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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 2 years ago

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Cherry Boy. [l.c.]

Chapter One of "Losing it". Reminder that each chapter in this series is stand alone and can be read without reading any of the others!

A new relationship is always difficult to navigate, for Chan, it appears to be even more difficult. For you? You’re just left confused as to why your new boyfriend of a month and a half hasn’t made a move on you despite your very obvious attempts to invite him into your personal space. You soon realize that your boyfriend is a virgin, and that’s why he’s always running away with his hands covering his bits, even through a simple goodnight kiss.

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | reblog for chan's happy trail

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― lee chan x afab reader

CONTENT― brief break up due to horrible communication skills, virginity loss, reader gets super insecure about her body and personality, fluff, smut obv

NOTE― This is the reason I gave chan the first chapter in the series. It's because of those pics...you know the ones. Anyway, shoutout to @ressonancee and @onlyhuis for proof reading this for me! love u guys with my entire being!

smut tags under cut::

SMUT TAGS― virginity loss, makeout session, neck kissing, tit fondling, unprotected sex, belly button kissing, mentions and focus on his happy trail, he’s ticklish oops, blowjob, premature ejaculation, pussy drunk chan forgets how to speak, desperate sex babbling, finger fucking, hand and cock guiding, cream pie

Chan has a dilemma, and yes, it’s one that most men would scoff at.

Trust him when he says that he is so very aware of what is happening around him but he simply cannot manage to muster up the courage, strength, or confidence to admit to you, his lovely and patient girlfriend, that he’s dodging your advances solely because he is the text-book definition of virgin.

He is not only nervous about having sex for the first time, but there also comes the weight of him either not being good enough when he tries, or you laughing in his face and mocking him for it.

You, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so fucking in your head if he really could just muster up a tiny amount of confidence to say that to you.

It has been almost two months now since he asked you to be his girlfriend, and throughout this time never once has he done more than a gentle kiss to your lips or lying a slight guiding hand to your waist. It feels so… juvenile, so… middle school for a boyfriend to treat you this way.

Seeing as how the first three dates you went on with him seemed to suggest he was more than willing to be a fulfilling boyfriend who can, hopefully, fill all of the roles that comes with the title– you’re starting to second guess that he ever liked you at all.

Perhaps the twenty-four year old man asked you that night to be his girlfriend out of pity. Or maybe he’s simply changed his mind about you. Regardless of the reason for why he acts like this, it’s getting to you.

Deeply, actually, by this point. It only stung a bit at first, but now it’s starting to feel like he has to be with you as a joke. Why else would he be consistent in wanting to hang out? Why else would he always be inviting you out on well-priced dates and buying you pretty gifts?

It’s a joke.

It has to be a joke.

Oh, but that’s so far from the truth. If you would simply open your eyes, perhaps you’d notice the struggle that your polite little boyfriend goes through each time you try to suggest he make an advance on you.

Even the slight kisses, it makes him suffer from embarrassment at how quickly his body reacts to you.

He likes you so, so fucking much.

“I don’t think I’m feeling it today.” You respond to the muffled voice of your “boyfriend” on the phone, asking if he can come over to see you.

“What? Why not?” He asks back, his voice concerned.

“Do you want me to be honest?” You finally say with a long and annoyed sigh, giving up on any hope that this relationship will ever go any further than it already has.

You’re fed up with feeling unwanted, undesired, and possibly even uninteresting. He’s the one person in your life that you care about when it comes to who you are and what you look like. His reaction, or lack thereof, regarding you as both a person and his girlfriend feels astonishing and does nothing more than make you question what it is that you’re doing wrong.

It has to be you, right? Perhaps your body isn’t as pretty as he wants it to be, is that it? Or maybe your voice annoys him? God, what if he cringes thinking of how you’d move if he were to actually have sex with you? What if he doesn’t think about it at all?

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to let the intense insecurity weigh on you. You always promised yourself that you’d never let a man make you rethink your worth.

You need to live up to that promise.

“Chan, it’s been nice and all, but I think we should break up.”

The silence he offers to you is entirely too loud, and feels more like a confirmation in your head that this is the exact choice you should be making right now.

He’s thrown for a loop though, standing at his kitchen table staring off at the wall as you say those words.

What did he do wrong?

“Wha–” He cuts himself off, trying to find words to say. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

You let out another breathy sigh, annoyed at the way he plays dumb.

“I’m shocked you’re asking me that. I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to break up with me yourself, y’know?” You let out a sad little chuckle before you feel that insecurity he instilled in you burn against your eyes. “I’m just making it easy for you, so that you can go and spend your time with someone that you’d rather be around.”

He pauses, still dumbfounded by what you’re saying.

“Why are you saying that?” He bellows out in a deeper tone, making you feel as though he’s angry with you now. “I’d rather be around you.”

“Oh? Is that right?” You roll your eyes now, annoyed. “Is that why you push me away when I try to kiss you? Or what about– what about when you left the party last week after I sat on your lap?”

Ah. He knew it. He knew he should have admitted it. Despite his consistent apologies for his body acting on instinct to run away from you, he should have really tried to see from your point of view rather than his own. Even if he only ran to hide the fact that he is horribly aroused by you at all times, in every given moment.

You can hear a pained groan fall from his lips, and a door opening on his end.

“I’m coming over.”

He doesn’t let you protest, and instead hangs up the phone. You sit there in silence at his rejection of your break up. As if it were his choice? As if he had any say in it? You want to break up, that’s final.

Still, that doesn’t explain why you don’t call him back to tell him not to come. It also doesn’t explain why your heart is thumping against your chest in anticipation.

Or, maybe there is something to explain why you’re feeling butterflies over his blatant refusal. Perhaps, this is the first time you’ve felt wanted by him?

That also makes it worse. Why should your boyfriend make you feel this way only when you’re breaking up with him? Why can you only see that he cares when he’s faced with the idea of losing you? By the way he’s acting, you can argue that he wouldn’t be losing anything precious to him if you were to walk out of his life right this moment.

Still, you sit here in wait. More curious now to see if maybe you'll figure out why he refuses to look at or touch you in a way that would show you he wants you.

The first thing Chan does when he steps through the door of your apartment is slip his shoes off. The second thing he does is stand there awkwardly, as if every thought left his head upon seeing your face.

You look like you’ve been crying.

“This is my fault.” He says with a slight crack in his voice. “Because I keep hiding from you….right?”

You nod silently, remaining on your couch that faces his timid and stiffened figure.

He stares at you, examining the consequences of his own actions.

“You want to break up because I haven’t tried to, like, do things with you.” He winces as he says it, struggling to not feel awkward talking about having sex. He’s embarrassed, but would be even more embarrassed if he lost a girlfriend over this.

“That’s not the only reason.” You shake your head, looking away from him and to your hands as you pick at your nail beds. “I’d be okay with no sex if you’d simply tell me why. The fact that you haven’t told me anything–” Your voice cracks a little bit, feeling stupid for being so emotional over such a short lived relationship. “It kind of destroyed my confidence.”

He watches the way you refuse eye contact, which is something that stabs him directly in the stomach. He can feel it drop to the floor, adrenaline making its way into that empty space you’re creating for him.

“Before we break up, I just want to know why it took this for you to act like you genuinely might have feelings for me.”

He stumbles over his thoughts the same way he stumbles over his feet trying to approach you.

By now, he doesn’t think he can ever feel more embarrassed than he does at this moment. He crouches down in front of you, sad that you didn’t laugh at the way he nearly knocked himself out on your living room floor. Then he looks at you, chasing your line of sight as if to reassure you through nothing but the air in the room.

“I was afraid you’d laugh at me.” He starts, and after seeing that your expression doesn’t change even a little bit, he continues. “You seemed so into me that I–” He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be as honest as he can be. “I just didn’t know how to act.”

You look at him with irritation at those words.

“Of course I was fucking into you. Why else would I have agreed to be your girlfriend?” You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back into the couch cushions and away from his crouched body. “Think about how I feel. The fact that you just watch me throw myself at you time and time again? The fact that you rejected me every single time? How is that not giving you the answers you need as to why I’m breaking up with you?”

He takes note of that heightened voice of yours, defensive and likely more hurt than you’re letting on.

“Listen–” He breathes in, trying to internally hype himself up to bite the bullet.

You were listening, but he’s keeping whatever it is he’s thinking about in his head for just a second too long.

“No, I think we’re done h-”

“I’m a virgin.” He interrupts you, lowering his gaze to the floor and refusing eye contact with you.

Your eyes shoot to him though. The last thing you would have expected was for him to be a–

“You’re–” You try to repeat his words for confirmation, but he interrupts you again.

“I can promise you it’s not because I don’t want to do these things with you.” He says, still staring at the floor. “It’s because I was afraid that you’d lose interest over it.”

Your mouth falls open as you look at him, every feeling of frustration in your body disappearing almost immediately.

“It’s because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to, like, be any good at it.” He continues to admit. “I was trying to work up the courage to tell you, or to just like, do it.” He rambles, now scooting back and standing up to his feet. “And if you still want to break up, I understand. I just thought I at least owed you an explanation.”

You watch as he nods to himself in an unsure way, turns on his heel, and heads back to the door to slip his shoes back on.

You sit in stunned silence as your brain erases every single insecurity you gained over this month and a half relationship before jumping to your feet. If anyone could have been more insecure about this than you were, it was him. And now that you can see that, the guilt hits you twice as hard as the presumed break up would have.

“You’re a virgin?” You ask, though that wasn’t at all the words you intended to say. “I mean, you kept pushing me away because you didn’t want to disappoint me?”

He nods timidly, halting his body and still refusing to look at you.

He has one shoe on, and his other foot half in the other when you make your way over to him, closing the distance quickly and confidently.

“Don’t leave.” You say first, before physically moving his body for him to remove that foot from his half-on shoe. “Chan, I’m your girlfriend. We can wait for as long as you need, I just...”

You pause, now feeling annoyed with yourself for making it about you. Then again, it’s not like you could read his mind. Though, thinking back to all of those instances where he pulled away from you before, perhaps you could have read context clues a little better.

“I didn’t know–” You trail off, now determined to save the relationship that both of you accidentally started to sink. “Did I make you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

He feels…relieved by your words. Saying you could wait, asking what it is that made him so afraid to admit it.

Finally, he presses one foot against his other, pulling his foot out of his shoe and stepping back, looking at you with eyes fonder than you’ve ever seen them.

“It’s not that I felt I couldn’t tell you. I was just embarrassed.”

You very nearly coo out at him, but you keep your distance with both your words and your body now.

“It’s not that I’m not ready to lose it. Especially with you.” He admits, glancing at you for a reaction before sighing. “I think I’ve been ready for a long time, again, I was just embarrassed and also knew that I should probably tell you at some point…”

“You want to give your virginity to me?”

You watch as he blows his hair up through puckered lips, rolling his eyes before smiling at you.

“It’s not that I view virginity as sacred or anything either. There’s just a lot of weight that people tend to put on it, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He tries to explain as his body relaxes by the minute. “I wanted you to be my first time, yeah. When I asked you to be my girlfriend, I knew I wanted you to be the one to show me what all the hype is about.”

You’d laugh if it weren’t for the fact that this is still kind of a touchy subject. You’re not entirely sure how you feel about being someone’s first time, but you know you have feelings for him and to deny him of sex after you blatantly wanted it so bad from him…Okay, maybe you’re just in your head. Of course you’d be happy to be his first time.

Ecstatic even.

“So….” You sway on your feet, looking up at the ceiling before landing your eyes on him playfully. “It’s not because you think I’m disgusting or like, not living up to the standards you want for a girlfriend?”

“Jesus, no.” He says.

You watch him scratch the back of his head, still probably embarrassed by how low this relationship had fallen due to the awful communication skills.

“And you’re also kind of admitting that you have thought about it?” You continue, prying out the words you’ve wanted to hear so badly since you met him.

He pulls back only a little bit, his cheeks warming at the words and the way his brain automatically thrusts him into the thoughts of all of those nights where he absolutely fucking thought about it.

“Y-yeah. Yes. I have thought about it.” He nods in a self-reassuring way as his eyes land on everything in the room but you.

You’re quick to give him your own reassurance though, trying to learn his boundary now that the secret is out and the relationship appears to have a second chance at succeeding.

He can feel you close in on him, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling your face against his neck. There, he holds you back, breathing in deep and feeling the scent of you wash through his body.

Quite literally actually. As he would normally avoid, his lower half reacts far too quickly to even the simplest of touches from you.

He pulls back on instinct, but you don’t release your grip this time.

“You seem as ready as ever, I’ll admit.” You laugh upon feeling him stiffen against you, but you really do try not to shame him for it. “Still, we can wait until you feel ready enough to give it a shot, okay?”

He nods, entirely reassured by the way you don’t press up against it or comment any further about the happenings in his pants right now. Then he sighs out.

“I can imagine I must look like an idiot right now, getting hard over a fucking hug.” He finally says as he pulls from the hug and makes his way back to your living room. “But we’re okay, right? You’re not breaking up with me?”

You follow after him, keeping your sexual distance, but absolutely indulging in the loving, sweet, and careful cuddling you’ve wanted to do with him for so long now.

He appears comfortable when you tuck yourself under his arm and rest your head on his chest before answering him.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” You say, feeling his chest heave with each breath and intentionally ignoring the blatant tent in his pants slowly fall back into its flaccid position as he calms down. “It’s kinda cute, you know? That you were so worried about it.”

His cheeks are still on fire, willing his body to calm itself through this sweet session of cuddling. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment with you, and still, it is embarrassing in the way he knows you’re ignoring it for his sake too.

But goddamn, how heavenly it would be for you to like, touch it right now…..or something.

“Never thought of it as cute, if I’m being honest.” He tries to joke. “If anything, maybe it's a little pathetic on my part.”

You shake your head against him, feeling more confident of your place in his life.

“Pathetic? Don’t be mean to yourself. Besides, it’s kind of hot knowing that you got so turned on over a simple hug.” You laugh, hoping you’re not crossing a boundary. “No wonder you ran so fast when I sat on your lap, I definitely would have felt that on me.”

“Alright, alright–” He tries to hush you of your playful remarks, but ultimately, if you really think it’s an attractive aspect of whatever sexual dynamic the two of you will come to have, he’s going to make damn sure you see just how fucking turned on you make him.

Things are good. Great even, now that you can pin point each moment your boyfriend gets a little too overwhelmed with you. He does still push you away, probably out of instinct but he doesn’t shy away nearly as much from intimate moments with you. Especially if the two of you are alone together.

You’re a bit more careful in public or with friends though, because the last thing you want to do is make him feel insecure about it. Still, there are playful moments where you indulge in the act of touching him or kissing him just to get him excited, just to watch him stutter his way through ordering something.

The point is, you almost ended a relationship with someone who, arguably, makes you feel more wanted than you ever knew you could. It’s nice, and it feels good.

Even now, this is only your second full on make-out session with him, you feel absolutely adored. It’s cute in the way he’s trying to train himself to not get hard at even the simplest of touches, it’s even cuter when his efforts fail miserably and he’s arching his body away from you as if he could even hide what he’s packing.

You don’t push for more, despite wanting it badly. He also doesn’t push…despite also wanting it just as much as you do, if not more. He still seems to need a push of confidence to actually go any further than a nice, non-body touching makeout session.

This is fine though, and you indulge far more than you ever knew you would when it comes to this kind of thing. As if simply licking into his mouth is foreplay enough to counter a fucking blowjob for him.

Never in your life did you think you’d be this into the fact that your boyfriend is a virgin. And it’s not even that he’s never had sex, it’s that he seems to want it so bad, and there’s just something about a man who is desperate that gets you going these days.

Still, kissing him is something that fulfills you, especially with the way he’s avoiding his lower half and keeping it away from you.

He kisses you back in a telling way though, more telling than that tent in his sweatpants that you can visualize even while your eyes are closed. He radiates the arousal through the way he moves his lips against yours, and the way he lets out little suffering sounds when you kiss him harder and harder.

His hands stay against your face, neck, and sometimes your waist, but god. His kissing is genuinely just so good with the way it tells on him every few seconds.

And when he pulls back, he’s out of breath, flushed, and looking as if he would want nothing more than for you to hint, to lay down some sort of implication that he can cling to for relief from the heaviness that’s been in his pants since the fucking relationship started.

You wonder if tonight is the night, because he doesn’t appear to want to stop making out like he did last time. If anything, as he looks at you with those heaving breaths, you can tell he’s thinking harder than he ever has about it.

“Chan,” You whisper out to him, just inches from his face. “Do you think of me?”

When he keeps his eyes on you, seemingly stunned by your question, you continue.

“Do you think of me after you leave? When you’re all by yourself in your room–” You turn your head so that your eyes can trail to the space he is attempting to keep from you. “When you’re touching yourself?”

He feels the words run straight through him, causing an utterly pathetic twitch in his pants. The way your voice comes out soft and sensual as you ask him, as you look at him. He doesn’t even remember words at this moment, not even a simple “yes”.

He tries to answer by losing a little bit of his self control, turning your head back to him with his palm just so he can chase against your lips out of the sheer arousal, but you pull away.

“Do you?” You continue, encouraging him to answer you.

“So much,” He wills himself to whisper confidently, ignoring the fact that his body just forced him to rut up and against nothing, all for you to see. “Every time I leave,” He puts emphasis on his words. “Sometimes I can’t even make it home first.”

You smile at the image of him rubbing against himself in his car, so desperate to relieve himself of what you do to him each time he comes to see you. Not even making it out of the seatbelt before releasing all over himself, all in his pants. Shaking, panting, all alone and without you.

“Cute,” You chuckle, finally turning your head slightly and landing a pop kiss on him. “I think of you when I do it too, every time you leave.”

He looks at you, willing his hips to stay put as he thinks about the image of you doing that in this very room, to images and thoughts of him.

“You do?” He asks for reassurance easily.

“Mhm,” You look away from him as you sit straight up and then scoot down the bed. There, you lay yourself down against your pillows and look at him. “Come here.”

He’s reluctant to take your hand. But even he can admit that this side by side makeout session is starting to hurt his neck, and you’re clearly asking him to get on top of you right now.

“You don’t have to but, Chan–” You say, looking down, “I don’t want you to leave this time.”

Well, shit, all you had to do was say that. Honestly, the way you look at him with pure acceptance is enough to push him past the wall in his head that keeps him from finally trying to take the next step. You accept him as he is now, surely you’d accept him if he…. doesn’t last, right? What about if he isn’t good at it?

Still, he finds himself planting one hand on the other side of your head to balance himself on top of you. Still just hovering, not yet wanting or willing to, you know, put it against you.

You smile.

“It’s okay, I can tell you’re nervous. We don’t have to do anything else, I’m happy with just this.”

And then you both fall back into another, much more comfortable and natural feeling, makeout session.

As much as you’d love for him to try and take control, his reluctance allows you to contain yourself. It allows you to respect him and his decision of whether or not he wants to do anything more than this. Still, this satisfies you. And if he really does stay, maybe he wouldn’t be entirely against watching you take care of your own arousal for him. Maybe he’d feel better watching even, taking notes on what you like, learning where to touch you.

And you know, that really would have been okay but you can’t help but feel like he’s definitely wanting more. With the way his lips grow hungrier rather than more tired, with the way he’s starting to moan shamelessly into your mouth, with the way his hands are trying to travel to more intimate places on your body before stopping himself.

You might be pushing it with the assumption, but it doesn’t hurt to try and help him, right?

When you feel his hands moving to your waist, up, up, and up until they’re just barely brushing against the underside of your breast, he pulls back again and pulls your shirt down to cover the exposed skin, all while kissing you harder.

You place your hand over his, wasting not even a second as you guide him back under your shirt, right up to where you know he wants to touch.

And holy fuck does he. He doesn’t even pull back when you lay it against the warm and exposed flesh from under your shirt. His hand immediately starts groping. His lips immediately stutter against you in a relieved sigh from him, and all you can do is kiss him now with the same energy he seems to have in that one single hand.

“You’re allowed to touch me, but if you need help doing it, just tell me–” You pull back to whisper, trying to take it another step further in the act of kissing against his jaw and down his neck. “I want to touch you too, but I’ll keep my hands to myself unless you tell me otherwise.”

It’s like he really forgets how to talk or give proper consent when his entire body is acting like a fucking greenlight for you right now. He feels so pathetic, on the verge of orgasm with nothing more than the soft fabric of his sweatpants to relieve him, and yet your breast in his hand, nipple hardening under his palm before he musters the courage to put it between his fingers, it’s a lot to take in, okay?

Still, he tries to say something, and he’s even more embarrassed by the way his voice sounds like it isn’t even his own. He sounds broken when the sound reaches his ears.

“Don’t–” He starts, cutting himself off at the feeling of your lips kissing against the pulse point of his neck.

“Hm?” You ask, pulling back and away, hoping you didn’t press too much.

“Don’t stop.” He mutters out again, a little less embarrassed now that he feels you sigh against that same pulse point with the way his fingers fondle your nipple mindlessly. “Don’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Your brain falls into a stunned silence at his words, bringing a type of nervousness to bubble up in your own body. Is this really it? Is this when it’s going to happen? On a saturday night, against your pillows, muffled cartoons playing in the background…..past ten in the evening?

You can’t help it as you kiss against his neck. You really can’t, with the way he opens himself up to be vulnerable with you while actively being on top of you, while playing with your breasts, while containing himself.

He seems to need you to do the pushing, but you really cannot shake the nervousness of being his first. You’re almost certain he is nervous about so many things, but still he appears to be eager to try. He’s eager to be with you, and, ultimately, to know what it feels like to be with another person that matters to him in that way.

“Is there–” You stop, breath caught in your throat, only to fall out against his throat when he finally seems to have the confidence to make his first move. One that would seem so small to anyone else, but he– he raises a hand and holds the back of your neck, trying to press your lips and guide them to the area of his neck that he wants you to kiss.

And you do, with blatant encouragement to him for doing that, all while trying to finish your previous thought.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” You ask, kissing and now, licking against the spot on his neck that makes him shiver.

He sighs in a shudder, craning his neck to expose more skin for you before his hand stills against your nipple and he pulls his hand from your shirt.

“All of it?” He starts, a bit unsure of himself. “Everything?” He adds, pulling himself back from your lips and watching you fall back to your pillows. He leans his body up, relieving his legs from his weight and sitting on his heels in front of you, only slightly between your legs now.

You can see that he has a bit more confidence with the way he’s looking at you.

“I want to try all of it.” He continues, placing two hands on your knees, pushing your legs together and using his palms to make them sway left and right. It’s as if he’s thinking hard. “I mean, if you want to.”

You smile.

You want nothing more than to do this with him, for him, and for yourself.

“Yeah?” You ask for confirmation, now lifting yourself and re-positioning yourself onto your knees to mimic his own stance.

He nods in a blatant and shy way, knowing that you can physically see how badly he wants this, and how badly he wants you to be the one to do this with him. He’s achingly hard, and he isn’t sure if he’s ever managed to get this fucking hard in his entire life.

It really is painfully arousing, with the way his pants stretch against the head when he’s sitting like this. The way the fabric offers little to no sensation but while looking at you, he feels all fucked up and warm. He tries to forget that there’s precum all over him, seeping through the pants that are presented before you, and god, the way you look right at it.

He doesn’t shy away despite being as shy as he could possibly be right now. In fact, when your eyes trail back up to him, licking your lips before smiling, he a fucking goner. He knew he wanted you bad, but never did he know he needed you this badly.

He’s so fucking lucky.

“It looks… big.” You comment, leaning forward only slightly and sizing your boyfriend up. “But for your sake, I’ll try to control myself from moving too fast. I’ll go slow, okay?”

He doesn’t even nod, he’s too entranced with you in front of him, fully clothed, lifting his own shirt off of him as if he is incapable of doing it himself. Then again, he kind of is incapable at this moment. He swears his IQ must’ve dropped to a single digit by this point.

And when that shirt comes up and over his head, you note that he doesn’t even blink. That small moment where his face was obscured as you pulled it off of him? His eyes stayed on you both before and after, only now– his hair is a total fucking mess and all you can do is feel endeared by it.

“God, you’re so fucking attractive,” You groan in sexual frustration with an eyeroll. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t jumped your bones yet.”

Now he breaks eye contact at the praise, glancing away from you and trying his hardest not to smile like an idiot at those words.

“To be fair, I’ve fucked up my fair share of relationships being embarrassed.” He laughs. “Kinda glad I did though.”

You land your eyes back on him, staring blankly at his naked chest and trying your damnedest not to look at him like he’s some piece of meat. But goddamn, the body of this man.

“Come here, switch places with me.” You smile, reaching forward and trying not to think too hard about the way his arms flex when you grip them to move him. “Here, lay back.”

And within seconds, you’re between his legs and looking down at his half-lidded, arousal driven eyes.

“Fuck, really?” You groan again, glancing away. “It’s really taking everything in me, Chan, it really is.”

His heart is doing flips as he stares up at you. He feels doted on, adored, attractive. So he encourages more of those annoyed praises from you.

“Taking everything in you to…?”

You chuckle, because the audacity of this drunk and in love fool.

“Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to be in this exact position?” You smile, reaching down to run your fingers down his chest and straight to that happy trail that he so readily hid from you. “It’s taking everything in me to slow down–”

“Then don’t.” He says proudly, albeit still a bit shy at your words.

You can see how red his ears are, only partially hidden by that head of messy ass hair. His stupid pretty eyes and gentle smile are directed straight at you without any type of reluctance.

“There’s my confident boyfriend.” You chuckle, toying with the hair beneath his belly button and trying to not comment on the way his body jumps a bit at the feeling. “Was wondering where he went after he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

And he remains silent after that, watching the way you take the reins and lean down to kiss against that same spot of his neck. Warm breath fanning over the skin before attaching yourself there.

Surely you can feel the way his hips react, humping up at each flutter of your lips. If you couldn’t, he knows for a fact that you’ll be able to now. With the way you trail down, across his own sensitive nipples, and then down, down, down.

He glances down at you at the same time when you glance up at him and right then and there he thinks he melts. He’s never seen a woman look at him from this angle, and it’s only a little bit detrimental to his heavy and pathetic cock. The twitching never stops, he feels so fucking sticky in his pants and it really just doesn’t stop. Continuous leaking, and he really had no idea that there could even be this much pre-cum.

Then, he’s pulled out of his thoughts with….a tickle?

“Oh?” You smile, leaning down to repeat that lick up his happy trail before landing a kiss straight on his belly button.

His body jumps again, and he lets out a moaned chucked unintentionally.

“Oh.” You smile wider, gripping both of his hips with your hands and holding him down in a playful way. Repeating the act once again.

Your suspicions are confirmed with a third jump of his body, and another chuckled, frustrated moan.

“So, he’s ticklish too?” You say with another kiss against his belly button before fluttering your fingers at the side of his hips.

His entire body goes rigid before melting against the bed in an attempt to not react to the way you take advantage of a hidden weakness he had. God, he should have known that…like, sex stuff could be ticklish.

“No– I’m not.” He lies, jolting again when you continue to test the resilience he thinks he has against your lips and fingers. “Hey–!”

And, well, you would’ve stopped if it weren’t for the fact that his hips raise with each tickled sensation, and you can genuinely feel how damp and heavy he is in his pants. It’s entirely arousing in the way its weight is obvious through his attempts to wiggle from your ticklish touches.

“Alright,” You finally relent, landing one final kiss to his belly before licking down that same line of hair he offers his body. “Chan, I want to–”

His hips immediately raise to your words, the wetness from your tongue feels like ice against his skin when the air hits it and at this point, he thinks he knows what you’re suggesting.

“Please–” He nearly cries out in a stutter. “Touch it.”

You smile as you nuzzle your nose against his abdomen before giving him a short nod that you know he doesn’t see. Considering, well, he just threw his arm over his face and keeps his hips tensed, and his ass only slightly lifted off of the bed.

Desperate. Willing.

You prepare yourself for seeing it for the first time by not seeing it at all just yet. Instead, you kiss down until your lips are met with warm, damp fabric. Immediately you can feel his length twitch under your lips when you reach it, and all you can manage to do is flatten your tongue out and against it to feel it pulse again.

And again, until that same arm thrown over his face reaches down in a desperate attempt to take the pants off for you. He’s the one losing his self control now, no embarrassment or nervousness in sight from him, and it’s so fucking attractive to see him do it.

His shaking fingers fumbling with the waistband, shoving the pants down just an inch or so more to reveal more of that trimmed hair.

You don’t comment on the way he’s acting out of fear that it’ll make him feel shamed or even mocked, despite you truly believing it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a man do in front of you.

Instead, you help him. Sinking your own fingers beneath his pants and tugging them down all in one go before allowing your eyes to land on it.

“Jesus fucking christ.” He moans out, the air alone offering an overwhelming amount of sensation due to the temperature change he now feels between his legs.

You finally look at it, so dark in color. As if all of the blood in his body resides only here. You gently move your hand just over it, feeling the heat radiate from him, seeing the precum continuously dribble from the head, and then, finally–

“You’re so….” You trail off, in awe of the way his body just….keeps reacting. So much pre-cum. “Hard.”

He releases a broken little sound at the feeling of your fingers finally touch him, and it feels insanely different from when he touches it himself. As if he’s not in control of his pleasure, and it’s all just you. You are the one who feels good against him.

You’re shocked briefly when his hand makes it’s way back down to yours, grabbing it and essentially trying to get you to stimulate him more. He puts so much pressure against your hand, sandwiching it between his own palm and stiffened cock.

You’re tuly in awe. This man has essentially edged himself to a world record, surely.

“Slow down,” You try to soothe him, moving your hand against him and watching him retract his hand. “Relax, It must feel good, right?”

That little sob he lets out shows you his frustration. So needy, so ready. And even with you moving your fingers to circle his pulsing length, his hips continuously fuck up, not allowing him to have even a moment without a forceful amount of stimulation.

“So good,” He moans, entire brain focused on what your hand is doing and unable to open his eyes. “I want it so bad.”

You don’t think he hears you chuckle and you’re thankful he doesn’t. You can imagine he would genuinely be embarrassed to know you’re witnessing his pure blissed-out and aroused-state of mind right now.

And it’s not shocking that he’s entirely focused on himself at this moment, because he’s the one experiencing this for the first time. Even if you find it hard to believe that another woman has never touched his dick, you’re entirely flattered that it very well may be the case and that he wanted you to be the one to make him feel this good.

“I’ll give it to you, just relax. I’m not going to stop.” You reassure his needy movements, and the way his body squirms at the slightest of touches. “What feels good?”

God, he’s so frustrated.

“All of it.” He groans shortly, trying to take in a deep breath and just relax like you asked him too.

You nod to his closed eyes and slacked mouth, fighting against his hips to be the one to pleasure him rather than himself and only when you blow a gentle breath against the head of his cock do his hips still and he shoots his hands up to your pillows, gripping them as if he’s preparing for something.

You watch intently at the way he’s actively fighting to move now, waiting impatiently for you to do something now. Licking his lips, chewing on his bottom lip– god, he’s so pretty up there.

Then, you grant him a new sensation. Only because by this point you’re the one who is about to lose control.

You stick out your tongue and lick all the way from his balls to the head of his cock, making sure to keep pressure against it so that you can taste all of the arousal he’s spilled up until now. And while you were going to pull back to examine his reaction, this is the part where you release your self control.

The taste alone was enough to have you moaning, vibrating your voice against the vein of his length and then circling your lips around the head.

Instantly, you suck at the feeling of pre-cum still pouring out of him. This time, there seems to be more. Coating your tongue with an almost sweetened salty taste.

You feel briefly the way his hips chase the new warmth, clearly wanting to tuck itself into your mouth and quite possibly, down your throat, but you pull back and blow once again against the head.

His entire body shivers as you glance up at him.

You can barely comprehend just how into you he looks right now before rolling your own eyes in arousal at the image before immediately giving him everything your mouth has to offer.

Who cares if he comes too fast? Fucking look at him. You’d be stupid not to suck the absolute life out of him! That’s your boyfriend up there, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes sparkling through hooded lids, chest heaving–

And god, you almost wish he wasn’t as big as he is because it’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you take it in. You have to focus on sliding it through your lips, against your tongue, and right up to the back of your throat where the head of his cock bumps.

He can feel the way your fingers grip his legs through it, and by this point he has gone entirely non-verbal at the feeling.

The only sound he can make comes from deep within his chest, and he can only release those sounds with heaved out and rigid breaths. His heart is pumping faster and faster the deeper you managed to take him, and–

“Ah! W-wait!” He panics, sitting straight up and becoming fucking floored at the way you stay on him. Moving your hands to his stomach and trying to shove him back. “Fuck,” He seethes as he takes in a sharp inhale, legs shaking as he flops back against the pillows. “Fuck, i’m sorry.” He continues to murmur, feeling himself hit the wall of orgasm and practically pulverize it.

And you, oh, you. You taste it. You feel the twitching and the way his muscles stiffen under your fingers. You can hear him muttering apologies as it spills into your mouth, down your throat, and even out of the corners of your lips.

You try to take all of it, up until you can’t fucking breathe, and only then do you pull up and replace your mouth with your hand, watching in awe at the way he just……

It doesn’t fucking stop.

He went from rigid to stammering his words, to now blatantly and full-on moaning through both the pleasure and frustration of losing the warmth of your mouth.

“God, Chan….” You whisper in a raspy voice, slowing your hands and intentionally pumping it out of him by now.

“I’m sorry–” He stammers, body still shaking as you pull the rest of it out of him. “I tried to,” He winces with another unintentional moan. “I didn’t think it would feel that good.”

You smile both proudly and fondly, watching him stumble through his words and whatever excuse he tries to come up with.

“I don’t think you know how hot you look right now.” You finally say, in a more stern voice. “You couldn’t have stopped me if you wanted to.”

Only now, when he’s absolutely drenched himself in his release does he open his eyes in a drowsy way. He looks at you and that little smile on your lips and decides that, yeah, he can believe you. He trusts you, and he’s entirely obsessed with you.

“But we still haven’t–”

You cut him off quickly.

“We have all night. All day tomorrow. All week, month, year. I don’t care.” You dead-pan, reaching for his, somehow, still hard length. “Chan.” You add, gripping it and testing the actual hardness of it. “You’re still hard, which is fucking amazing by the way, and you have no idea how wet I am right now.”

Oh, my god. He forgot.

“You– you’re turned on?” He asks, looking away from you.

“So fucking turned on.” You confirm for him, now releasing his length to give him a bit of a rest, considering he must not realize he’s still shaking. “Look, feel.”

You say it as you crawl up and on top of him, seating yourself right up against his abdomen and grabbing his hand.

He just stares, watching you guide his hand straight to the seat of your shorts.

“Oh.” He sighs out.

“Even through my shorts. See? Feel it.” You continue to move his hand against you, trying not to rut your own hips up much like he was doing before.

Brain malfunction. He doesn’t even have a fucking IQ at this point as his cock immediately reacts in all of it’s sensitive, pathetic glory.

“Do you want me to, um,” He swallows around a breath he didn’t know he needed. “touch you? Can I try?”

You sigh, relieved that he’s willing and immediately push yourself off of him and take care of all of the busy-work as quickly as possible. ie: taking off your clothes.

Unfortunately, you somehow briefly forgot that the man is still a fucking virgin. You can very nearly see his mouth fall open at your nude body being revealed to him. Even more so, you can see the dribble of saliva that he doesn’t quite catch fast enough, and his cock reacts.

“You’re so cute, god.” You praise with the same compliment you’ve been giving him all night.

And when you seat yourself next to him, hugging one of his arms and tucking it between your legs before closing your thighs around it, you smile at him and the way he literally cannot stop staring with his mouth agape.

“Babe, you’re drooling.” You chuckle, shifting your hips a bit to rub yourself against his knuckles, where you’re still hugging his arm.

Only then does he slurp up his embarrassment and try to remain calm. His fogged brain comes back to him quickly upon your comments as he wills himself to sit up beside you.

He gets to….touch you.

And boy does he.

Eagerly, messily, and quite frankly, kind of embarrassingly.

You make it easier for him though, laughing as you flop back and spread your legs for him. He’s quick to simply…explore. He’s not aiming for any singular area of your pussy because to be quite honest, he’s still struggling to stop staring at the entirety of you.

You watch his eyes, the way they stare at your tits, then your thighs, your pussy being petted by his fingertips, and then– eye contact.

He seems so sure of himself despite still managing to barely touch the clit. It doesn’t bother you one bit, because his eager fingers still find ways to touch you beautifully. There’s so much intent behind the messy movements.

Slipping and sliding two fingers between your lips, up your folds, and then stopping just short of your clit before sliding back down and feeling where his cock would go if he manages to make it this far.

I mean, surely he will, right? He’s losing his virginity as he does this right now, even. Foreplay still counts, right?

And then, after several minutes of him exploring, learning, and practically teasing you half to death, you reach down to guide him.

“Right here,” You soothe out in a soft voice, pressing his fingers against your clit and seeing him take note of it. “And here.” You trail his fingers down until they reach your clenched hole, and you very slightly press against his fingers so that the tips just barely enter you.

He tilts his head at you, concentrating on where you lead him before releasing his hand and essentially leaving him to his own devices now.

And you know, he did tell you he was a quick learner, because almost immediately he’s experimenting with putting a finger into you, and using his other hand to find a rhythm to rub against your clit.

The whole time, he checks for your reaction, noting when your breathing hitches and when your body tenses. He continues, trying to only do things that make your body react and soon, you’re already turning to mush beneath him.

His fingers circle and tap your clit at a quick pace, with the other twisted inside of you. When he slides his finger out, and then back in, he rubs your clit harder, and god, yeah. Okay. You see his effort, and it’s such a good fucking effort too.

“Feels good,” You finally moan out for him, allowing yourself to give in to the pure arousal of the entire situation taking place. Thinking hard about what it would feel like to have such a desperate cock inside of you. “Use two fingers?”

He listens instantly, moaning along with you when he slides the other in with the next thrust. His fingers against your clit trail down shortly after, curiosity getting the best of him when he spreads your lips open to see you stretch around his fingers.

“It’s so warm–” He comments more to himself than to you, watching the way you pulse around him, watching the way your slick seeps out of you. It’s so hot for him to see it up close like this, and his pace slows at the image before him. “Can you take more than two?”

You lift your head in amazement at how he could ask such a thing.

“Chan.” You smile at the way he jumps in surprise at your sudden, louder voice. Fingers nearly slipping out of you. “I can take way more than just two fingers.” You glance down between his legs. “Way, way more.”

He glances down to what you’re looking at before letting out an embarrassed sob.

“You’re really going to let me?” He nearly whines in excitement.

You nod, reaching for him and pulling him to you by his shoulders. You land a kiss against his lips, trying not to shake at the way his fingers angle different inside of you as he moves to chase your lips.

“Mhm,” You soothe against his lips, intentionally scooting your hips down to your best ability to sink his fingers into you more. “Move your fingers– it feels good like this.”

He listens, feeling you throw your arms around his neck and cling to him through it, all while moaning and groaning right up against his lips. You’re not even kissing him, you’re just….acting like this and it’s fucking great.

He thought he would be the only one to be desperate in this situation, yet here you are, clinging to him as he works his fingers in you.

“When?” He finally asks upon noting the way you start to move your hips against his fingers.

You peek your eyes open and pull back to look at him.

“Now? Do you want to do it now?”

He nods, slipping his fingers out of you and inspecting how wet they’ve become.

“Can I?”

You finally fall back, leaning against your elbows and spreading your legs wide in front of him. Lending him a nod, you watch the way he just freezes after the fact.

All you can do is laugh at this moment with the way he loses any ability to remember how sex works.

Then again, you wonder if he ever even watched porn, considering how he’s acting and couldn’t manage to find the clit.

“Do you want me to be on top?” You question, blinking up at him and his blank expression.

He shakes his head at you, still frozen in his spot before his eyes slowly make their way down to the glistening sheen against your pussy.

“Don’t we like, need a condom or something? I can’t promise I’ll be able to pull out.” He asks, finally glancing away. “I don’t know if I can last as long as you want me to….”

And with that, all you do is lunge forward, grab your boyfriend by the cock, and pull him to you.

He laughs, you laugh, and then it’s silent when he leans over you, feeling his length lay against your core, already feeling spent but so, so ready to give himself to you.

“I’m on birth control. You don’t need to pull out.” You smile evilly, wiggling your hips and watching the way he closes his eyes tightly as if to regain his composure of those words.

“I’m seriously in love with you.” He mutters, pushing his hips forward and letting his length slide through the mess he made of you.

You smile, feeling that by this point, your face may actually be stuck like this permanently, and lift your head to kiss against his lips once more.

“You’re ready?” You ask quietly, against his lips. “I can help you adjust to where it needs to be. After that, I want you to do what feels best for you, okay?”

He nods timidly, taking in a deep and nervous breath before feeling your hand guide his length to the opening.

“Go on, slide in it.” You encourage him.

And he does.

Slowly at first, gently, until he feels your wet hot walls envelop the head of his cock in full, clenching, pulling him in.

His arms shake from either side of your head as he balances himself there, and it doesn’t take long for him to drop his head against your shoulder in deeper breaths than he was taking before.

The sensation is so much, it’s no wonder people like to have sex. It’s so good, you feel so, so good around him. He can’t help it when he slides in deeper, not stopping until he’s releasing a wet moan against your shoulder and holding onto you as if his life depends on it.

He thought that once he got it all the way in, it would get easier. But it doesn’t. Even as the two of you are unmoving, with your hands in his hair and soothing him through it, you still clench him. Your pussy still stimulates it without either of you doing a damn thing.

You on the other hand, won’t admit to struggling through that one, long and languid thrust inside of you. It felt as if he was splitting you open despite how wet you already were, and still are. The heaviness, the consistent twitching, all of it stretches you out more than you even knew you’d need and god, it feels so good to have him just hold onto you like, to have him adjust to the feeling.

He’s no longer a virgin, and that’s not even what matters right now.

What matters is the way he continuously nuzzles his nose against you, snaking his head to your neck and moaning consistently against your ear when he manages to finally move.

He pulls out only a little bit before his hips stutter at the sensitivity, then he pushes back in.

In and out, in and out, until–

“Fuck.” He moans, lifting suddenly from your neck, sitting up, staring directly at where his cock sits inside of you, and he just… lets go.

Knuckles white against the grip of your waist, he powers through the sensitivity, he fucks through it. Fast, with no real rhythm or ability to realize just how deep he’s pushing himself into you, and then….

He’s done for.

“That’s it,” You encourage him through half moans at the feeling, your swollen clit begging for a little bit of attention too. “Shit, Chan, that’s it.” You continue, losing yourself in his reaction to you.

He only moves faster, his hips only stutter more, and thank fuck he already came once because he wouldn’t have made it a solid inch into you before coming undone if he hadn’t. Now though? He’s pleasantly surprised to be lasting even this long.

Until he’s not, of course.

And there, between your legs, he presses in as far as he can reach and loses his breath.

Eyes rolling back, eyebrows furrowing, mouth agape, a deep moan rumbles from his chest as his shiver flows through his body at the first release inside of you.

You immediately shoot your hands to your clit, feeling it pump inside of you much like it did in your mouth. Already so much, you feel entirely full, and entirely ready if he can manage to keep coming for as long as he did before.

You fingers assault the swollen nub so fast, working yourself up much like you would during a quick session of masturbation, not wanting him to miss out on what it feels like to have a girl come on him–

It hits you faster than you can realize.

Even when he buckles and falls back to your chest out of breath, you can’t even tell him that it’s happening.

Thankfully, he doesn’t move just yet. Well, until he feels your pussy clench him tigher than before. In a rhythmic way, almost.

Only barely can he lift his head to watch you, and that’s when he notes that you’re holding your breath.

You pussy is pulsing, and then–

“Are you?” He questions, experimenting with the idea of trying to thrust into you as he asks.

There’s the breath you’d been holding.

“Yes!” You call out, both to answer his question and to appreciate that little thrust he gave you.

Even if his cock is slowly becoming flaccid, you’re still full, and he can still feel the orgasm wash over you.

He’s silent through it, wincing at his hyper-sensitive cock and very nearly cursing it out for not having waited just a minute longer to release– then, you’re hugging him.

Tightly. So tightly, you’re holding onto him and breathing into his hair. He can barely breathe himself with this hold you have on him. Still, he doesn’t fight it, he simply lets you.

Letting you cling, letting the last jolting pulses of your core push the rest of him out of you. There, he manages to lift from your weakening grasp and throw himself beside you.

Out of breath, sweating, a total mess, he looks at you like he truly will never be able to love another person the way he does right now.

And it falls silent for a long while before you roll over, throwing both an arm and leg over him.

“Man,” You sigh out. “How does it feel?” You ask this time, opening your eyes to playfully look at him.

“Huh? What?” He asks, quirking a brow.

“You know, now that you’re not a virgin anymore. How does it feel?”

He thinks hard for like two seconds before taking in a deep breath and smothering himself against the top of your head.

“Like I’m in love with you, maybe.”

And you know, given that this relationship is barely even considered one in the eyes of most people. You don’t think you care.

“Because I made you feel good, or because you want to let me make you feel good for like…” You pause, lifting your head to look him in the eye. “the rest of your life?”

He doesn’t even have to think twice.

“The second reason.”

“You’re such a simp, Chan, really.” You joke, skewing your head fondly to look at him. “But I think it’s worth a shot.”

Chapter two: LOSER. [wonwoo] ― coming soon!

series m.list

#lee chan smut #seventeen smut #hon <3 #i feel insane #i want you to know that i just finished reading this and there's nothing in my skull #it's all just liquid #this is the hottest fic you've ever written to me i think. i think it tops the one where mingyu subs for the first time holy shit #sorry for not remembering the name I'm going through it right now 💀#i think i understand how and why people masturbate to fanfics #because the urge hit me like a train many times throughout this #i think this is joining my hall of fame of fics from you and it's arguably my new favourite dino fic #i really like the way you approached reader making sure he was cool and comfortable with everyone god my EMOTIONS hon #the way he was so reactive jesus christ help me i do love a sensitive man #reader feeling the impulse to put her mouth on him wow she's just like me fr #honestly this is basically just me lmao #dino nearly having a stroke anytime reader did anything is my kind of man actually #it was equal parts hot and endearing #love that we all think this man has a girthy dick but like consider that i am fragile you know?#honestly you made him last longer than i thought he would #but god i do love a man who is just so into you that he loses any and all composure #nah see i get why you didn't write for him before this #you simply would've been too powerful amd destroyed too many lives (read: my life)#you can never write for dino again thanks /j #.....honestly this might be my new favourite fic of yours I'm not even joking #i will have to evaluate once i am less insane but honestly this might be top 3 for me #you've done it again #sorry for being a deranged mess in the tags but good lord this was so hot and well-written hon my god #q: painting with hyunjin #oh also i want you to know those reactions are only a fraction of how i feel #AND i know wonwoo's chapter is going to ruin my life as well :D

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icarusignite · 2 months ago

Text

he leaves you out like a penny in the rain (p.2)

Pairing: Zayne Li x Non MC Reader

Summary: You spent years orbiting Dr. Zayne Li, but when a careless comment shatters the fragile bond you thought you’d built, you walk away. Only then does Zayne realize what he's lost.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst. slowburn. Zayne being emotionally constipated rip

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: I did not expect all the overwhelming love and feedback on part 1, so thank you so much to everyone who read and interacted, you made my day.

There will be a part 3 later to explore them getting even closer, and that will be more fluff (I did say slowburn lmao). I know they don't technically kiss and make up in this one, but that would be unrealistic, and this chapter is essentially Zayne having an existential crisis lmao. Gotta make our man suffer a little. I may also make this a whole series with more snippets of their life together (dates, workplace shenanigans, wedding, etc.) cuz I am rather attached to the concept of Zayne x coworker lmao. As always would love ot hear yalls thoughts <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

"I didn't ask for her kindness. She's not helping anyone by wasting time with personal errands. If she spent as much energy on her department as she does playing nursemaid, maybe the pediatrics wing would run on schedule."

Zayne regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. In his head, they'd sounded like a neutral observation spoken in the abstract. But out loud? They were undeniably brutal.

He didn't even realize how harshly it had come across until he saw Miss Hunter's expression change. The easygoing smile slid off her face, and her eyes narrowed. She began gathering the files strewn across his desk in silence.

Zayne frowned. "What are you doing?"

Miss Hunter scowled without looking up. "Sometimes I forget that I'm speaking to someone with the emotional availability of a brick."

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes as she shoved a folder into her bag. "I do sincerely hope, for your sake, no one else heard you say that. Your colleague may be a lot of things, but incompetent is not one of them. I've never seen anyone work as hard as she does. She bends over backward for her patients, stays longer than anyone else, and still finds time to show basic human decency to the people around her. You don't have to like her, Zayne, but don't you dare belittle her like that."

Zayne opened his mouth to reply, but the woman had already thrown her coat over one shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "Didn't you say you needed my help with the case? That is why you've been coming in, haven't you?"

"I think I have what I need. Someone from the Association will give you a call if we require anything else." Her eyes met his one last time. "Thank you for your time, doctor. Now don't let me waste any more of it."

Then she was gone, and the silence she left behind was deafening. It wasn't like her to walk out like that. Frigid departures were his specialty.

He sat down slowly, but didn't open the file in front of him. Instead, his eyes drifted to the spot on his desk where you used to leave his tea for him.

Miss Hunter was kind. You were, too. He never quite understood why people like that kept finding their way into his life. He seemed terrible at keeping them there. And now, he was starting to understand why.

The words he'd said earlier soured in his stomach, replaying in his mind like a low-grade headache he couldn't medicate away. He didn't even know why he'd said them. It wasn't like him to speak without thinking.

Miss Hunter was one of his oldest friends. She had known him long before he was "Dr. Li." Back when he was just Zayne. She knew his tells better than anyone.

If she had caught him glancing at you every time you entered his office, she would have known immediately. She would have teased him mercilessly, bothered him about something he didn't even fully understand himself.

And she was your friend, too. Which meant she would've told you.

He certainly hadn't wanted that. It would ruin things.

Not that there was anything to ruin, technically. You weren't involved. You weren't his. You weren't anything more than a colleague.

From the early days of med school to the quiet corners of the hospital now, you flitted in and out of his life with a warm drink in one hand and a smile on your face, offering sugar and comfort like it cost you nothing.

Zayne knew better than to believe it was just for him. You were like that with everyone.

You brought donuts for the night shift nurses, slushies for interns melting in the summer heat, and hot cider during the freezing winter. You volunteered to cover holidays and swapped shifts without complaint. You remembered birthdays, favourite snacks, and which residents were allergic to almonds.

You were a kindness machine, and he hated that it still got to him. Sometimes it was hard not to feel like there was something different about the way you smiled at him, and when you slipped out of his office after each delivery, Zayne found it nearly impossible to concentrate afterward.

Your presence left ripples. He had insinuated that you were a distraction, but not because you hindered the hospital. No, you were a distraction to him. When you were gone, he was thinking about you, and when you were near, he couldn't think at all.

So why had he said what he said?

Because he didn't want Miss Hunter to know what he was feeling? Because he didn't want you to know?

Zayne took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. He still didn't have a good answer. The only real explanation was the simplest, and the hardest to admit: He'd been cruel. And now he felt the guilt of it like a stone in his throat.

Zayne wasn't the kind of man who tracked people's comings and goings. He only paid attention to pathology reports, test results, and charts with clear logic. He didn't count footsteps in the hallway or wonder where someone's voice had gone.

At least, not until yours had been missing for three days.

At first, he told himself it was a good thing. You were keeping your distance, finally, after all this time. No more interruptions. No more unsolicited desserts or stickers pressed onto his notes like a child's reward chart.

He had, after all, been pulling away from you, too. Maybe you'd finally taken the hint.

He should've been relieved. This distance was what he wanted, wasn't it? He'd convinced himself that if you were gone—if your presence stopped softening the corners of his day—then he'd finally be able to focus again. Be more efficient. More himself.

But to his growing dismay, the effect was the exact opposite. He could focus even less.

He spent too long rereading documents, missed the timing on his own schedule, and found his attention drifting in the middle of patient reports. Every time he turned a corner and didn't see you, he wondered where you were. When he passed the pediatric ward and didn't catch a glimpse of you hunched over a chart or joking with a young patient, he slowed to search without meaning to.

Maybe you were on vacation. That was rational. Doctors took leave all the time, and you of all people deserved one. But when he asked a pediatric nurse in passing, he got an answer that deflated every illusion he'd been holding onto.

"She's still on duty," the nurse explained. "Very busy. You know how she can be."

That was worse. You were close by, and still not coming around. It became harder to ignore.

Occasionally, he'd get a glimpse of your coat disappearing down a hall, or the top of your head as you ducked into the operating theatre, but never your face. And he certainly never saw you in his office again, even when you should have been there.

His desk was cleaner now. No crumbs from lemon cake, and no more paper cups of oolong. During his breaks, he found himself rifling through his drawers, trying not to look at the stack of stickers he kept there. The ones he peeled off and meant to toss, but never did.

There was the glittering, heart-shaped one you'd slapped onto his clipboard months ago. A cartoon cat, a kidney with googly eyes, and a shiny peach. You'd stuck that last one on his stethoscope once, and he hadn't taken it off for days, claiming it made his youngest patients smile.

But really, it was because it made you smile.

By the fifth day of your absence, he found himself looking up every time his office door opened. He dared not say aloud what he was hoping for, but the disappointment in his expression was telling enough when his guest never turned out to be you. He hadn't realized how often you used to cross his path until you didn't anymore.

On the sixth day, he lingered by the pediatric nurses' station, claiming he was checking up on a shared patient, but he didn't find you.

On the seventh, he stopped by the eastern stairwell just before midnight, the one he knew you liked to take instead of the elevator because you were trying to get your daily steps in. It was empty, but he waited for fifteen whole minutes.

By the end of the week, something in his chest felt too tight. The silences were heavy, and his tea never tasted right because he had to make it himself.

It was nearing midnight when Zayne finally finished logging the last of his post-op notes. The hospital had thinned to its late-shift hush, leaving only the occasional overhead call and the low hum of fluorescent lighting that never truly turned off.

The unexpected sound of knocking almost made him flinch, but when the door opened, his shoulders practically slumped in disappointment.

"No need to look so disheartened by my presence," his colleague, Dr. Greyson, teased. "I'm only here to drop off patient files, as you requested."

Zayne didn't respond.

"I really wish you hadn't scared off our caffeine supplier, though," Dr. Greyson continued, unaware of the subtle shift in the man's demeanour at the mention of you.

"Excuse me?"

"You know. The doctor who used to swing by with desserts. She hasn't come by in a whole week. The whole cardiology department is suffering. Morale's at an all-time low."

Zayne rolled his eyes. "I hardly think anyone's suffering."

Greyson tilted his head, watching him with that infuriating look that said I know more than you think I do."Did you scare her off or something? You used to get visits like clockwork. Can't believe I'm saying this, but I find myself missing that 'you-forgot-to-eat-again' look of pity she used to give all of us."

"She is probably busy. As you should be."

Greyson clicked his tongue. "I'm not trying to pry—well, maybe I am, just a little—but I figure if she stopped showing up, and you started passing by pediatrics like you're casing the joint, something must've happened."

"Nothing happened," Zayne muttered stiffly.

"Sure. Except for the part where she's been sending interns to collect your reports instead of coming herself. And the part where you've looked like someone kicked your cat for three days straight. You're not as subtle as you think."

"It's none of your business."

"Isn't it?" his colleague drawled. "Because it's starting to affect your concentration. You missed a detail on that post-op note yesterday. Not like you."

Zayne's lips pressed into a thin line. "It was corrected immediately."

"Doesn't mean I didn't notice." Then he added, more gently, "You know, if she's avoiding you, there's probably a reason."

Dr. Greyson's words echoed long after he departed.

Zayne scoffed at first, but the question refused to dislodge itself, settling under his skin like a splinter he couldn't quite reach.

What had he done? What could he have done?

He turned the thought over again and again, as if studying it from every clinical angle might make it reveal itself.

Yes, perhaps he'd been colder than usual lately, but that wasn't new. You'd known him long enough to recognize the ebb and flow of his moods. You used to tease him about it. "Dr. Li, did your coffee betray you again today?" or "Should I come back when the glacier thaws?"

You always came back because you weren't the type to hold a grudge. And certainly not the type to vanish without a word. If something bothered you, you would have said it.

So, why disappear?

The only thing he'd done differently, the only deviation from the constant rhythm of your companionship, was—

His stomach turned.

No.

There was no way.

Had you heard what he said to Miss Hunter that night? Or worse, had she told you herself?

Miss Hunter wasn't the sort to do that, especially if she knew it would hurt you. But you hadn't been working that night. He'd checked the rota; you weren't even on call.

His voice sounded vindictive in hindsight. He had only meant it as a deflection. A way to keep Miss Hunter from pressing further into places he hadn't yet dared to look himself. He hadn't thought—

He hadn't thought.

His gut twisted. That would explain your absence. You hadn't simply disappeared, you'd withdrawn. And not just from him, but from his whole department.

He'd done something worse than push you too far. He'd made you feel small and irrelevant.

Zayne exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair, overcome with guilt. He didn't know what he was going to do. He wasn't good with apologies. He wasn't even sure how to begin, but something had to be done.

If not for himself—he still wouldn't allow himself that admission—then at least for the others. For the people who looked to you. For the space you had filled so effortlessly, that now felt so cold and painfully quiet.

Maybe, if he could fix this, you'd look at him again the way you used to. Maybe it was time for him to stop watching his door and finally go knock on yours.

The next week, Zayne finally mustered the courage to approach you. He stood just by your office, waiting for you to arrive, but when you finally did, you were moving too quickly for him to say anything. Your shoulders were tensed as you ducked past him, and without thinking to ask for permission, he followed you inside.

You didn't even acknowledge his presence. You were hunched over a drawer, rifling through it with your good hand. The other one—your dominant, he noticed—was clenched in a bloodied fist, a crimson thread trickling from between your fingers and down your wrist.

"You're hurt," he murmured.

You ignored him, yanking open another drawer with more force than necessary. Your good hand trembled as you pulled out the first aid kit, and it clattered onto the desk, spilling slightly.

He took a step forward. "You're bleeding. What happened?"

Still no response, and Zayne was forced to watch as you clumsily opened the box, tugging at alcohol wipes and sterile gauze with one hand, fumbling with the bandage roll like it had personally offended you. When the antiseptic hit your wound, you hissed, and that was the last straw.

Zayne reached for your wrist, and you pulled back as if stung, your blood-slicked palm cradled awkwardly against your chest.

"I just want to—"

"Leave me be!" you snapped. "Please. I have work to do."

He didn't raise his voice. "You can't work like this."

"I am working like this."

"You can't take care of your patients if you can't take care of yourself."

You let out an incredulous laugh. "Is this your way of calling me incompetent again? Believe me, Dr. Li, I have no time for you right now."

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed impatiently. "I'm not trying to—look, please, just let me help. You can snap at me all you want afterwards."

Without waiting for your response, he firmly nudged you in the direction of your chair, and you let him because standing suddenly felt too exhausting. Maybe the adrenaline had worn off, or maybe you were just too tired to argue anymore. You kept your mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line as he worked.

Zayne didn't speak either, kneeling beside you tentatively. He did not look at your face as he pried open your fist, his frown deepening as he examined the wound. Then he cleaned it with uncharacteristic tenderness, wiping away the blood and wrapping the gauze, his fingers stalling against your skin a beat too long.

When he finally stood to pack the kit away, you stood too, your anger spilling past your lips in a venomous tumble.

"My apologies for wasting your precious time with personal errands, Dr. Li," you practically sneered. "But you don't have to play nursemaid anymore. You do have a department to run, after all."

His own words thrown back at him. Zayne winced, but met your gaze without faltering. He deserved every bit of your resentment. "That was...certainly warranted."

You scoffed, pressing your wrapped hand into your lap. "Damn right, it was."

He nodded stiffly, absorbing the blow without complaint. He would accept your barbed words because at least you were speaking to him. Anything was better than your silence.

"I..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

When all you could do was glower at him, he adjusted his lab coat just to have something to do with his hands.

"I have no excuse for what I said. Or for what you heard," he continued. "It was... awful. And cruel. And I was wrong. You work harder than anyone else here. You work too hard. And I never should've implied otherwise. I'm sorry."

"I don't accept it," you said simply.

"I—"

"I don't care if that makes me petty. I'm allowed to be angry. You don't get forgiveness just because you decided to feel bad about it now."

Zayne's mouth parted in protest. "I know this is about the conversation you overheard, and I—"

"The one where you called me pathetic? Questioned my competence? You essentially said I've been neglecting my job because I bring my colleagues refreshments every now and then?"

"You must know...I had no intention of hurting you."

"Didn't you?" You stepped back, putting some distance between the two of you. "Because I remember every word. Every. Word. And believe me, it wasn't the first time I've been told I'm not good enough to be here. I just never thought you'd be the one to say it."

He flinched, but you didn't give him the chance to say anything else.

You tipped your head toward the door. "Please leave, Dr. Li. As per your earlier suggestions, I am working on managing my time better, and part of that includes not engaging in pointless conversations."

You followed him to the door, closing it in his face with a click. It was worse than if you had slammed it, because this felt too final.

He was just about to leave when he heard the strangled sound from the other side. A whimper and then a quiet sniffle. Zayne stood frozen in place, hand hovering over the doorknob, wishing he could offer more than the hollow apology he had.

His voice, when it came, was hoarse. "Truly, I am sorry."

For the first time in all the years he had known you, there was nothing else he could say.

Zayne didn't try to speak to you again. You asked him to leave you alone, and he respected your decision enough to resist intruding into your life. But that didn't mean he stopped caring, and he certainly never stopped trying. He just changed the way he did it.

You never ran out of your favourite stationery, a new box appearing on your desk every time you were even close, and it seemed that someone had paid for a lifetime's worth of beverage orders at the cafe across the street where you frequented. Every time you showed up, the barista would grin at you and tell you that your order had been paid for, no matter what hour it was. It was absurd.

The nurses had started noticing, too. How Zayne signed off on consults for your shared patients before you could ask him to. And the fact that the smartboard in your office now auto-updated like clockwork because someone had programmed the algorithm to pull directly from the cardiology logs.

He didn't overstep, of course. He didn't want to do anything that would make you think he was questioning your competence or ability to get things done. He just handled the little things to make your life easier.

For Zayne, it wasn't about being forgiven. He wasn't delusional enough to think that any of this would win you over, but that wasn't the point. He just couldn't stand the thought of you being tired, overworked, or overlooked anymore.

He knew you were angry, and you had every right to be, but this was the only way he could think of to fix things. To anticipate your every need before it arose and solve it before it became a problem.

However, no matter how much he tried to stay out of your way, his eyes were always drawn toward you when he occasionally passed you by, like a reflex he couldn't kill. You never returned the look, and though it killed him, he never stopped refilling the frog stickers when the last sheet disappeared from your drawer, and making sure the lab results for your most critical cases were flagged top priority. He wasn't waiting for your gratitude. He just didn't know what else to do with the ache that sat where your laughter used to echo.

It became unbearable when he began messing with your break room. The one in the pediatric wing was barely even a room, really just a glorified closet with a dying microwave and a fridge that made suspicious humming noises when overfilled. But it had been your domain. A little corner of chaos you liked to keep warm for the interns and residents who rotated through your department, stumbling half-asleep between charts and crying toddlers.

You'd made it a habit to stock the cabinets with snacks. Caffeine bars. Gummy vitamins. Single-serve juice boxes and thermal mugs with weird slogans. It wasn't much, but it made the 2 a.m. shifts bearable. People had started calling it the "Sunshine Station."

But lately, something had shifted.

You didn't notice it at first because you were too busy. But then, one afternoon, you ducked into the room to grab the last apple juice from the mini fridge, only to find that the juice had already been restocked. Not just that, it had been rearranged neatly, the labels facing out. Right next to a new box of cereal bars that no one else even liked, but your most overworked intern swore kept her from fainting.

It was strange. You hadn't placed an order this month because you'd been shamefully distracted by your own indignation. When you checked the other cabinets, they were full too, and not just with generics, either.

The gummy vitamins were the exact kind your other interns liked, the ones shaped like bears instead of those awful chalky tablets. Whoever had placed the order had even remembered to get lactose-free yogurt.

When you asked around later that day, all you received were blank stares. Those who frequented the break room claimed that the items had been simply delivered as they always were, and that they thought you had been the one to handle it like you always did.

It unsettled you. For years, you had been the one to keep things stocked. You took pride in remembering everyone's favourites because you liked showing up for the people who worked under you. It mattered to you. But now it was as if someone had quietly picked up where you left off. Someone had taken the time to learn what your team liked. Someone who was trying very hard to make amends.

You shut the thought down fast. You didn't want to think about him.

But your interns had other ideas, it seemed.

The next evening, you were filling out patient notes at the corner table, half-tuned out, while they squabbled over a nearly empty box of mango pudding cups.

"I swear to god, Nam, that was my last one!"

"First come, first serve, Clara. You've had four already!"

"I'm dessert-loading for morale!"

You didn't intervene. Their bickering was strangely comforting, like white noise after too many days of stifling silence.

Clara finally wrenched the box from Nam's hands, only to gasp dramatically.

"They're gone!" she mourned, rattling the empty cardboard. "My pudding! This is an emergency!"

"Just ask Dr. Li to add them to the supply list," Nam muttered, crouching to inspect the fridge's bottom shelf for apple slices.

You froze. "Ask who?"

Nam's head jerked up, eyes wide. "I—I mean, like. I don't know why I said that. Just—someone else must've added them to the order since you've been so busy lately. That's all I meant."

Clara nodded with a false smile. "We must have a secret supplier in our midst who keeps us stocked. The Snack Phantom. Or maybe... the Nutrition Ninja."

Nam nodded sagely. "The Candy Courier."

"Or the Juicy Justice Man."

"Okay, now you're just being plain ridiculous," you snorted, rubbing your temple. "In case you forgot, I'm the one who places the orders. And I'm sorry I forgot to this month. So what's all this about Dr. Li? He's got nothing to do with us."

Clara's eyes bounced between you and Nam guiltily. "Oh. Uh...it's just that he asked us about our snack preferences."

Nam nodded. Then quickly shook his head. "Well, not all of them. Just like... a few specific ones."

You squinted suspiciously. "Like what?"

Nam hesitated. "Like, which flavour of chips you like. And which brand of protein bars Clara eats when she's on night shifts. And those gummies that Dr. Gao hoards like a dragon."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable.

"Dr. Li doesn't believe in vending machines," Clara deadpanned, trying to ease the awkward atmosphere. "I swear I've heard him call flavoured chips 'an affront to God' once."

"He's not trying to replace you, of course," Nam added hastily. "He's just taking stuff off your plate. We all know how busy you've been lately. You even have that health outreach drive this weekend."

Your jaw clenched, and you looked back down at your chart, trying to keep your expression unreadable. In your periphery, you saw the two interns nudge each other, mumbling something about a chart they forgot to update before scuttling off.

When the room cleared out a few minutes later, you were left alone with your tepid green tea, staring at a worn sticker someone had left on the edge of the table. The same kind you used to put on Zayne's mugs.

Suddenly, every little thing felt far too overwhelming. You didn't know what you were supposed to feel.

Gratitude? Bitterness? Some ugly combination of both?

You were just so tired.

It was past midnight when you finally finished with your tasks of the day, exhaustion making your limbs feel like they belonged to someone else. Your coat was slung over your arm, your bag slumped tiredly against one shoulder, and the charts you'd meant to leave in the admin office tilted in your grip like a collapsing tower.

You cursed under your breath when a few of them slipped loose and tumbled to the floor. When you bent, your back made an uncharacteristic sound, and you winced. You hadn't eaten dinner. Or lunch, or even breakfast, for that matter. Your feet hurt, and you still had a dozen things to do tomorrow, even though it was supposed to be your day off.

Of course, this would happen. Of course—

"Let me help."

You turned sharply, and there stood Dr. Zayne Li, just a few paces away.

His hair was impeccable as always, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, coat draped carelessly over his shoulder. He looked as tired as you felt. More, maybe. The shadows under his eyes had grown darker since the last time you really looked at him.

You hadn't seen him this close in months.

In the time it took for you to scrutinize him, he had already stepped forward to gather your scattered files. When he handed them back to you, his fingers brushed yours tentatively, but you did not thank him.

Nonetheless, he followed you to the nurses' station where you dropped your load off, and then outside toward the exit.

"I didn't think you'd let me help," he remarked.

You shrugged, and that earned the smallest quirk of his lips. Equal parts sad and knowing. He must have sensed some kind of brittle neutrality in your expression. Not forgiveness, but the absence of active malice. The first thaw in a long, punishing winter.

When the two of you stepped out into the cool night air, he held the door open for you. You didn't comment on it, and the silence stretched again.

Zayne cleared his throat. "You're off tomorrow, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"I checked the roster. I wasn't trying to pry."

You gave him a sideways glance.

"I just—" He adjusted his cufflinks. "I've been trying to apologize. Properly. I know I hurt you. I said things I didn't mean, and I let you believe things that weren't true. That you weren't—"

You turned to face him then, and he stopped talking.

"You did hurt me."

He swallowed. "I know."

"I still don't think I forgive you."

"I don't expect you to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself. "But holding onto it for this long has been exhausting, so I'm going to let it go. I'm not letting you off the hook. I am just letting myself off it. I simply don't care what you think of me, so you can rest easy, I suppose. I'm not angry anymore."

Strangely enough, you found that you meant it. It had been several months since the incident, and although for a short while it had bruised your ego, you needed to try and move past it. It was a lesson you had learned early in life when everyone around you doubted your abilities. You could not let their opinions of you make you waver. The same applied here. While you admired Zayne's intelligence and abilities, you refused to let his opinion of you affect your work. You had worked too hard for that to happen.

You were letting go more for yourself than for him. You wondered if Zayne knew that too, because he was looking at you with an expression of melancholy resignation, like he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or devastated.

Was indifference any better than fury?

When you stepped past him to head in the direction of the train station, he called out after you. "You shouldn't take the train this late."

You didn't stop walking. "I've done it before."

"You're exhausted."

"Shocking, considering I just completed a 17-hour shift looking after tiny humans with fevers and sticky fingers."

"I'll drive you."

You glanced at him over your shoulder skeptically. "What, is this some sort of attempt at penance?"

"No," Zayne countered. "It's common sense. You're swaying on your feet."

You opened your mouth for a retort, but he was right, and frankly, you were too tired to protest on principle. So with a small, muttered, "Fine," you followed him to the parking lot.

You said nothing as you slid into the passenger seat and let the warmth of the heater begin to soothe the ache in your muscles.

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them, five minutes later, the streetlights outside looked wrong.

"This isn't my route."

Zayne didn't look at you. "I'm taking you to dinner."

"I didn't consent to that."

"You got in my car, didn't you?"

You turned fully to glare at him. "Where are we going?"

He disclosed the name of your favourite late-night restaurant, the one with the golden stew and free barley tea.

"How did you—?"

"I know you haven't eaten all day."

"Have you been having my interns spy on me?"

"You can't be both sleep and nutrition deprived. I've bagged up bodies that had more vitality than you."

"Oh, so now we've moved on to insulting my appearance? How novel."

"You're not hideous," Zayne remarked absently. "You just look like a Victorian ghost that's been wandering the moors since 1852."

You made a strangled noise of indignation. "I hate you."

"I know."

"Well, you should start acting like it."

But you lacked your usual fire. Then your stomach betrayed you, growling so loudly it echoed through the silence of the car.

Zayne didn't say anything, but the way he glanced over at you with that annoyingly subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth made your scowl deepen.

"...Fine," you grumbled. "But I'm not thanking you."

"Wouldn't dream of asking you to," he said dryly, pulling into the familiar lot.

You rolled your eyes but stepped out when he opened the door for you, letting the smell of garlic, chilli, and warm rice overpower the urge to strangle him.

The restaurant was nearly empty at this hour, only a few lingering patrons tucked into booths, and faint ballads played through the speakers like a lullaby. You sat across from Zayne, not quite looking at him, and the overhead light was dim enough to make everything feel like a dream viewed through steam.

The waitress didn't bother with menus because she knew your order. You'd been coming here ever since your residency days. She simply smiled and said, "The usual?" with a glance at you, then your companion, who gave a silent nod.

You watched her leave, then directed your attention toward him. "You didn't even ask what I wanted."

"You always get the same thing. Unless you've changed your mind in the last several years."

"And if I had?"

"Then I'd offer you mine."

That shut you up for a moment.

"I didn't expect you to say yes," he confessed candidly. "To dinner."

"Then why are you trying so hard?"

"Because I miss you." His response startled even him because he immediately avoided your probing gaze.

"Excuse me?"

"I miss..." He exhaled. "I miss your bad jokes. Your sugar bribes. The energy you bring into a room just by walking into it. I miss being someone who deserved all of that."

"Dr. Li...Zayne...what are you doing?"

Your use of his first name made his heart convulse in his chest, and he wondered with mild curiosity if he was having a heart attack. You tended to have that effect on him. "I'm trying to make things right."

You didn't have an answer for that, so you picked up your spoon and dipped it into your food that had just arrived. You let the warmth hit your tongue, sink into your bones, and settle somewhere deep inside the ache. This was easier than coming up with a response.

Across from you, Zayne stirred his bowl absently. For someone who dragged you here with such conviction, he wasn't eating much. You caught him glancing at you more than once, and each time, he looked away just as quickly.

Then he cleared his throat. "So, one of my interns fainted in the middle of a laparoscopic demonstration yesterday."

You blinked, surprised he was talking at all, let alone telling you stories.

"She nearly took down the anesthesia tray with her."

"Oh...is she okay?"

"She's fine. She may have forgotten to eat. Or breathe. Possibly both." A beat. "I told her if she ever wants to pull a stunt like that again, she has to warn me first so I can bill cardiology for Greyson's near heart attack."

You gave a reluctant huff of amusement, and he seized it like a drowning man to driftwood.

"And then, today, one of my residents presented a case that was very obviously plagiarized from a House episode. He even kept the ludicrous diagnosis."

"That's... dramatic."

"He said, and I quote, 'It's rare, but not impossible, Dr. Li.'" Zayne took a sip of water. "I told him so is being struck by lightning during a Sudoku competition. That doesn't mean it belongs on a discharge summary."

You snorted into your rice. He seemed pleased by that. As pleased as he ever looked, which wasn't much, but you saw the ease in his shoulders, and the faint wrinkle at the corner of his eyes.

It was odd, watching him do what you used to do. Filling the silences and stumbling awkwardly over attempts at connection. Sharing things he wouldn't normally bother to say out loud. You tried not to let it affect you.

Tried.

Zayne glanced at you again, then made a visible effort to keep going. "Someone else spilled an entire tray of empty vials. He dropped them while trying to open his pudding cup. I told him that's what he gets for eating like a five-year-old."

You smirked. "Dr. Greyson told me last year that you eat your sandwiches with a knife and fork."

Zayne didn't miss a beat, going along with your story just for the sake of hearing you talk. "I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"You... what?"

"It's cleaner. You get an even distribution. No hand residue. Structural integrity is maintained throughout."

"That is the most unhinged thing I've heard in months."

"I'm a surgeon," he replied unapologetically. "I value precision."

"You're a monster."

"Possibly."

Another quiet moment passed, but this time it was companionable, warmed by broth and faint humour.

Zayne stirred his stew with mechanical precision, then said, with no real preamble, "Did I ever tell you about the time one of my interns tried to impress me by diagnosing a nosebleed as a sign of brain-eating amoeba?"

"...Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish I were."

"And what was your response, Dr. Li?"

"I told her that unless the patient had just returned from a stagnant swamp in the middle of winter, she was catastrophizing. Then I handed her a nasal spray."

You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. "You're such a menace."

"She handed in a ten-page write-up on amoebic encephalitis the next morning."

"I'm torn between horror and pride."

"Greyson said I should start charging tuition."

"As if you don't make enough money already."

"They're all chaos." He shook his head. "One of them showed up in inappropriate footwear during an OR rotation and asked if we were doing anything fun today."

You choked on your rice, and Zayne offered you a napkin without comment.

"Inappropriate footwear? Would that be high heels or Crocs?"

"I cannot recall exactly."

"God. That sounds like something you would've done back in school."

Your dinner companion looked offended at the insinuation. "I would never have disgraced myself that way."

"True. You were insufferably by-the-book."

"I still am."

"You are." You chuckled again, reluctantly. You hadn't laughed this much in months.

Worst of all, you didn't hate the way it felt. But you hated that you missed it. You hated how much you'd missed him. You had to remind yourself that he was just trying extra hard to alleviate his own guilt, not because he actually wanted you to feel better. But it was hard to question his sincerity when he looked at you so earnestly. To you, his eyes had always been his most mesmerizing feature, and now, when he trained them on you, unguarded and sincere, you felt your resolve start to crumble.

Despite the distance and the cruelty that still stung at the edges of your memory, the ache hadn't lessened. There was something so familiar about him, the way his stories came out stiff and slightly disjointed, like they'd been rehearsed. The way he glanced up between anecdotes to check if you were still listening.

"I also miss not being verbally assaulted every morning by my ravenous interns asking where the 'sugar fairy' went." He gave you a gentle smile, something a little more than the usual twitch of his lips, and you chugged your glass of water to drown the sudden influx of butterflies that swarmed in your stomach.

You groaned. "I knew Dr. Greyson started that name."

"He did. But the students run with it like it's gospel. I overheard one say they were going to sacrifice someone to the snack deity if you didn't come back to our floor soon."

"And would that someone have been you?"

"You would enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

You laughed before you could stop yourself. You tried to smother it, but it bubbled up anyway. "Indeed, I would."

Zayne looked deeply, irritatingly satisfied, and you bit back another smile. For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself enjoy it.

You were too tired to resist the lull of good conversation and an old friend tonight. Tomorrow, you could try to go back to hating him. Tomorrow, you would take your grudge by the hand, but today, you deserved to let go a little.

Eventually, he stopped talking, and you looked up to find him watching you intently. Almost reverently.

"...What?" you asked, warily. "Do I have rice on my face or something?"

He didn't respond.

"Seriously. What are you looking at?"

Zayne hesitated. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"What?"

"That thing I said. About you looking like a Victorian ghost."

"Oh?" Your lips quirked up wryly. "Do I look worse, then? Let me guess. Forest cryptid instead? Decrepit hag?"

Zayne didn't crack a smile or tease you back, and something fragile fluttered just beneath the surface of his gaze.

No. You look beautiful.

Even like this. Even in exhaustion with dark circles under your eyes and your hair messier than you probably realized. You were beautiful in the way late-night hospital lights made you glow. Beautiful in the way you had always cared, even for people like him, who never knew how to deserve it.

He hated that it had taken him this long to notice. Or rather, that it had taken him even longer to admit it to himself, but he would spend the rest of his days trying to find the right moment to say it aloud, to make you believe it.

Today, however, was not the right moment, so he just wordlessly refilled your cup of water.

You didn't thank him, but you didn't push him away either.

For tonight, that was enough.

Taglist: @floofycookie @heartandeye @lanxianschoenheit @loverindeepspace @treeteaofversailles @ikesimpleton @mysticcauldronspire @69-gojos-wife-69 @nm4565natty @ciexuvia @jeonjenny @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgirlie7 @raethewargeneral @staarflowerr @eolivy @straykidslvr @lemurianmaster @preeyas-world @sillyfreakfanparty

Hope I didn't miss anyone ❤️

#icarus ignite writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace zayne x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #lads zayne #lads #lnds #l&ds #zayne x non mc #zayne love and deepspace #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #li shen x reader #li shen #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace zayne fanfic

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yurarcher · 2 years ago

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i know it's the devs' oversight but i think it's truly so funny how bad the emperor is at pretending to be a githyanki. what do you mean "vlaakith is lying to her people and they would rebell if they found out". my guy, you are a part of the they.

#though just going against vlaakith was the stupidest thing its done from a manipulation standpoint #like u keep having to fight orpheus's honour guard #maybe you didn't know your end goal was to kill him but you certainly never wanted him to be free #your interest align with the lich queen almost entirely - except she wants him dead right away and you wanna keep him imprisoned #or maybe even just keep him alive a little longer before killing him #so why not frame it as like 'yeah vlaakith is pissed because orpheus is a traitor and she is impatient to kill him'#'but we need him ok; he's the key to keeping this whole place together; thanks to him i can be safe here in the astral plane'#but because the emperor wanted to sit on two chairs at once - it ended up really fumbling everything #cause like wym 'vlaakith is horrible' but also 'oopsie no dont listen to voss when he tells you how vlaakith is horrible just like i said'#for all its self-congradulating the emperor isn't that smart lmao #archer speaks

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choerrypuffs · 11 months ago

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red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.”

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier.

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes.

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely.

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson.

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly.

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.”

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state.

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.”

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention.

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support.

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw.

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers.

“You don’t look―”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?”

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck.

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer.

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip.

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood.

“That was…delicious,” he breathes.

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.”

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs.

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.”

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together.

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw.

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes.

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly.

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks:

“So, you’re hiring?”

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question.

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up.

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias.

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand.

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say:

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?”

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu.

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling.

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.”

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!”

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses.

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?”

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice.

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup.

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking.

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly.

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.”

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.”

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.”

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows.

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.”

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.”

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in.

But you don’t.

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.”

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you.

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him.

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday.

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly.

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand.

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.”

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease.

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?”

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.”

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck.

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh.

“Pretty lame, right?”

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.”

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently.

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?”

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.”

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length.

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!”

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.

“Of course. Who else would I go with?”

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately.

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain.

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.”

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms.

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile.

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him.

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?”

“...Seven.”

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property.

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.”

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes.

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you.

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along.

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.”

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt.

“Oh my God, your face!”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.”

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.”

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes.

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice.

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself.

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you.

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile.

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod.

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.”

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.”

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here.

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh.

“Why?”

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you.

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.”

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction.

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.”

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that.

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.”

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away.

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever.

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.”

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself?

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table.

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.”

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice.

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it.

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms.

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.”

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.”

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.”

“I’ll help,” he insists.

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.”

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.”

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too.

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t.

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now.

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him.

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay.

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee.

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold.

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too.

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?”

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her.

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away.

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself.

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise.

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t.

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff.

“Y/N, they’re burning.”

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp.

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs.

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.”

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it.

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?”

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?”

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch.

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.”

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.”

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?”

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly.

“Do you treat all your friends like that?”

“When I don’t want to see them.”

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him.

But he steps back.

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.”

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly.

“I probably should,” he answers shakily.

“What’s stopping you?”

“Just…one reason.”

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.”

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.”

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back.

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.”

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all.

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you.

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself.

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless.

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check.

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.”

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly.

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.”

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first.

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take.

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about―

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way.

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.”

You stare at him, still not sure how to react.

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting.

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?”

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―”

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath.

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.”

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?”

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare.

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich.

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up.

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again.

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace.

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?”

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.”

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.”

You smile against the crook of his neck.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.”

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #haechan fluff #haechan angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 imagines #haechan #nct #choerrypuffs

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not-neverland06 · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him.

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned.

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out.

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much. “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling.

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing.

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much.

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted.

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be.

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover.

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark.

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack.

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.”

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you.

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified.

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do.

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up.

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you.

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her.

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both.

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it.

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through.

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it.

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground.

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat.

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest.

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand.

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look.

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings.

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped.

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott.

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at.

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black.

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you.

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple.

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage.

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged.

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?”

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you.

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation.

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant.

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time.

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice.

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott.

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most.

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand.

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens.

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior.

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated.

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him.

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him.

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you.

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire.

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams.

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead.

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you.

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess.

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off.

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense.

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal.

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag.

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you.

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip.

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you.

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known.

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions.

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him.

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad.

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue.

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room.

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off.

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby.

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another.

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up.

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought.

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all.

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest.

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to.

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her.

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him.

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you.

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him.

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him.

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long.

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again.

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire.

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated.

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes.

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye.

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you.

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow.

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position.

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt.

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared.

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at.

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever.

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor.

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain.

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere.

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had.

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea.

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said.

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love.

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him.

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up.

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order.

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants.

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him.

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips.

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you.

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass.

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl ♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #x men #x men x reader #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman x reader #anon

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wingedfuncomputer · 4 months ago

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The outskirts of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

Warnings: naive!reader, apart from that none really just your father lowkey being rude to Remmick cause he’s Irish 💔.

Authors note: This is just a slice of what I’ve been writing for Remmick. My actual word count for the story is 8.5k as of now, close to finishing but I wanted to see if it’s something you Remmick lovers would want to see (I know it’s pretty lengthy). My story is aimed at not just the romance but scare factor? If that’s what you can call it. no full fledged smut or healthy romance here just trying to ground myself in realistic outcomes. I don’t think that man could love normally lmao. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.4K Fic playlist Full Fic!

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From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set she was tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacted the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled your active swipe back and forth stopped confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble from a very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir". You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man who stood at the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving". Your heart ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him n’ get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then proceeded orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled my father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady much?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request to come inside, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. He had good amount of muscle on his arms and lines on his face. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you no lack of confidence, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property".

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him you yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands go up to your father’s arms as you can see his anger exalt, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger is concentrated on you before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside from your arm instead. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once behind you once more offering a look of "I'm sorry" before the front door is slammed shut by your father.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. "coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick you repeat in your head liking the ring it had to it. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage had nothing to do with your lack of a response. " f’course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks in embarrassment . "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time, my father...-that is no way to be treated". He just smiles, a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often, let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. stayin’ around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you so how would tolerate this stranger . His eyes are trained on your every twitch, your chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your father it was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind in contemplation. If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go in town for food trips or what not for the farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

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#remmick #x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #sinners #sinners x reader #remmick x reader #sinners 2025 #sinners fic #jack o'connell

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caramelkoo · 7 months ago

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no questions asked— jjk

Jeon jungkook wants nothing more than to get settled with his girlfriend, but what if her fear of commitment makes him take a step back? Will he do it, or will he be able to changer her mind for good?

pairing : Jungkook X reader

genre : established relationship, smut, fluff

word count : 6.6k (im begging for forgiveness)

Based on this ask <33

warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature, oc is an anxious girly (same), mentions of emotionally unavailable parents, jungkook is a man of dreams, simp boyfriend jungkook, car sex, unprotected sex (be safe), begging, reference of titanic if you squint, yeah that's pretty much it.

a/n : this took million business days lmao but finally it's here. the sweetest anon requested a drabble but i couldn't do it and as much as i tried to make it shorter, it got stretched to 6k words 😭 so im deeply sorry anon. the rest of you who enjoy longer fics, dig in. I love you guys so much, you might not know this but yall are my besties for resties. kisses. 💌

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Your boyfriend is going to propose to you.

Oh god

Oh. my. God.

Anxiety is not a foreign feeling for you. Although this time, it’s an indescribable sort. Something which is lingering in the deepest pit of your stomach for a lack of better word. Besides, there’s a mayhem inside your head, the voices are loud and intimidating, causing you to bite your lip to a point where they bleed while also staring at nothing.

Jungkook has been nothing but secretive— the poor boy has no idea that you have already seen the navy blue box sitting inside his side of the drawer. You can swear it was totally unintentional.

In your defense, you had been searching for your glasses and that was the only place left to fish around. Nobody could have prepared you for the utter shock when your eyes fell on that box and so for a minute or two you just stood there, horrifyingly still and stunned. However, you recovered quickly, because to be quite honest it was about time one of you mustered up enough courage to ask the question.

It’s supposed to make you thrilled right? So why does something feel… off?

“Penny for your thoughts?”, as soon as Cherry’s voice reaches your ears, you snap out of it and flash her a forced smile.

“Yeah-” you begin, “Yeah uh- I’m just thinking about nothing in particular.”

“_____ you’re an amazing girl but you gotta work on those lying skills.”

A chuckle leaves your mouth. You shouldn’t even have bothered in the first place, the girl can read you like a book.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours huh?”

She picks up the book before scanning it with the barcode scanner all the while you marvel if you should tell her or just let it go, but then you also know how she would become a pain in the ass if you don’t spill the beans to her. Anyway, she can;t make you overthink it any more than you already have.

You bite your lower lip before saying, “I feel like Jungkook is going to propose.”

If looks alone could kill, you would have been buried deep by now with the way the man wearing an olive green cardigan, probably in his 50s, gives you side eye when Cherry drops the book with a loud thud on the counter.

You wince.

“I’m sorry what?”

When you subtly signal her to pick what she’s dropped, she takes a hold of the book, apologizes to the man who— you’re hundred percent sure hates your guts now, and resumes her work.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Ha! Girl you better start telling me more or none of us are going home today.”

She’s talking to you but her hands keep shuffling between scanning the books and expeditiously typing on the keyboard.

A spark of hesitation finds a way inside your heart. The thing is, you’re not sure. Do you want to marry the love of your life? Absolutely. Do you think you can keep the marriage going and stable? No.

There you said it.

And that kills you because jeopardising your bond and connection with Jungkook is the last thing you want to do.

Maybe, it’s because nobody in your family has been able to keep their inner spark alive after they had gotten married or you might as well blame it on the relationship your own parents have had before your eyes.

For everyone who couldn’t see past the walls of your house, your parents were an ideal couple. A pair who were equally efficient and successful in their respective areas of life. With your father being a renowned businessman and your mother holding the title of a world famous fashion designer, they couldn’t have been a better partner for each other, right?

Wrong. Too bad you had the honor of being an onlooker of their facade slipping away before getting replaced by their real impudent selves.

But that’s all you could do though. You were merely just an audience. Someone who could see everything shatter before her eyes and not do a single thing to put an end to it.

Constant fights, fuming with jealousy over one of them achieving more than the other, sabotaging each other.

All hell broke loose when they began making you take sides.

You think mommy is better don’t you, honey?

You should be proud of your dad, ____. You’re living such a luxurious life thanks to me.

For the love of god you were five. What does a five year old know about luxury or human ego? What could you have possibly known about who is better? In your eyes, they were your mom and dad and not some squish mellows placed side by side from which you had to take your pick. Let’s not even start with the emotional unavailability they provided you with.

A knot lodges in your throat and you struggle to get the words out. “I happen to see the box inside his drawer”

“You’re sure it had a ring inside- Wait, don't answer that”, she shakes her head as if she just asked the most ridiculous question ever.

No shit.

“But that’s a good thing right? I mean you guys have been seeing each other for a while now and marriage is the final stop.” she continues and you can’t help but feel terrible, because she is making sense.

A sigh leaves you, “Yeah no- I mean yeah it is but I didn’t expect him to take the initiative so suddenly. No hints were dropped at all. Marriage is, gosh, I can’t believe I’m saying this but it seems intimidating to me.”

The queue has finally dissipated at this point so she faces you fully showcasing her engrossment in your dilemma. The girl feeds off drama but refuses to get involved in one.

Her expression morphs into something between horrified and sympathetic. “_____, is that because of your parents?”

Your heart skips a beat. This whole time you and only you had authority over this thought that your fear of marriage is deeply rooted in your own parents’ fucked up relationship. A belief that lay sly and unseen.

Only after those words left Cherry’s mouth did you realise how venomous they sound. It makes you aware that the fear was not as concealed as you intended to keep it. What are you supposed to do when you find out that somebody else knows about your deepest terrors? Run? Hide? Or simply not say anything?

Your mouth feels suddenly dry. “What?”

Cherry takes a hold of your palm and rubs it gently, “If it is, I want you to know that it’s not the case for everyone. Marriage is a beautiful concept, a lovely commitment. Are there some pitfalls to it? Yes. But that’s the beauty of it. The way two people come together and resolve them-”

Your phone buzzes inside your pocket causing you to flinch. Releasing your hands from her hold, you take it out and see your grandmother’s number stare up at you.

“I’ll just be back.” you excuse yourself just as a woman places a stack of books on the counter.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“Hey, beautiful” you greet her, a smile lighting up your entire face.

“My baby, did I catch you at the wrong time?” her voice is like a balm to your heart. So warm and comforting. It reminds you of your movie nights with her where you didn’t have to be anything or pretend. You just had to exist and she made it worth it. Always.

“Now you know even the devil himself can’t stop me from talking to you.”

A loud chortle reaches your ears and you imagine her throwing her head back, laughing.

“I was calling to ask if you and your eye candy of a boyfriend are visiting home this year for thanksgiving, dear?”

Dear lord, you can’t believe you forgot about that.

Your eyes widen, and just when you think you could bubble up some other lie, she speaks up, “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Yeah, bold of you to assume you can do that and get away. You actually need to work on your lying skills. For whatever reason. You want to pluck your eyelashes out one by one because of how gloomy she sounds.

“I’m genuinely sorry, grams.” pinching the bridge of your nose you continue, “I’ve just been busy with work and barely making ends meet. I promise this is the first and last time I let it slip my mind.”

With the job you have, there’s only so much cash you can count and while you would love to make a career out of writing, the thought of publishing your own book sends shivers down your spine.

Every time you open the draft a new mistake pops up, taking a percentage of your self confidence down the drain. You’re only human. A microscopic slip catches your attention and you start questioning your life choices.

“Honey, come home and give yourself some time off, what do you youngsters like to call it? Oh yes, grind. Yeah?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Wow someone has been too into love island lately.”

Cherry raises her eyebrows from across the room and you mouth her the word ‘grandma’. She nods with a smile on her face, going back to work.

A long stretch of silence hangs in the air before you hear her ask, “_____, what else is wrong?”

The smile which has been adorning your face this whole time instantly drops. You blink.

Once

Twice

Thrice

“I don’t understand.” Liar.

“You know what I mean, baby. I want you to tell me more, because I know something has been bothering you. What is it?”

Humans are so funny sometimes. They can be as close to you as your own soul and not have a hint of your torment. Meanwhile, there is your grandmother, who despite being so far away from you just….. knew. But again, it has always been like this hasn’t it?

Whenever you got tired of your parents throwing stuff around the house, making each other lick the floors, trying to make their own and your life a living hell, she knew.

She was the one who allowed you to cry, and assured you that she would not call you dramatic if she happened to hear your sobs.

You were allowed to cry,

You were allowed to ask for help,

You were allowed to not hold back.

Sucking in a deep breath, you release it, “Everything else is perfect, grams.”

Mr William is always the first person to greet you everyday when you reach the apartment. He’s been working as a guard for years now and you’ve grown quite familiar with him. While being the sweetest man you’ve ever come across, he also brings his wife’s yummiest tarts for you whenever she makes them. Arguably, they deserve more hype than they get.

“She knows how much you love her tarts” he says, making you feel immense gratitude towards his kindness.

This particular night, he seems…. restless. He’s shifting from one foot to another as you shut the cab’s door behind you. Striding over to him, you mentally try your best to figure out his uneasiness.

Clearing your throat, your throat as you ask, “Is everything alright, Mr William?”

Only after he hears your voice, he gains his composure. Or so he tries.

He hands you a piece of paper which feels a bit wet and you wonder what could have been so intense that the man began having clammy palms.

It’s nearly concerning, not to mention it doesn’t help with your own anxiety at all. If not, shoot it up.

“Your boyfriend dropped by around lunch time, miss. He handed me this and asked me to give it to you as soon as you come back from work.”

He couldn’t have given it to you yesterday when he was with you in the first place? Weird.

“I see, but why are you so tense? Has something happened?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “My wife has been sick and I was supposed to leave early but I figured it would be better if I gave it to you safely before going home to her.”

Fuck

“You could have given this to me later. Your wife comes first, sir.” you gulp, “Please, I appreciate your gesture but she needs you more. Thank you so much and please let me know if I can be of help.”

He releases an empty chuckle. “Thank you, Miss”

With one last nod you walk inside the building while also hoping he doesn’t call you for help. Not because you won’t do anything it takes to help him, but because you hope it wouldn’t come to it. The moment you shut the apartment door behind and turn on the light, the piece of paper steals your attention. Without waiting any further, you unfold it, coming across Jungkook’s writing.

The note alone feels like he whispered it into your ear before placing the softest kiss on your skin. Your lips stretch into a serene smile as you stride over to the bedroom, turning the doorknob as your gaze catches a purple bodycon resting on top of your bed. It is accompanied with a bouquet of pink tulips as well as a bar of Dubai chocolate.

Your head that has been nothing short of a commotion is now finally at peace. Not entirely but at peace nonetheless.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook was 12 when he went on his first roller coaster ride. He was, like every other child, afraid. Afraid that he might fall and hurt himself so bad, he wouldn’t ever be able to get up. The roller coaster had a massive drop followed by a corkscrew which took him upside down. Until the moment Jungkook saw a woman in yellow dress buying a bunch of tulips from the flower shop he very often visited, he had never felt his stomach bottom out as strongly as it did during that drop back then.

There she was, chatting with the florist as if they’re best friends. He could see her behind the glass picking out the pink tulips before sniffing them. Meanwhile, Jungkook stood across the road, soaked and enchanted as he wondered if he should ask for her number or chicken out. Eventually, the latter won.

But here’s the thing, Jungkook is not one for losing. He hates losing, even the term makes him want to peel his own skin off.

He saw her hair first, becoming curly locks reaching down to her waist and just above her hips. Granted that his line of sight only allowed him to see her side profile, he assumed she was gorgeous. It was not unlikely for him to see beautiful women on a daily basis, but something about her just sucked him in. His eyes could not leave her face and he believed even if they tried, he would pluck them out just to punish them. Was it weird that his hands itched to hold a woman he doesn’t even know?

What’s her name?

Where does she live?

What’s her favorite color?

How does she like her coffee?

There’s a japanese phrase called koi no yokan which means that you eventually will fall in love with a person you meet. You’re going to grow so fond of that person that you would want to see no one by your side but them. She was that person for him.

He rubs his hands for the nth time in a futile attempt to warm them up, waiting outside ____’s building. How is this evening going so slow? He has been here for perhaps half an hour now, so why does it feel like it’s been a decade?

And funnily enough, the only person who can put him out of his misery is _____. At this point, the guy fears he wouldn’t be able to so much as look her in the eye, but not doing that will be the end of him too.

He looks down and lets his hands run over his black button down shirt, wondering if she would like it. She loved seeing him in black on the first date. A loud click clack of heels grab his attention, perking his ears up. He looked up and there she was in all her glory.

Jungkook releases a breath and rubs his chest as if his heart hurts. As if it’s telling him how unworthy he is of this woman who is walking up to him, who may be as nervous as him but still chose him as her man.

The woman who could have anyone she wanted wrapped around her pinky finger gave her days, nights and evenings to him. She smiled at him, for him and if he was lucky, because of him.

_____ stops before him while he’s still adjusting to the sight of her. “How do I look?”

Unreal, exquisite and way out of his league.

He shakes his head from side to side, thinking of a single word that would suffice the answer to that. He fails and so instead he runs his fingers down her forearm until he reaches her soft hands and takes it into his own cold ones.

Placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles, he begins. “My imagination of you in this dress has got nothing on this vision.”

Her face morphs into the softest expression of love, “And exactly how many times have you imagined me in this dress, Jeon Jungkook?”

He takes a step forward, his chest almost touching hers. “I can’t answer that. You want to know why?”

“Why?” Her voice is emotionless. His thumb grazes her lower lip as he tries not to smudge her nude lipstick. “Because if I do, we’ll have to go back into your apartment and try not to wake your neighbours up.” She swats his chest and softly pushes him back, dissolving into a giggle.

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself.” she says as her eyes shamelessly check him out. His sleeves are halfway folded stopping just below his elbow, beautifying his tattooed forearms.

He’s also wearing his favorite blue baggy jeans with his usual black chunky boots. The same ones he goes for when he knows _____ might not be able to bear the pain caused by her heels, so he ends up swapping them with the boots.

He would argue carrying her all the way to her apartment instead, but settles elseways.

Jungkook opens the car door for her and only after she’s well seated, he runs to his side and takes off.

The ride to the restaurant is quiet despite the obvious tension that doesn't go unnoticed by either him or her. As much as he would like to spend the rest of the night snuggled into bed with her, he knows there is something more significant than that. So instead he indulges in caressing her thigh.

“After you, angel.” He places a hand on the small of her back.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

The ambience looks straight out of the movies. Like a paradise. Violinists are playing a chorus of Fuck her gently by Tenacious D far across the room.

Jungkook catches an unknown look on her face. “Something’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, flashing him a smile. “I love this song.”

He places a tiny kiss on her temple. “I know, baby. C’mon.”

You know how women have this killer instinct of knowing if and when somebody’s watching them? It’s like they have a separate pair of googly eyes on the back of their head to protect them from creeps.

From the moment you have entered the place, the man in the wine shirt has been making a hole in your face with the way he’s been staring at you.

Is your dress too revealing? Are you showing too much skin?

“Oh I forgot to tell you. Your grandmother called earlier today.” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts.

You gulp down the last piece of steak before answering. “Let me guess she asked you to join her for thanksgiving?” He nods, a bright smile on his face. “I told her I would love to.”

A cheeky smile unfurls slowly on your face. Jungkook loves your grandmother. Maybe a little bit more than you do. Just a tiny bit though. Last year when you and he visited her, he was the first person apart from you to get a hug out of her.

Your grandma is not much of a hugger by the way. Her hugs are totally exclusive.

“I’m sure she loves having my ‘eye candy of a boyfriend’ there.”

Jungkook snorts, placing his fork down. “She called me an eye candy?”

He dissolves into a fit of laughter when you answer his question with a nod.

“See now that’s the biggest achievement I have had in a while. I mean what are the odds your wife’s grandma calls your an eye candy-”

Something sours in your stomach. The steak here tastes awful or maybe it’s just you feeling pathetic that as soon as he says ‘wife’ your expression morphs into something so dreadful that it causes him to stop. What are the odds that you just gave him a reality check and dragged him out of a fool’s paradise?

“Angel, what’s-”

You stand abruptly, cutting him off yet again. His eyes bob all over you, and then a sad frown puckers between his brows.

“I’ll just be back. I need to use the washroom.” You say as you grab your handbag as quickly as you can before leaving him there. Confused and wondering what the fuck just happened?

Few minutes later, just as you’re walking outside the washroom and making a way towards your table someone’s voice causes you to stop midway.

“Excuse me.”

Turning to face the person, you come face to face with the same man from earlier. The one wearing a wine colored shirt along with a nasty expression. You believe he’s trying to look cocky but is failing miserably.

“Can I help you?”

A slow smile spreads over his mouth. “I couldn’t help but notice that the man you’re here with seems to upset you in some way.”

An awkward chuckle leaves you. “The man is my boyfriend and I don’t think it concerns you if he’s upsetting me or not.”

He walks a little closer. Oh no, this is bad.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “But clearly he’s not being a good boyfriend, is he?”

The audacity of this man.

You huff out a frustrated breath, “Listen, you need to shut up and stay within your limits. It’s not healthy going around poking your nose into everyone’s business.”

His sly smile grows even more as he steps closer than before.

The hair on your body stands up, and not in a good way, but in a very uncomfortable way. You suddenly regret the idea of leaving Jungkook’s side. Bad, bad decision.

Currently, you have two options. You can either just walk off and act like nothing happened, which by the way, is a safe option or you can kick the man in the balls and then act like nothing happened.

Since you're much more accustomed to the former option, you decide to do just that but when his hands grip your wrist with an iron grip, you settle on the latter.

You knee him between the legs with an intention to hurt him as he grunts in pain, his hands gripping where you just kicked him.

“You fucking bitch.”

Before he can say anything further, you storm off. Your phone buzzes inside your handbag and you automatically assume it to be Jungkook’s call. As soon as you spot him across the room, you feel the clouds parting, there’s a feeling threatening to arise. It’s something between protected and anguished.

Anguished because you let your mind speak so deafeningly that it silenced the oh so loud love Jungkook has for you. And protected because you know for a fact that if he had any idea about what that man just did to you, he would not think twice before dragging him by the hair before bringing him to his knees in front of you to apologize.

He stands once he sees you and you waste no time running towards him. Your arms go around him as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. His arms immediately embracing you in return, securing you against his chest.

It feels warm.

Concern laces his voice as he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Breathe”

You don’t even realise you’re panting unless he says that. You’re aware that at this point the way you flung yourself at him must have got everyone’s attention. But you genuinely don’t care. It might as well be an auditorium full of people watching you hug your boyfriend like an anchor, you just don’t care.

You realise that’s exactly what Jungkook is. Your anchor. Someone who didn’t even ask as to what happened before he straight away began consoling you.

His hand envelops the back of your head in a protective way while the other soothes your back.

“Do you want to leave? We can leave right now if you want to.”

“Yes, please.”

His body shakes as though he just nodded. “All right, let me pay real quick and we’ll leave yeah?”

Your voice is muffled against his chest. “Yeah.”

You suck in a sharp breath as he lets you go. The small folder on the table grabs your attention. He opens it only to find a note inside of it saying— “It’s on me, gorgeous”.

You can see the wheels in his mind turning, but before he starts asking you any questions which may or may not cause a breakdown of yours, you say, “I’ll explain it to you outside. Can we please go?”

“Let me see wh-”

“Please?” He lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Yeah- Yeah let’s go.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

At first when Jungkook saw that note, the first emotion that he felt was rage and a very serious one at that. But it was soon replaced by realization. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that something nasty went down after _____ left to use the washroom. Something he can’t wait to get to the bottom of. Nevertheless, he didn’t want her to be pressured to answer the more obvious question.

Jungkook’s girl is attractive. She’s kind and empathetic and fucking stunning which makes her worthy of all the attention she gets. Of course men are going to want to be with her.

Initially, it bothered him. A lot.

Now, though? He’s grown rather used to it. However, it has never come to having someone pay for her in a restaurant. Even the thought of someone so much as speaking to her in an inhumanely manner makes him want to punch a hole through a wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The silence is too loud inside the car. He can hear ____’s heart beating loudly or is it his own?

She’s leaning back with her head against the headrest. When she doesn’t respond, Jungkook speaks again, “_____ baby, will you please at least look at me?”

Her eyes connect with his and he flashes her the softest of smiles.

Taking her hand, he kisses the inside of her wrist where he can feel her pulse.

Thump thump thump.

“I want you to give me something, angel. Anything.”

He can see her gulp before admitting, “There was um… there was a guy outside the washroom and he kind of tried to force himself on me,” she closes her eyes for a brief moment, “Maybe I’m just being dramatic, but I handled him.”

Jungkook’s stomach drops. He was right. His hands fly out to open the car door before _____ holds him back. “Don’t. I said I handled it.”

He turns back, his voice leaking with anger along with something more barbaric. “And I’m proud that you did, but if I don’t go in and beat that asshole into a new one I won’t be able to call myself a man worthy of you anymore. I need him to know that he can’t fuck with my girl and go about his goddamn day.” “Jungkook, please. I can’t take it anymore. Please stop.”

And he does. For now.

He leans back, running his hands over his face with frustration. For a few minutes he and ____ just stare outside the front glass of the car. The parking lot slowly gets empty as people leave for their homes one by one.

Just when he thinks _____ has dozed off, her voice reaches him. “Can I get one more hug?”

“Come here.”

He takes her into a warm embrace before kissing the top of her head, settling his lips there. His anger has yet not fully dissipated, but having her so close calms his heart. It calms his whole being. Her touch, her breath against his skin, her presence heals something in him.

Therefore, he made up his mind about spending his whole life with her. The little slip of words, which by the way was totally unintentional, soured _____'s expression and that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

She’s scared but he fully intends to let her know that she doesn’t have to.

______ unwraps herself from his arms and pushes back. Just enough for their noses to touch.

She shakes her head, “Don’t give me those eyes.”

Jungkook holds back a smile. “What eyes, angel?”

“The same ones you give me when you want something dirty to happen. Those big brown eyes of yours.”

He lets a chuckle slip out. “I’m down if you are.”

When she offers him her own laugh, gosh it’s as though he comes alive. If he could bottle up the sound, he would. Something passes in _____’s eyes. Lust? Desire? He can’t pinpoint.

He wants to kiss the hell out of her though and he wants to do it desperately. Her eyes drop to his mouth and he takes it as a sign to lean forward and press his mouth against hers.

Her lips part ever so slightly followed by her gripping Jungkook’s collar to bring him even closer. So close as if she wants their souls to intertwine.

The feeling is very much mutual.

She gets up from the passenger’s seat without breaking the kiss and straddles his lap. Her legs on either side of his thigh as their core’s touch. Jungkook is not sure how long he can endure this sweet pain of waiting.

In all sincerity, he’s been holding himself back from the very moment he saw her walking up to him in that dress. Do with that information what you will.

Now, he just wants to say fuck it and get inside her— only that he can’t, because he wants her to take her time and ask for it. Then and then only he will fuck her. If it’s inside this car then so be it.

The kiss is electric and filled with passion, tingling his skin in all the right places as she matches his enthusiasm with her own.

______ pulls back with a deep breath, leaving Jungkook panting heavily.

“Please.” she begs.

A strand of hair falls on her face. He tucks it behind her ear. “Please what baby?”

“Please fuck me, Jungkook. I want you so bad and I want you right now.” she whines.

He grins. “At your service, ma’am.”

He hears _____’s light chuckle as he gets out of the car, carrying her with him while also making sure she doesn’t hit her head on the hood. She detaches herself from him once they’re out and settles in the back seat. Only after ensuring she’s comfortable enough, Jungkook follows her.

His body lays on top of her and he wastes no time as their mouths collide. Her finger grip the hair on his nape and he groans with pleasure, his cock going thick. He rubs it on her lower stomach to show her how much he wants her, gaining a moan out of her.

Jungkook’s head goes fuzzy with every passing second. He almost comes when she lifts her hips up and rubs a slow circle against his cock.

“Fuck.” He groans, pulling back from the kiss. _____’s cheeks are heated and lips are swollen. He did that. Her man did that.

Suddenly, he’s grateful for the tinted glass and his big car.

_____ lifts her head up and kisses his sweaty cheek, swiping his forehead with her palm. “You’re sweating, honey.”

“Yeah, I tend to do that in your presence. Do you know how hard it was for me to stay sane after seeing you look so unbelievably gorgeous?”

She passes him a lazy smile, “You’ve always been so good at controlling yourself, haven’t you?”

“Not anymore.” He sits up, knees on either side of her body and starts unbuckling his belt all the while panting with excitement. His pants slide halfway down letting his cock spring free. Thick, angry and leaking with precum. His shirt goes next.

______’s eyes flash with lust as she bites her lower lip. The straps of her dress have slipped down, leaving her tits bare and open for Jungkook.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby.” he leans forward as she runs a hand up his bare spine, hooking her legs over his hip.

“Please.” she whispers.

A loud thunder outside the car grabs Jungkook’s attention. Nice, he’s so horny he didn’t even realise that it’s raining. Another rumble of thunder drowns their panting breath but he still only focuses on the woman beneath him. The goddess of a woman who trusts him with her body. How lucky he is to call her his own.

She brushes his hair out of his face, her thumb dusting over the mole on the bridge of his nose before her hand follows the path of his tattooed arm, his rib, his ass, until she wraps a fist around his dick.

He pushes into her hand. “I need to grab the condoms from the console, angel.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, the car filling with the pants and whimpers before she says, “I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

Jungkook has never gone without condom nor has he considered going without one, but this woman right here just asked him to get inside her bare and fuck if it doesn’t tempt him.

And so he gives in, but not before asking, “Are you sure?”

“As sure as one can be.”

He nods, bringing his lips back to hers. His hand finds her thong under the dress as he slides it down her legs. Then he strokes a single line up and down her slit, wetting his finger with her cum. When he brings the same finger to his mouth and sucks on it, _____ all but whimpers.

His cock follows next and he does the same with it, rubbing himself up and down her slit as he coats himself in her before he presses his thumb down on the head of his cock, curls his hips forward, and pushes into her.

Tortuously slowly, inch by fucking inch.

She’s so warm and tight for him. He’s not sure how long he can take before he shoots his load inside of her.

“More.” she pleads, her face morphing into the most beautiful expression of pleasure.

Jungkook pulls back and pushes again, watching more of a length disappear inside of her. He’s not even halfway in and she’s already crying out his name.

Leaning in, he bites her neck in an attempt to give her his all. All his love, all his nights and all his life. The question is at the tip of his tongue but considering what happened inside, he quickly holds himself back.

“You’re doing so good for me, my angel. Taking me so well,” He thrusts again. “You’re made for me, aren’t you?”

She cries out.

“What was that?” She throws her head back. “Yes. Oh my god”

Thrust. “Yes, what baby? I’m gonna need you to say it.”

Jungkook takes her nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until she cries out again, “I’m made for you. Fuck.”

He releases the nipple with a loud pop. “That’s right you are.” His pelvic bone is flush with hers, ____’s legs as wide as possible to accommodate him. She dusts her fingertips up and down his spine while he slowly kisses along her jaw.

When she pushes her heels into his ass, urging him to move, he pulls out part way before pushing back in again.

She lets out a moan quickly followed by his own. _____’s hands run over Jungkook’s abs, nipples, and wrap around his shoulders.

He’s fucking her slowly, taking his time, feeling her body and letting her feel his too. Every brush, every graze, every breath is precious to him.

Soft and intimate.

So when the next words leave Jungkook’s mouth, he blames it on the moment. “Marry me.”

_____’s eyes which were closed earlier, savoring the very moment, pop open and his movement halts.

“What?”

“Fuck. Okay, I know this is not a position or place a woman wants to be proposed in, but I have to say this before I go insane. _____, I know you’re scared and I also know the reason behind it. Of course, I won’t ask you why you kept that part a secret from me, because I respect you and want you to take your time. But baby,” he brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, “I need you to know that I will die before I let anything like that go down between us. I love you so much you don’t even realise. Sometimes I even shock myself with how much I cherish you. You’re a gift to me, a gift which brings out the best not just in me but in everyone she meets.”

He places a small kiss on her forehead before continuing, “I can go anywhere, see everything but it still wouldn’t match the level of affection I hold for you in my heart. Still wouldn’t match the beauty of your smile, you amazing woman. You’re all I have ever wanted. So please, make me the happiest motherfucker in the world by saying ye-”

“Yes”

‘What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. Now will you please shut up fuck me like you promised, husband?”

He bites her jaw, “Oh, I’ll fuck you so nice you’ll be begging for more, wife.”

Soon enough, _____’s lower lip trembles as her orgasm takes over, and he has the privilege to watch it all. The fluttering of her lashes, the marks of her nail down his arm and the way she calls him her husband again when she’s able to find her words.

He’s so gone.

About half an hour later when he asks her again as to what changed her mind about marriage, she says something so deep yet in such a casual way, he wants to cry.

“When I hugged you inside, you didn’t ask questions. You just let me be and that may seem like a miniscule thing for someone else, but for me it was enough. Enough to stay with you until I turn all wrinkly and grey haired.”

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