. “Luckiest girl in the world.”

He chuckles, his voice still raw with emotion when he says, “You know you’ll have to share a bed with me every night now, right?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, and you don’t balk at the sight of the silver lining his eyes. “A dream come true, if I’m honest.”

He smiles, a sad, sad smile that makes you shift so that you’re lying next to him. You open your arms, and he immediately understands what you want, moving until he’s nestled in your embrace. You run a soothing hand on his back, not caring that he’s practically buried his face in your breasts. Especially not when, five minutes later, his breathing evens out, and he starts emitting those soft snores you find oh so adorable.

He’s left the red LED lights on, and you pat the bed behind him, looking for his phone. He whines against you, though he doesn’t say anything when you finally find his phone. You direct it towards his face to open it, and then search for the app to turn off the lights.

Once the lights are off, you put his phone away, wrapping your arm around him again, holding him close.

You don’t let go, not even when you, too, fall asleep.

Friday, March 15th

There’s something about Ria and tequila shots that you can’t quite understand.

You’re at the girls’ dorm, getting ready for the party tonight. It’s hosted at a frat house, which means your shoes will most likely be ruined by the end of the evening. You don’t really care - you put on an old pair of sneakers that you use specifically for these types of occasions.

But yes, Ria and tequila create something you can’t comprehend. She’s already taken four shots, while you’re on your second and Nabi hesitantly took one, and you know she’s going to be wild tonight.

You think you know why - a certain Kim Seokjin is supposed to be in attendance, and though Ria claims she really doesn’t like him, she’s curled her hair and donned her makeup to perfection for the occasion.

And she’s also visibly trying to get shitfaced, and so you steal the tequila bottle from her hands.

“Hey!” she complains. “Give that back.”

You take a swig from the bottle, immediately regretting your decision. It makes your friends laugh though, and it distracts Ria long enough so that you can put the cap back on the bottle, and you hide it behind you where you’re sitting on the floor of their dorm, in between their beds.

“Is Namjoon going to be there?” you ask Nabi, trying to distract Ria further.

“Yeah, of course! Hobi and Yoongi also, apparently,” Nabi answers. “What about Jungkook?”

You’re happy you’re the type to flush red with alcohol, otherwise your two friends would have a visual proof of the embarrassment that comes with Jungkook being mentioned around you. It’s stupid - you’re an adult, but for some reason the thought of Jungkook makes you all giddy, like you have a school crush on him.

It’s a feeling you’ve been clinging to this week, despite every odd against you two working out in the long term.

“I think so,” you reply, even though you know for a fact that the answer is yes and that he’s going to be driving you home.

He’s told you so in whispers against your skin last night, when he finished fucking your brains out.

“You think so, or you know?” Ria teases, a smirk on her lips. “You can pretend we haven’t seen him obsessing over you every time we went to the library this week, but we’re not going to be fooled.”

They do have a point. Indeed, the two times you’ve gone to the library with the girls, Jungkook kept popping in, bringing you snacks or just coming in to chat for a little while. The girls found it funny, and you just found it embarrassing.

Not that Jeon Jungkook is embarrassing. It’s rather the fact that it’s led to thorough interrogations, and you don’t like talking about your relationship with him when he’s your brother’s best friend, and speaking to the wrong person could lead to Taehyung learning about everything.

So you’ve been trying to keep the relationship a secret as best as you can, giving vague answers to the girl and saying that you only went to New York with him because you’re friends, and Jimin wasn’t available to accompany him.

You hid the fact that he’s rich from everyone. Hid the Yves St-Laurent dress in the back of your closet, to only be looked upon whenever you need to remind yourself that the weekend wasn’t a creation of your brain.

So far, you didn’t need to be reminded. Not when Jungkook has been acting so affectionate, cooking you meals and sitting with you when you’re working on reports or studying for your classes.

“Jungkook is not obsessed with me,” you drawl, even though you think he might be, to the extent that Jeon Jungkook can be obsessed with someone. “He’s just a good friend.”

“You fuck all your good friends?” Ria teases, wiggling her brows.

You punch her in the shoulder, and she bursts into a fit of giggles. “I’m not fucking him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ria says.

“You’ve been glowy since last weekend,” Nabi points out, an innocent smile on display.

You fake-glare at her, but to your relief, a knock sounds at the door, effectively distracting your friends.

It’s Namjoon, as revealed when Ria opens the door, and he steps in with a six-pack of beer, offering you a polite nod as Nabi gets up to hug him. They share a quick kiss, and you fake-gag, earning you a loud laugh from Ria that makes Nabi turn beat red.

“Shut up,” Nabi grumbles through her teeth as she faces you again, and she pulls Namjoon by the hand to sit on her bed.

You remain on the floor with Ria, and she’s successfully stolen the tequila bottle again. She refills the empty shot glasses, handing one to Namjoon and one to you. She gives the last one to Nabi, and she raises the bottle for you all to clink glasses with her, and a second later, the alcohol is burning down your throat.

You’re effectively drunk by the time you make it to the party. Ria is worse than you, while Nabi remains almost sober from all the shots she dodged and handed her boyfriend instead. Namjoon’s cheeks are flushed red, much like yours, and you meet up with Yoongi and Hoseok, where they stand near the wall, faces downcast.

“Hey boys!” you greet them.

You throw an arm around their shoulders, and Hoseok quickly moves away while Yoongi remains frozen in his spot, arms folded on his chest. It’s sobering, a little, and you furrow your brow as you look between them.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

Hoseok quickly glances at the rest of your friends as they gather around you before saying, “No. How was pre-drink?”

You immediately know something is up. You feel it in the way Yoongi tenses under your arm, and though he hates being touched, he doesn’t push you away. You cock an eyebrow at Hoseok questioningly, but he only shrugs and then asks Namjoon, “Want to team up on beer pong?”

A moment later, they’re walking away, Nabi in tow, and you motion to Ria to follow them. She takes the cue, though the second she turns around, Kim Seokjin appears, and they stay right there, speaking in each other’s ear.

Once you’re convinced they won’t hear you, you let go of Yoongi, turning to face him. “Is something wrong?” you ask again.

He clenches his jaw, still avoiding your gaze. His arms tighten around him, and he looks like he’s trying to hold himself together, yet barely succeeds.

“Hobi just told me he’s switching colleges next semester.”

You widen your gaze. “What?”

Yoongi chuckles, but it’s entirely void of any joy. “You heard me right.”

“Why?”

Yoongi meets your gaze, his eyes flaming with barely disguised anger and hurt. “I don’t know.”

You wince, nose scrunching up. “I…”

“Don’t say anything,” Yoongi says before you’re able to finish your sentence, which is a good thing considering you had no idea what to say. “I should have seen it coming.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi blinks away some tears, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know why you care. You were fucking him like a month ago.”

In truth, a month ago you were pretending the world didn’t exist with Jungkook, as it was the power outage, but you refrain from saying anything. You highly doubt that that’s what Yoongi needs to hear right now.

“Yeah, and I don’t think I should have,” you say.

“Why?” Yoongi asks, sounding offended.

You shrug. “Because you care about him and it was hurting you.”

Yoongi presses his lips in a thin line, nodding once. He doesn’t say anything else, and you don’t really expect him to. Not when Hoseok clearly just broke his heart.

“You know what you need?” you say, pulling his arms away from his chest so that you can hook arm with him.

“What?” Yoongi asks, following you as you pull him through the crowd.

“A drink.”

He chuckles. He doesn’t look quite as sad as he did a second ago, and you reckon that it’s a win.

You make it your mission to cheer Yoongi up tonight, making sure he always has a drink in hand. You also stay by his side, playing beer pong with him when Ria begs you to play. She’s accompanied by Seokjin, who’s got far more aim than you do, but Yoongi is a decent player. It compensates for a while, until Hoseok appears in the vicinity of the table, and Yoongi tenses so much he looks like he’s turning to stone. You try to take over then, only to be solidly defeated by Seokjin who smiles at Ria as she high-fives him with a wide grin on her lips.

You’ve never seen her smiling so wide with a guy before, and you have to keep your own grin in at the sight, not wanting to upset Yoongi. Instead, you hook arm with him again, pulling him towards the backyard. He begrudgingly follows, though he visibly relaxes the second you’re outside, the cold air a stark contrast from the hot atmosphere inside.

“All good?” you ask.

“Why are you doing this?”

You shrug your shoulders. “You’re a friend,” you offer as an explanation. “The least I can do is be there for you right now.”

“Are we friends?” he queries. He sounds sad again, and you hate it.

“Of course we are! If we weren’t before, we are now.” You try to sound reassuring, and when you see the smile tickling the corner of his lips, you think it’s working. “If you want, we can go sit somewhere quiet upstairs to talk shit about Hobi.”

“Honestly, that sounds like a dream,” Yoongi agrees.

You laugh, and a second later you walk back into the house, Yoongi in tow. The first thing you see as you walk in is Jimin, and you instinctively scan the room, your eyes falling on Jungkook next. It’s like everyone disappears for a few seconds, and your lips stretch in a soft smile he immediately reciprocates, though it slightly falls when he sees Yoongi behind you.

You glance at Yoongi, and he raises his eyebrows in question. You motion towards Jungkook, leaning closer to Yoongi to say, “Just give me a second, I want to talk to my friend.”

He nods, and ends up following you as you walk towards Jungkook, who’s standing with Jimin, Sera, Lisa and some of their other friends you don’t remember the name of.

“Hey,” you greet everyone as you stop next to them.

Your fingers itch to touch Jungkook, but you clench your fist, refraining from doing so.

A chorus of heys reply to you, and you awkwardly stand there for a few seconds before they resume their conversation as if you haven’t interrupted. You feel bad for a few seconds until Jungkook leans in closer to you.

“Who’s that guy?” he asks.

You purse your lips, holding a laugh in. “A friend. He’s going through a breakup?” At least you think that’s the best way to refer to it. “I’m trying to be there for him.”

Jungkook’s gaze hardens as he clenches his jaw, a muscle feathering over his skin. There’s something infinitely attractive about the sight - and infinitely wrong about you to find it attractive to begin with - and you already can’t wait for the evening to end so that you can tangle in bed with him.

“A friend?” Jungkook repeats.

“Are you jealous?” you tease, and Jungkook sends a cautious glance around.

But no one is watching you besides Yoongi, and you know Yoongi would never say anything.

“Should I be?” Jungkook says, frowning slightly.

You wink at him. “Not at all. His breakup is with a guy so… I fear I’m lacking a certain part of my body for him to find me attractive.”

“Could be bi,” Jungkook points out.

“Could be.” You shrug, and then you gently brush your hand on the back of his. “I’ll come find you when it’s time to leave?”

He nods, glancing at Yoongi. You want to reach for him, to hold him close and reassure him that he’s got nothing to worry about, but Jimin is now watching again, so you only step away from Jungkook, re-establishing a safe distance between the two of you.

“Yeah, let me know when you want to go home,” Jungkook replies.

You smile, nodding once before wishing him a good evening. You feel his gaze burning on the back of your head as you walk away, Yoongi following you, and you can’t resist but look over your shoulder when you’re about to leave the room to head into the hall leading to the staircase. Your gazes connect despite the crowd, and your heartbeat picks up in your chest, butterflies swirling in your stomach.

“I’ll grab a beer before we go up,” Yoongi suggests, snapping you out of the moment.

You blink a few times, before nodding your head. “Good idea. I’ll take one too.”

You pit stop at the table where the drinks are, and you end up making gin and tonics since they’ve run out of beer. Yoongi complains he doesn’t like it, but you tell him alcohol is alcohol, to which he offers you a side-eye that has you burst out laughing.

A moment later you’re on your way up the stairs. To outside eyes, you wonder what it looks like - do people think you’re looking for a place to hide so that you can fuck? It’s a funny thought, and you laugh some more as you reach the second floor, and notice the four people sitting on the floor as they talk. They barely look at you as you walk in front of them, heading for a door at the end of the corridor.

Yoongi steps in front of you as you near the door, hand extended to open it. The doorknob turns and he pushes it open, only to be met by an all-too familiar high-pitched shriek. A look over Yoongi’s shoulder reveals Nabi, butt ass naked, sitting on the counter with Namjoon between her legs.

“Oh shit!” Yoongi lets out, yet he freezes, not closing the door.

“Oh my God,” you echo and Nabi flushes so deep red you think she’ll combust.

“Close the door, idiots,” Namjoon grits through his teeth.

Yoongi’s gaze widens, and he immediately slams the door shut. His cheeks are dusted with pink, and you exchange one glance that makes you burst out laughing, wheezing and blinking back tears. You’ve never seen Yoongi laughing like that, which only spurs you on more, until he grabs your hand and tugs you into a bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi says once your laughter finally recedes.

You nod, wiping the tear that escaped the confines of your eyes. “I know, holy shit. I knew they were getting it on but I didn’t think Nabi would do it at a party.”

“Didn’t expect that of Joon either,” Yoongi admits, and he glances in the general direction of the bathroom. “He used to be such a nerd, and now he’s fucking a girl at a party.”

“Good for him,” you say, raising your glass. Yoongi doesn’t echo the sentiment, instead looking troubled. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

Yoongi shrugs, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor, his back against the door. You follow him, sitting against a dresser while you wait for him to talk.

“I’m afraid that he might be jumping into a relationship too quickly after…” Yoongi trails off. “After Julia.”

Your brow creases for a few seconds until you figure, “His ex?”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah. They were together for a long time, and he loved her a lot,” Yoongi reveals.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. “You think Nabi might just be a rebound.”

“Listen,” Yoongi lets out. “I saw him during Frosh week. I saw him starting to want to go to parties last semester. I’m not saying it’s because of Nabi…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders again before taking a sip of his drink that makes him scrunch up his nose in disgust. “I don’t know why I grabbed that, it’s disgusting.”

“Hey, gin and tonics are good!”

He throws you a no-bullshit look, and then returns to the conversation at hand. “So yeah, he’s been different where Nabi is implied, but he was with Julia for five years. It’s bound to have had an impact on him.”

Yoongi isn’t wrong, and you hate that he isn’t. You don’t want Nabi to be set up for heartbreak.

“If he hurts Nabi…” you trail off.

Yoongi snorts, the smile he offers you a lot warmer than any you’ve ever seen on his features before. “You’re a good friend, aren’t you?”

You hold his gaze, shrugging your shoulders. “I try to be. I’d do anything for my friends.”

Yoongi raises his solo cup, his lips still curved upwards. “Then, I’m glad to count you as a friend.”

You clink glasses, taking a long sip from your gin and tonic that makes your head buzz even more than it already was. Silence reigns on the room for a moment, a comfortable silence that makes you look around, scanning your environment. Apart from the mattress on the floor and a few discarded pieces of clothing, the bedroom is empty. More clothes overflow from the closet though, as if whoever’s room this is just quickly shoved everything in there before the party.

“What about you?” Yoongi asks then.

You frown quizzically, facing him. “What about me?”

“Jungkook.”

Your throat goes dry, and you hide your blush behind a long sip of your drink. “What about him?”

“Hobi mentioned that something is going on between you guys?”

You’ll kill him. You’ll eviscerate Jeong Hoseok the moment you have the opportunity to.

“Not really,” you lie, though the lie weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Obviously, Yoongi sees right through you, saying, “I saw how you guys looked at each other earlier. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Your cheeks burn as you recall when you spoke to Jungkook. You didn’t feel like you were looking at him a certain way, but then again he has a tendency to steal your attention no matter where you are, so maybe Yoongi is onto something.

“I’m not trying to,” you say, taking a deep breath to chase away the lingering heaviness from the lie. “He’s my brother’s best friend.”

“Your brother, who’s conveniently on a semester abroad right now.”

You narrow your gaze at Yoongi, as if glaring at him. “It’s not convenient. I wish he’d never gone.”

This lie tastes even worse than the previous, and you chase its aftertaste with your drink.

“Right. And then you’d never have fucked his best friend.”

You close your eyes, rubbing a hand on your forehead. “It’s such a mess, Yoongi.”

He snorts in his red solo cup. “Why though?”

“Taehyung can’t know.”

“Why?” Yoongi asks again. “You’re adults.”

“Tae doesn’t think that way,” you admit, and a familiar annoyance flashes through you. “He’s always been overbearing. Like, when I was in highschool he scared all the guys away whenever they tried to speak to me.” Not that you would have dated any of them anyway, but Yoongi doesn’t need to know that. “It was annoying. And now, it’s even worse because JK’s his friend.”

“Or maybe he’ll trust his friend to treat you right, no?”

You wish it were that easy. You wish you lived in the utopia Yoongi’s composing right now, but you know reality to be far crueller than that.

“Trust Jungkook?”

Yoongi winces, and you hate the drop of doubt it brings back to you.

It’s the same doubt that had invaded you because of Colton, because of Lisa and Shelly. But then again, you’ve seen Jungkook last weekend. You were there all week with him: you want to believe he’s changed, and for the better.

But would Taehyung see that?

“Anyways,” you say before Yoongi’s able to add anything else. “We were supposed to talk shit about Hobi.”

Yoongi visibly deflates, his eyes dropping to his solo cup as he spins the liquid in it, watching it slosh around. “Yeah.”

“When did he tell you he’s switching colleges?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“Right before you guys got here.”

Damn. You’re friends with Hoseok too, you really are, but you reckon it’s selfish to do something like that to someone at a party when they can’t really do anything. It explains the awkwardness when you arrived though, and for some reason you’re happy you stuck to Yoongi’s side and not Hoseok’s.

You don’t think Hoseok would deserve someone comforting him right now.

“That’s dickish,” you say, and you mean it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s coming out of nowhere too,” Yoongi adds. He sighs, resting his head against the door. “He seemed to say that it was to follow a professor for an internship but still… It’s weird, no?”

“Where is he going?” you ask.

“He didn’t tell me. Just said that it was far.”

You wince. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi shrugs, and he downs his glass, gagging after he’s swallowed. “This is really bad alcohol.”

It’s a bad attempt at switching subjects, and you offer Yoongi a small smile you hope is comforting. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had better days,” Yoongi replies, and he sounds infinitely tired. “But thank you for trying to cheer me up tonight. I really appreciate it.”

Your smile is easy, warm this time. “Of course. Anytime.”

You end up staying in that small, impersonal bedroom for a while, the party long forgotten as you chat about everything and nothing. You hadn’t realized before, but you have more in common with Yoongi than you previously thought. You had similar circumstances growing up - that is, fathers leaving when you were too young to even remember them, and older brothers that tried to compensate.

Yoongi tells you about high school, about the first girl he dated. That’s how you learn that he’s bi, and not gay, and you beat yourself up mentally because now you feel like you’ve lied to Jungkook.

Not that it matters - Yoongi has the potential to be a good friend, but he’s not Jungkook.

You don’t know what to make of the thought, so you push it far, far back in your mind, until its whisper is easily ignorable.

“Shit,” Yoongi lets out a while later as he pulls his phone out of his pockets. “We’ve been in here for two hours.”

You widen your gaze, pulling your phone out as well. Your pulse skyrockets when you notice Jungkook tried to call you twice, leaving you a text that makes you hold in a small smile.

[11:46 pm] JK: where are you [11:46 pm] JK: :(

It’s almost thirty minutes later, but you immediately swipe your phone open to reply.

[12:12 am] You: just chilling with yoongi. wanna head home soon?

“I think I’ll go,” Yoongi says, and you look up from your phone to meet his gaze. “I’ve got lots of stuff to do tomorrow.”

You nod. “We should study together Sunday,” you reply as you both push up to your feet, stretching. “I have a lab report to finish.”

Yoongi agrees, and a second later you’re stepping out of the room. You earn a curious look from three girls sitting on the floor near the bathroom, and you offer them a tight-lipped smile as you pass them on your way to the stairs.

The music is still loud when you get to the floor level, people dancing and indulging in alcohol and partying like only college kids know how to do. Part of you still wants to revel, to enjoy the night, but your break away from the party with Yoongi has tired you, and you want to head home.

And maybe part of you wants to head home because it means spending time with Jungkook, but you’d never admit it to anyone.

You hug Yoongi goodbye in the middle of the living room, and then you make your way to the kitchen, hoping to find Jungkook there. You don’t find him, but Ria, Seokjin, Namjoon and Nabi are there, and you inform them that Yoongi left.

“What were you guys doing?” Nabi asks, and you immediately know she’s inebriated by the slur in her speech. “Why were you trying to go to the bathroom?”

A slight blush covers Namjoon’s cheeks as you burst out laughing. “What were you guys doing in the bathroom, mmh?” you counter-back.

Ria bursts out laughing, and Seokjin holds in a laugh, his plump lips curving upwards at the corner as Nabi makes a sound you can’t quite interpret. It just makes you laugh, and she’s quick to follow with, “What about it?”

“Nothing,” you say, shrugging your shoulders innocently. “Just an image I’ll never be able to get out of my mind.”

“Gosh,” Namjoon lets out, and you all laugh again.

“Anyways, I was just cheering Yoongi up,” you say after that, and you’re aware it sounds a little suspicious when four pairs of eyes turn to look at you, eyebrows almost touching. “We talked, that’s it,” you add, raising your hands in defence. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Hobi got pissed when he learned you guys were hiding somewhere together and he dipped,” Ria reveals. “I think you made him jealous.”

“Oof.” You worry at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “Shit, I’m too sober for this.”

For this being lying to your friends, because you know damn well that Hoseok might indeed be jealous of you, but for spending time with Yoongi. Not the other way around. Your friends don’t know though, so you let Ria tug you to the bar, where the amount of alcohol has drastically diminished since the last time you were here.

You end up throwing back shots with your friend, and she inevitably tugs you on the dancefloor next, and you sway to the beat along with her for a while, until you once more feel buzzed with alcohol.

That’s where Jeon Jungkook finds you, arm carelessly wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you in, startling you.

“Shit,” you say in his face.

“You don’t answer your phone, mmh?” he lets out.

You think you smell cigarette smoke on his breath, but you’re too drunk from his proximity to really be able to tell. He makes your thoughts swim after all, far too much for you to think about anything other than the fact that he’s close enough you could kiss him, here in the middle of a crowded room.

Would people cheer for you guys, or would you earn snickers? You think it’d be the latter option, considering that he’s Taehyung’s friend, but you don’t care.

“Hey you,” you purr, and he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Hey,” he replies.

You can’t help the soft smile that overtakes your features, and he immediately melts, echoing it.

“Want to head home?” you ask him.

Someone loudly clears their throat, and you jump out of Jungkook’s arms, cheeks turning fully red. Ria is watching with a wide grin, and she wiggles her eyebrows when you meet her gaze.

“Fuck off,” you tell her, your whole face burning, and she just laughs at your expense as you walk away, Jungkook in tow.

You make it all the way to the room where you’ve left your coat, grabbing it as Jungkook looks around for his, and you’re outside before he meets you, a confused look on his features.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, his breath clouding in front of his face.

You watch as it lifts in the air slowly before vanishing in a gust of wind.

“What?” you let out. “No? Why would I be?”

“You ran out like I did something wrong,” he answers, motioning over his shoulder.

You melt. You melt like ice cream on a hot summer day, dripping to the floor with endearment for the man in front of you.

“No, I ran because Ria always puts her nose in stuff she shouldn’t,” you say. You look around, fingers itching to reach for him, but people are smoking closer to the street, and you think you recognize some of his friends in the group.

“You were being obvious, peach,” Jungkook teases, and he winks at you, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat as he walks down the three steps from the porch to the lawn.

You catch up to him quickly as he heads towards the group, wishing everyone good night. Lisa stares at you as you stand next to Jungkook, and your cheeks heat up once more under that watchful gaze.

Luckily enough for you, Jungkook says his goodbyes quickly, and you’re walking away under a minute later, heading to where he parked his car.

“How come you’re always driving to parties now?” you ask Jungkook. “You could afford an Uber.”

He glances at you, shrugging sheepishly. “Then I wouldn’t have a reason to drive you home.”

“Please,” you let out, rolling your eyes. “We could grab an Uber home together. That way you’d be able to drink.”

He looks behind you, making sure you’re not in sight from the frat house anymore, and then he pulls one of his hands out of his coat, grabbing yours. His hand is warm, large, and it engulfs your own hand easily as he tugs you closer.

“You might hate me for this,” Jungkook starts, “but I promised your brother I’d make sure you’re okay during parties this semester.”

This time, you roll your eyes so far back that you think they might get stuck. “He did not ask that of you.”

“He did,” Jungkook insists.

“That’s bullshit.” You sigh loudly, slightly shaking your head. “Even when he’s gone he’s still annoying.”

Jungkook laughs, the sound like a warm blanket wrapped around you. “But yeah, he just asked me to make sure you’re okay, and I got used to not drinking as much at parties.”

“On behalf of Taehyung, I’m sorry.”

He tugs you even closer, and you trip on a crack in the sidewalk. He catches you before you fall, hands finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says. “And don’t apologize, I really don’t mind.”

You pout, but you fall silent, just enjoying the feel of Jungkook’s hand in yours. You reach his car a few minutes later and, ever so the gentleman, Jungkook holds the door open for you.

You cock an eyebrow, looking back at him with a small smile on your lips as you’re about to get in. “You only opened the door for me ‘cause you want to look at my ass, didn’t you?” you tease.

He laughs, loud and clear, before pushing you in. “Shut up, peach.”

A smile tickles the corner of your lips, like it permanently seems to do when it comes to Jungkook, and then you sit in the car. He shuts the door before making his way to the driver’s side, and a second later, he’s sliding in, offering you a smirk that makes your cheeks burn.

“What?” you let out.

“So what if I just want to look at your ass?” he says, turning the key in the engine. The car purrs to life as Jungkook adds, “You’ve got a really nice ass, especially in those pants.”

You feel all warm and tingly inside, and you roll your eyes as you look away from him. It only makes him chuckle, and then he starts driving, heading towards the home you share. The first minute is spent in silence, the music on the radio low, and you only realize that Jungkook has something on his mind when you glance at him to see him pulling on his piercings with his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” you immediately ask.

“You were with that guy for a long time,” he answers, and his eyes dart to you before returning to the street.

“Yoongi?” you say, though you obviously know that he means Yoongi. “Yeah, he’s a friend.”

“A friend?” Jungkook echoes.

You hum, nodding your head. “He’s actually fucking Hobi so…”

Jungkook’s gaze widens, and he glances at you. “Hobi? Isn’t that the guy you were fucking?”

“He was,” you say, and you laugh at his expression, dead in the middle of jealousy and surprise. It’s a funny look on his features, though the second you laugh, it melts away, replaced by tender endearment. “He actually started fucking Yoongi during the power outage, and we ended things there.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but you see a muscle feathering under the skin of his jaw. He looks angry, and could he even be… jealous?

“Are you jealous?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice.

“I’m not,” Jungkook says, voice so stern you know for a fact that he definitely is jealous.

“You are!” you insist, and you burst out laughing. “Jeon Jungkook is jealous because I used to fuck someone else.”

“I’m not!” Jungkook repeats, louder this time. “I’m not fucking jealous.”

You smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief, and you pat his thigh. “Don’t worry. You’re the only one I want to fuck now.”

“Is that why you spent your evening locked up in a bedroom with some other guy?” he asks, and you hear the jealousy in his voice, clear as day this time.

“Gosh, JK,” you say teasingly, and you turn towards him, fully facing him. “You’re so jealous.”

He pushes your hand away from where you’d left it on his thigh. “Fuck off.”

You widen your gaze, bursting out laughing a second later. And then, just to piss him off further, you lean closer to him, pressing a kiss on his cheek while your seatbelt tries to pull you back to your seat.

“You’re adorable.”

He makes a non-committal sound as you sit back in your seat, and you return your hand to his thigh, squeezing once. This time he lets you do it, parting his legs slightly so that his thigh is in easier reach for you.

You lean your head against the headrest, eyes searching his profile. He’s just toying with his piercings again, and he looks heavenly in the neon light of the streetlights, the orange glow painting him in a beautiful picture. You sigh, and he glances at you long enough for his eyes to meet yours.

You fall for him. You’ve already been falling for him, inevitably, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you right now that makes you fall irreversibly.

“I want you,” you say, voice breathy.

Jungkook’s car comes to a halt at a red light, and he looks at you again. “Right now?”

You nod, and your hand finds his thigh again. “Shouldn’t I prove to you that you’ve got nothing to worry about?”

“I’m driving, peach.”

You shrug. “Then better keep your eyes on the road.”

Your words turned him on. You’d expected it, yet when you move your hand up, fingers grazing his dick, your throat dries out.

He’s already getting hard.

“You think you can drive while I suck your dick?”

“Peach,” Jungkook says sternly. “We’re almost home.”

“Just keep driving,” you innocently reply, batting your eyelashes.

He rolls his eyes, yet he goes forward when the light turns green instead of turning left like he was supposed to. You bite your lower lip, desire flushing through you as warmth pools at your core.

“You act so tough, but you folded so easily,” you tease, feeling brattier than you’ve ever felt with him.

Maybe because you’re starting to realize the power that you have over Jeon Jungkook, and it’s getting to your head.

“Don’t make me regret, peach,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

You wet your lips, tilting your head to the side. “Or what?”

“Or I’m driving you home and not fucking you tonight.”

His threat falls flat - the second the words are out of his mouth you caress his length through his pants, and he instinctively bucks his hips.

“Careful,” you let out. “Wouldn’t want to get in an accident.”

He just clenches his jaw as you start working on the button of his jeans. He shifts, allowing you easier access, though it’s still awkward from the sitting position and his seatbelt. Soon enough you manage to get the button undone, and then you unzip his pants.

“Think someone’s going to see us?” you ask as you slide your hand in his pants, gripping his dick over the fabric of his boxers once.

He sits heavily in your hand, already fully hard, and your mouth waters.

Jeon Jungkook has a lot of power over you, too.

“Not if I can find an empty parking lot,” he says, voice breathy when you stroke him. “Under the boxers, please.”

“Jeon Jungkook, saying please?” you tease, cocking an eyebrow. “I’ll get used to this.”

“Don’t.” His eyes flutter shut for a few seconds when you manage to slide your hand into his boxers, and you let out a breathy sound at the feeling of his soft skin.

“Shit, Jungkook.”

“Mmh?”

“You’re already so hard.”

He chuckles. “You turn me on a lot, peach.”

You like to hear it, so much so that you free his dick from his pants, as much as you possibly can from the angle.

“Clearly,” you say as you eye the bead of precum forming on his slit. You swipe your thumb on it, smearing it on his tip.

Jungkook’s grip tightens on the wheel, but he remains silent this time around as he pulls the car into a parking lot. Though it’s not fully empty, he heads to a dark corner, where the lone streetlight died so that he can quickly park the car as you slowly jerk him.

“I thought you’d drive around while I sucked you,” you tease, unbuckling your seat belt.

His eyes are dark, dangerous, as he casts them on you. “I want to be able to appreciate every second of you choking on my dick, peach.”

You smirk, and you bend down, swirling your tongue around him once. “Yeah?”

He grunts as you suck on his tip, and he reclines his seat, pushing his pants down just enough to fully free his dick. “Yeah.”

You suck once again. “Good boy.”

His large hands find your hair as you swirl your tongue around him, and he pulls it back in a ponytail so that he can watch you work on him, though you’re keen on teasing him more than anything right now.

You want to see how a frustrated Jungkook fucks.

“Just for you,” he replies as you lightly suck his tip once more.

You move to the side, peppering open mouthed kisses all along his shaft, and then some more on his thigh. You suck a hickey there, a dark, purple mark, and Jungkook curses under his breath.

“Stop teasing,” he says through gritted teeth as you lick the mark.

“Or what?”

You look up to meet his gaze as your tongue toys with his slit. His precum is salty in your mouth, and the frustration building up in his gaze turns your insides to pure lava.

You’re burning for him. Truly burning - you’ve caught fire and you don’t think it can be extinguished.

“Why are you such a brat?” he asks, though he doesn’t sound inquisitive. He rather sounds whiny, like he wants you to stop but some part of him is thrilled.

Or maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s you and your desire for him that’s clouding your mind, like it usually always does.

You go back to his dick, licking your way up and teasing his slit at the top. You then close your mouth around him, give him a tentative suck that makes him buck his hips. You want to pull away, to be more of a brat, but his large hand shifts to the back of your head to hold you in place. You whine, but then he slowly fucks up into your mouth, and it turns into a moan, your eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat.

“See,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know you can take me.”

If you weren’t gone before, you truly are now, and you abandon yourself to the desire you feel for him. You take the lead, bobbing your head up and down as you jerk him off too, making sure every inch of his dick is pleasured. He’s a grunting mess over you, his hand still fisting some of your hair, though he’s thrown his head back and isn’t watching anymore.

You go down, hollowing your cheeks around him, and then slowly come up. You’ve been sloppy, and your spit is a natural lube on his dick as you stop at the tip, swirling your tongue around him.

“Peach,” he says, voice low.

You let go of his dick, meeting his gaze. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark with lust.

“Mmh?” you let out.

“I really want you right now.”

You don’t need to be told more. You climb on top of him, careful not to press your ass on the honk of his car, and you kiss him rough, your teeth almost clashing as your mouths collide. Jungkook grunts against you, his hands immediately finding your hips, and you moan when he sucks on your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth.

“Do you have condoms?” you ask as he moves to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses down the column of your throat.

You lose your hands in his hair as he sucks on the spot where your neck connects with your shoulder. And then he pauses, lifting an apologetic look to you.

“What?”

“We used the condom last week,” he reminds you.

In New York.

You groan, hiding your face in his neck. “Are you saying we have to drive all the way home now?”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “Or you finish me off here?” he suggests.

You throw him a stern look that makes him laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart warms in your chest, chasing away the lust, and all you’re left with are the feelings that have been brewing in you for weeks, feelings you don’t dare name right now.

“Get back in your seat, I’ll drive us home.”

You pout, and he pecks your lips once. You can’t help the soft smile that grows on your features, and you climb off from him, sitting back in the passenger seat.

A second later you’re pulling out in the street, Jungkook having put his pants back on, and he grabs your hand where it rests on your thigh as he drives. It’s intimate somehow, even more so intimate than you sucking his dick a second ago, and you spend the drive admiring him, wondering how it is that you got so lucky when it comes to him.

He opens the door for you once he’s parked the car near your apartment, and he shuts it behind you before grabbing your hand again, pulling you behind him as you walk home. He unlocks the front door, and then you’re in, engulfed by the gentle warmth of your apartment.

There’s a beat of silence as you exchange a look, the air filling with electricity. With the knowledge of what’s about to happen - your blood heats up in your veins, bringing back the arousal that had clouded the car just a few minutes ago.

“You know,” Jungkook lets out, and he takes a step closer to you, towering over you. “It was my first time getting sucked in my car.”

For some reason it surprises you. You didn’t think Jungkook had many firsts left, yet in a week you’ve done two of them with him.

“It was?”

He nods, and he grabs your jaw to tilt your head back, his grip gentle yet firm. “And you were so good to me, mmh?” You reckon you were a brat, and maybe you should remind him, but when he adds, “Should I be good to you now?”, you only nod. He laughs, saying, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It’s all you have time to say before he’s crashing his lips on yours, and he swallows the breathy sound you instinctively let out. His hand falls to your waist, pulling you in, while yours do quick work of pushing his coat off his shoulders. He helps you by taking it off, and you both don’t care to put it in the closet, not when his tongue is in your mouth and he’s turning into the oxygen in your lungs.

Taking off your shoes prove to be awkward, as you’re both reluctant to disconnect from the kiss, but it’s oh so worth it once you manage to free your feet from the shoes, and then Jungkook picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pushes you against the door.

You wrap your arms around his neck, sucking on his tongue when he pushes it in your mouth again, and he grunts, grinding into you.

“You make me insane,” he says against your mouth, and then he pulls away to suck another mark on your neck.

You pull at his hair, and he retaliates by grinding his hips into yours again. “I really want you, Kook,” you say, the nickname slipping from your mouth.

Jungkook pulls back, just enough so that his gaze can meet yours. “What did you just call me?”

Though your heart is beating so loud you can barely hear your thoughts, you manage to recall, repeating, “Kook?”

“Say it again.”

The intensity in his gaze is not one you can shield from, and you find yourself lacking any defiance. “Kook,” you repeat, softer this time.

“Shit, please always call me that.”

When his soft lips find yours again, you sigh, and he pulls away from the door to carry you to his room, his mouth barely disconnecting just long enough for him to focus on opening the door. He walks in, not bothering to kick the door shut, and he puts you down on his bed, his lips disconnecting just long enough for him to take off his shirt before he’s climbing over top of you, his mouth seeking yours.

You run your hands along his warm skin, appreciating the muscles in his back as he shifts, nails lightly grazing him. He grinds into you in retaliation, and you moan in his mouth, a sound he swallows like a starved man.

Jungkook kneels between your legs, and despite the fact that he didn’t turn the lights on, you still take a moment to admire him in the dim light filtering in from the windows. His big, doe eyes are narrowed softly, like he’s holding in a smile, and he gently runs a hand up your arm before pulling you to a sitting position.

He takes off your coat, eyes never leaving yours - like he’s lost in your gaze the same way that you’re lost in his - and then he takes care of your shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He plays with his piercings as he takes in the sight of your breasts, nipples perked.

“Not wearing a bra?” he teases, and he pinches one of your nipples.

You moan softly, and he pushes you back down so that he can bend and wrap his lips around your other nipple, tongue teasing at the sensitive bud.

“Is there something wrong with that?” you ask once he’s lifted your head from your breast.

“No. Just made me realize that I should have fucked you at the party.”

You bite your lower lip. “You should have.”

“Then everyone would know how good I make you feel, mmh?” he says, and then he starts going down your body, pressing kisses along the column of your neck, and then on your collarbone. Your breasts come next, and he takes his time worshipping them while you tug at his hair, just enough for him to grunt against you.

When he gets tired of your breasts, Jungkook moves lower, pressing gentle kisses on your abdomen, up until he reaches the band of your pants. He looks up then, meeting your gaze seeking consent, and you offer it to him with a nod of your head.

It doesn’t take him more to go lower, and he kisses your clit over your pants. You let out a breathy sound, and he kneels so that he can take off your pants, pulling your panties down at the same time.

You’re dripping wet. You’ve been dripping wet since you sucked him in his car, and Jungkook watches your juices glistening as he pulls on his lip piercings. “Shit, peach. You’re fucking soaked.”

“I know,” you let out.

“So, so good to me,” he whispers to himself, and then he dives in, licking up from your entrance to your clit, where he swirls his tongue against the sensitive bud.

You become a moaning and writhing mess as he eats you out, as his tongue presses expert circles around your clit. He starts fingering you at the same time, scissoring motions fighting against your walls as they instinctively tighten around him, yet Jungkook doesn’t falter.

He never does. He never falters, is always good to you. It’s no wonder you start riding the wave towards an orgasm in no time, the pressure on your clit just enough to keep you on edge without pushing you over. You try to grind into his mouth, but he pushes you back down, one large hand on your stomach.

“Just let me please you, mmh?” he says against you.

“Jungkook…”

And then he truly goes in, his tongue flat against your clit as he moves his head from side to side, his fingers curling perfectly inside of you. The orgasm hits like a train, and your vision turns white as your walls pulse around his digits.

Jungkook milks the orgasm out of you, making sure you’re truly spent before sitting back on his heels. You look at him through blissed, half-lidded eyes, and he palms himself over his pants, getting up to take off the rest of his clothes a few seconds later. He stands there for a time, his dick rock hard, and then he walks over to his night table to grab a condom.

A moment later he’s back between your legs, rubbing his dick up and down your folds to collect your juice.

“Ready?” he asks.

You’re still high from the orgasm, so you just nod your head once, eyes fluttering shut as he pushes inside of you and you let out a broken moan. He grips your waist, fingers ever so slightly pushing into the supple skin as he seats all of himself inside of you, and then he gives one thrust, pushing back out and then in in a swift motion.

“Peach,” he grunts, and his thumbs shift on your skin, like he’s caressing your sides.

“Mmh?” you let out.

He doesn’t move for a time, and your eyes slide open to meet his gaze. The intensity behind his pupils nearly undoes you, making you reach towards him until he lets go of your waist to grab your hand instead. He leans forward, holding your hand over your head, and then he steals a quick kiss on your lips.

“Let me know if I hurt you?” he says against your mouth.

You kiss him again for good measures, and then whisper, “Don’t worry, I can take it.”

“Fuck,” he curses, and then he starts fucking you, slowly yet deep, his dick infinitely hard inside of you.

He keeps at it for a time, his forehead resting against yours as he fucks you passionately, taking in the breathy sounds you make. Your free hand finds his waist, as if you can urge him to go faster, yet he resists, just keeping that same slow and steady beat.

He lifts his head, pecks your forehead and then says, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” is all you have time to say before everything changes and he starts pounding into you unforgivingly.

You hold on to his shoulders, nails digging in his skin as his head hangs low. He grunts directly in your ear as he fucks you, the sounds he makes almost pornographic. It’s hot, deadly so, but then again you think everything he does is hot.

You’re a goner for him. For your brother’s best friend, for someone you can’t truly have. It sobers you, and Jungkook seems to notice the shift in your attitude because he stills inside of you, raising his head to meet your gaze.

“Are you okay?” he gently asks.

His big, doe eyes are filled with concern for you, with so much emotion you think you might drown. You cup his cheek, taking it all in.

Maybe you truly can give it a chance.

“I think I’m falling for you,” you breathe.

He doesn’t move for a while, doesn’t even blink, but then he grins. He grins, and you think you’ve never seen something as beautiful as him.

“Then that makes two of us,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing you languidly, his hips resuming their motions, though they’re slower this time, closer to what it was like at the beginning.

You love it all the same, holding him as close to you as you can, kissing him back with every little treacherous emotion you don’t want to name.

He really is too good to be true.

“I’m going to come,” he whispers against your mouth, and he sounds slightly surprised.

Like he didn’t think he could come from gentler, softer sex like what you’re partaking in right now. Yet you react accordingly, pulling on his hair just enough to sting.

“Yeah?” you let out.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Fucking come for me, Kook.”

The nickname unleashes him, and he pounds into you, chasing his high as you rake your nails on his back. A few deep thrusts later he’s coming, slamming to the hilt as his dick twitches inside of you, and he kisses you again, grunts and groans in your mouth as you take it all in, your walls pulsing around him like you’re coming too.

It takes you both a while to come down from the high, and Jungkook doesn’t move, stays there with his forehead resting against yours as you breathe in the same air. Your hands run up and down his back in soothing motions despite the thin sheen of sweat covering him, and he occasionally presses soft pecks on your lips that you immediately reciprocate.

Eventually the moment passes, and Jungkook slips out of you to lie down next to you instead, though he stays close, nuzzling his face in your neck as he rests his hand on your stomach. You feel safe, warm, and you wish the world could stop right now. You wish you could stay here, forever.

And tonight you reckon you’re foolish enough to believe you might.

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these two are so obsessed with each other, help :') hope you guys liked this chapter! Let me know what you think!!

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