#whatever he’s doing i thank him for the content | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harmonyrae · 8 hours ago

Text

Let You Make Me Juno

Synopsis: There’s a song you just can’t get out of your head. You just wanted to dance and sing along every time it came on. Which is exactly what you do and the boys have a very intense reaction to some of the lyrics.

AN: I hadn’t heard Juno by Sabrina Carpenter in its entirety until literally yesterday and I’ve been on a writing kick so… This happened. Smile. ENJOY!

Content Warnings: Heavy on the innuendos, also heavy on the implied activities, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, breeding kink (if you squint), the boys are shook & horny, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.1k

Whatever report Zayne is working on must be a hefty one, he’s been consistently typing for nearly an hour. You circle behind him and top off his coffee. He doesn’t look up, but hums as you pour - a silent thank you. You head back into the kitchen and continue making breakfast.

It was rare that Zayne didn’t have to head to work early and the Association had given all Hunters a long weekend to celebrate the previous month. Only two injuries and no major incidents. You had both slept in and you were making pancakes. Usually Zayne would lecture you about “making sure you got protein and complex carbs” to start your day, but you promised to make chocolate chip pancakes and he stopped arguing. His sweet tooth won over in the end.

You continue mixing the batter, swaying your hips to your playlist. Your “feel good” playlist, it always made you want to dance. You hum along while you wait for the pan to heat up. That’s when you hear the beginning notes of the song you’re obsessed with.

“Zayne! Can you turn the music up?”

You look over your shoulder to see him nod, never taking his eyes off the screen. The music swells through the bluetooth speakers and you start bouncing in excitement. You immediately start singing along.

Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing Oh yeah, you just get it

Finally, Zayne peels his eyes away from his report. He didn’t get a chance to write up the surgery debrief after getting home last night. He intended to stay up to finish it, but when he got home you were dressed in the black nightgown that drove him crazy. He spent his night doing something equally as important, but now he was rushing to get it completed. But when you started singing, he immediately took notice.

You usually didn’t sing out loud, preferring to hum along. And the way you bounced back and forth, your hips swaying seductively, was very distracting. You wore your satin sleep shorts and his dress shirt buttoned halfway, just a hint of your delicious cleavage peeking over the collar. Zayne straightens his back and tries to refocus.

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh

He blinks rapidly before taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. He turns to look at you fully. Watching you dance and stir the pancake batter. You turn to look over at him, not expecting to see him looking at you. You see the tips of his ears have turned red and you giggle, continuing your dance while maintaining eye contact with him.

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try on my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Zayne’s eyes widen and you can’t help but let out a loud laugh. The blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. You set down the bowl and approach him, singing and dancing along the way.

I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno

He finally stands, placing his hands on your hips. He doesn’t stop you from dancing, just holds you and feels you sway. You spot a smile creeping onto his face. You reach up and hold onto his shoulders. He leans down and starts placing open mouth kisses to the exposed skin of your chest. You close your eyes and feel his warm breath on your ear as he whispers.

“Isn’t ‘Juno’ that movie we watched a few weeks ago?”

You hum in agreement and Zayne doesn’t hesitate to pick you up, moving your legs to wrap around him. He squeezes your ass before he trails a hand under the back of your shirt. You shiver at his touch and cling to him. He turns and walks into the kitchen to turn off the stove.

“Don’t you want pancakes?”

Zayne smiles and his eyes sparkle with something you rarely see when you’re with him.

“Oh, I’m still having cake for breakfast.”

How did you get roped into this? Tara is so damn persuasive. Or maybe you’ve had a few too many drinks? The little umbrellas make them seem so harmless though…

Xavier had tried to intercept and make sure you didn’t feel forced. But after Tara whispered what song she had picked for karaoke you were completely on board. Plus, you didn’t wear your favorite dress and heels for nothing.

The fitted baby blue dress hugged your curves, but the tiered ruffles on the skirt made you feel like a ballerina when you twirled. The square neckline flattering your defined collarbone, while hiding a hickey on your shoulder. You tapped your sparkly heels along with your favorite song. Tara and you harmonized seamlessly.

Let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two, though? Give it to me, baby You make me wanna make you fall in love

Xavier had been checked out for most of the night, he was just happy to spend time with you. And the other hunters he worked with - since this was a Hunter’s Appreciation party. But getting to watch you dress up and hold you close while dancing in the dimly lit club, yeah, that made the socializing worth it.

His brain had finally registered the lyrics and he almost choked on his drink. He coughed quietly and looked up at you. Your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, your tits bouncing while you dance with Tara. He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, but his eyes can’t help but wander. Two? Imagining a miniature version of you made Xavier’s heart pound against his ribcage.

I showed my friends, then we high-fived Sorry if you feel objectified

Xavier’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped his drink. He sets it down on the bar with a shaky hand. He tilts his head at you, as if asking what exactly did you show. He shook his head, surely not. It was just a song. But then again, you could “show” and he knew that.

Xavier never asked you to send him nudes, but you were so easily turned on by him you spent weeks trying to figure out a way to level the playing field. Sure enough, sending him a picture from the shower did the trick. Of course, he matched your energy and offered to send his own. Which you didn’t reject. He definitely didn’t hold back after that. You’d send pictures and videos back and forth regularly. You could absolutely show Tara and you had zero doubts she would, indeed, high-five you.

Can't help myself, hormones are high Give me more than just some butterflies

You surprised yourself with how well you hit each note, your confidence growing. Your slightly hooded eyes stay locked on Xavier the whole song. You could feel the tension in the room grow. The hunger in Xavier’s eyes was evident. You watched as he slowly made his way to the side of the stage where you eventually climbed down.

Jeremiah was standing next to him, his cheeks flushed. Tara begged Xavier to invite him and after the performance - both you and Xavier finally figured out why. She launched herself into his arms, giggling. His whispered praises were almost lost in the club's noise. Xavier grabbed your waist and pulled you to him immediately. He leaned over to Jeremiah and whispered something before pulling you towards the exit.

“Xavier! What about –”

“They’ll get a cab, we’re leaving.”

His tone was firm and his expression calm. You were almost concerned he was angry with you. Once outside, you expected to stop at the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, but Xavier took a sharp turn, heading into an alley behind the club.

“What are we –”

You couldn’t even finish speaking before Xavier’s lips captured yours. His hand reaches down to pull up your dress, his fingers swiftly pulling your panties aside to press against your clit. He presses you against the wall and his kiss turns frantic. You barely have a moment to moan, you breathe heavily, your hands wrapping around him and taking fistfuls of his sweater.

Right as your legs start to shake, he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours.

“I need to get you home for this conversation.”

You scrunch your nose and look at him, confused. He nips at your bottom lip pulling another breathy moan from you.

“You are definitely cute, but two? That’d be exquisite.”

“No no no, higher!”

You pointed at the couch, urging Rafayel to get in the right spot to start recording. He huffed and crossed his arms.

“What about my artistic vision? Just because it’s a TikTok doesn’t mean it should look like shit. Let me work my magic!”

You put your hands on your hips and let him adjust the brightness of the overhead lights and try out different angles. You smile, knowing exactly what you’re up to. He’ll feel silly in about 15 minutes.

You run a hand over your shorts and matching cropped hoodie, smoothing out the wrinkles from practicing. The pink color almost matches the blush on your cheeks - which was not just from practicing. You might be a bit nervous.

You tighten your ponytail and press your lips, nibbling the corner of your mouth as you tap your foot impatiently. Rafayel finally looks up at you and rolls his eyes.

“Sorry cutie, I know your best angles and it’ll be worth the wait.”

He finally climbs up on the couch and looks at you through your phone. His brows knit together. He’s just now realizing you were right about where he needed to stand. You giggle while he puffs out a breath, his dusty purple fringe fluttering upwards.

“Okay, are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically before hopping over to your starting spot.

“So you know what to do, right?”

“Why are you asking me that? Of course I know! I’m not a boomer.”

You roll your eyes and grab your hairbrush, the best option you had for a makeshift microphone. You could have asked Rafayel to get you a real one but you didn’t want to ask him to put too much effort into this little video. A video you didn’t really plan on posting.

Rafayel holds up three fingers and counts down before pointing at you. You smile and sway your hips, lip syncing to your latest obsession.

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try out some freaky positions?

You swiftly lie down on your stomach and bend your knees, pulling your ankles up as close to your head as possible. You reach back and lock your fingers behind your ankles. You look at the camera and smile with a flush.

Have you ever tried this one?

Rafayel almost drops your phone. He ends the recording and stares at you. His ears turned bright red and his eyes darken, turning an even deeper shade of purple.

“I didn’t realize you were doing this trend…”

You roll over and cross your legs in front of you, resting your hands on your knees. You raise a brow and glare at him.

“How many videos of this trend have you watched, Rafayel?”

His eyes widen and he coughs, straightening his back before hopping off the couch in one swift motion. He crosses his arms and looks down at you, his mouth settled into that adorably irritating pout.

“I just know of the trend, not -- I don’t watch them like –”

You interrupt him, your voice a tad more raspy than you intended.

“Do you think the position isn’t worth it?”

The blush travels across his cheeks and he twists his nose, trying his best to look upset.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Cause I have a few I could try. You know… for the video.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow and his eyes drop to your exposed midriff and bare legs. He clears his throat and drops his hands to his hips before turning to walk away. You exhale sharply - he’s being dense. Time to be more direct.

“Like this one?”

He turns his head and watches you shift to face him. You lie back and kick your legs up. Your shoulders remain planted on the floor while your midsection is straight up, your hands planted on your back, your elbows braced against the floor to hold you up. Your legs tip over and your toes touch the floor. You keep your legs straight and spread them as wide as you are comfortable. Your shorts sink into your ass, the curve and shape now on full display.

You hear a sharp intake of breath and a shuffling of feet. You try to lower to the ground once more, but feel his hands on the backs of your thighs. When you look up you see Rafayel lean over to look down at you.

“Did you really do this trend for the trend, or did you have other intentions?”

You smile up at him, your smug expression clear as day. He runs his hands over your ass and places his hands at either side of your nearly exposed pussy. You gasp quietly.

“Yeah, you’re not uploading that video, but we are definitely trying these positions.”

He runs his thumbs across your center. You know he can feel how wet you are, doing those positions in front of him - positions you’ve desperately wanted to try with him - really got you going. He grinds against you, his cock digging into your ass, pulling a moan from you.

“Right fucking now.”

You didn’t even hear the front door to your apartment open, your music was turned up way too loud. And you were enjoying the mini concert you were putting on in the bathroom.

You held the curling iron loosely and rocked your hips side to side. You could never stop yourself from dancing and singing along to this song. You were so excited when Tara told you she got tickets for Sabrina’s concert next month. You were listening to all of her albums on repeat to prepare.

But tonight, you were going out with Sylus for a very special occasion - your one year anniversary. Well, it’s been over a year since you met him, but you both agreed not to celebrate when you actually met because it wasn’t exactly the best memory.

Sylus gave you his black card to get pampered all day while he worked and you made the most of it. Getting your nails done, a facial, shopping and basically a full body wax. You spent extra time on your makeup since you had a few new products to try out. Your new red lipstick compliments your skin tone perfectly, its staying power would be tested later.

The dress you picked was relatively simple, but god, did you feel sexy. The black bodice was fitted, hitting mid-thigh. The chest was very structured and pushed your girls up, giving the illusion of more cleavage than you actually had. Your favorite part though, were the sleeves. Black lace from shoulder to fingertip, the bell sleeves almost completely covering your hands. You paired the dress with new red pumps, which were still in the box on your bed.

Your hair was actually curling nicely and wasn’t falling flat immediately, so you felt on top of the world. You danced and sang at the top of your lungs.

You had no idea, Sylus had already let himself into your apartment. A bouquet of red roses in his hand and a mechanical crow with glowing yellow eyes sitting on his shoulder. Sylus couldn’t wait to introduce you to Lilith. He had built her himself specifically for you. He knew it would only mean you’d send her to spy on him like he had Mephisto spy on you, but he could tell how much you started to love seeing his little metal companion.

He heard the music immediately when he walked in. He closed the door quietly and dropped his suit jacket on the arm of the couch. He pointed to his jacket and Lilith flew over, settling on the fabric. He put the flowers on the coffee table and silently made his way to the door of your bathroom. A smile breaking out across his face as he realized you were singing.

Adore me, hold me, and explore me Mark your territory Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

His heart skipped a beat. Not only was your voice hypnotizing, but the lyrics… He had heard this song before, but couldn’t remember where. Probably on one of your drives with him, he tended to give you control of the music while he drove. It meant you were more likely to sing. He leaned against the doorframe just out of view. He could see you in the mirror, swaying your hips while you wrapped a strand of hair around the curling iron.

Adore me, hold me, and explore me I'm so fuckin' horny Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

And that’s when Sylus’s willpower broke. He pushed the bathroom door open, still leaning against the door frame. He racked his eyes down your body, taking in your new dress.

“Sylus! Oh my god, you fucking scared me! When did you get here?”

Sylus lifted his gaze to meet yours. He smirked before reaching up to grab the door frame above him. He looked so much taller like this, staring at you with those eyes.

“I was just enjoying the show, kitten.”

You put down the curling iron and turned it off. You fluffed your hair, letting the curls fall into loose waves. You tried not to stare at Sylus in the mirror. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and you could see his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“I like the song. I am curious though… When you sing along, do you think of anyone?”

Your cheeks flush and you stare at him. You bite your lip as you smile. He lets go of the doorframe and pushes off to walk towards you. His hands wrap around your waist and he pulls you close. Your back flush against his chest, you could feel his erection press against your ass.

“You know the answer to that question, Sy…”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“Well, I’d say I’ve completed adoring and holding you, that just leaves exploring.”

“Sylus! We –”

He spins you around and grabs your waist. He leans down to kiss your neck, before dipping down to bite at the fullness of your chest. You arch your back and let your head fall back as you groan. Your hands reach out to hold onto his waist, while his wrap around to grab your ass.

“But you’re so fuckin' horny, sweetie. And I live to serve my one and only.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

108 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

Text

Squeaky Clean 6

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: we in for it now.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A shell of numbness encases you. Your heart continues to flutter but the rest of you is dull. You close yourself in the bathroom with the cup of coffee. It’s strange how he sees that small gesture as a such a grand act of kindness when he can tell you to your face what he intends to do.

You drink it. You don’t feel the warmth; you barely even taste it. The simple act merely helps you focus, to steady your hands enough to function.

You crank the shower on. The thrum of the pipes rattles through you. You undress and step under the scour of water. It pours over you like the swell of tears you won’t let fall. You wash mechanically, no real perception of what you’re doing. It’s all just habit.

You peek down at your body. There’s still a chance. He could be like that blind date you went on. The one who said he didn’t expect you to look the way you do. That coded statement. You never did that again. That guy along with Steve only prove the same point; men aren’t worth it.

You turn the water off. You falter before you can get out. He hears that too. He hears how the time ticks by and inevitability creeps closer and closer. You step out and dry yourself. There is no urgency in you. It’s a fight just to keep going.

You can hear him too. He's pacing around. The coffee is acid in your stomach. You take the mug and stand in front of the door. That’s it then. The last seconds of freedom, or whatever you want to call it.

You step out as the apartment hazes in your vision. You refuse to look at him and turn away. You put your cup in the kitchen sink, you hand clutching the top of the towel. He clears his throat and his footfalls stop.

You rinse out the porcelain and leave it in there. You take a step back. You can’t do this. Well, you don’t get to decide that, do you?

His hands on your shoulders startle you. You wince and sway between him and the counter as he brushes along your skin. His touch goosebumps down your arms and back up. You shiver and grip the edge of the counter.

“You smell nice,” he purrs as he traces a straight line down your neck and hooks two fingers under the towel. It takes a single tug to dislodged it.

The cotton falls to your feet and you shudder. You close your eyes. Waiting. Please. Please. Your hopes splinter in the breathy silence as his gaze scours you. He gets even closer, arms hooking under yours, as he brings himself flush to your back.

His naked skin blazes against you. He curls his arms around to cup your chest and you whimper. Instinctively, you try to bat him away, to cover up. He gropes you and growls into your hair, inhaling you like an animal.

He hums as he wiggles against you, his rigid length bobbing against your back. You keep your eyes sealed as you hide in the darkness. Let him do what he wants, you don’t need to do a thing.

He groans as his nose brushes along your hair and he bends to nuzzle into your neck. It sends a chill through you. Your fingers stay locked on the edge of the linoleum counter. His lips press down and the graze of his teeth pinch your skin.

“You feel so good against me,” he rasps. “Your heart’s going so fast...” his hand crawls up to your throat and his thumb finds your carotid, feeling it pulse beneath. “Mine too.”

Your blood flows cold, even as he cocoons you in his heat. He blazes hotly against you as his other hand drifts down your stomach, kneading and pushing into your soft flesh. Greedily, he grabs and gropes you; squeezing your love handles, splaying his fingers over your stomach, before caressing again. As he feels you up, his hips rock subtly with his need.

He draws you away from the counter, step by step. Your hands cling for just a moment then unlatch. Your arms hang at your side as you surrender to his control. Don’t open your eyes. He moves you with him, staying entwined with you, tangled around you like a leash.

Your soles pad over the scuffed wooden floor, your legs trembling as you rely on his strength to keep you upright. He stops you again and drags his hands back to your shoulders. He urges you forward until your knees meet the low metal bed frame.

You bend as he guides you. You bend your arms against the mattress as your head lolls from your neck. The cool air tingles over the back of your thighs as he drapes you over the edge of the bed. He flutters his fingertips along your legs and the curve of your ass. You twitch as you feel how exposed you are.

He purrs again. His nails jab into your flesh and he fondles your ass. He massages it as he pushes the excess together, lifts it, jiggles it. He toys with you as the floorboards shift with his weight.

He groans and something else prods along your ass. His nose trails alongside the crease between your cheeks and his hot breath smatters across your cunt. He drones hungrily and tilts his head against you, poking his tongue out to delve between your lips. You squeak as his mouth sends a thrill up your spine.

You push your toes into the floor as you lay prone over the foot of the bed. His large hands continue to knead your ass as he laps at you. The noise that rise from him sicken you. Like a glutton at feast, he devours you sloppily.

You quiver as his tongue stretches to find your clit and frames your hips, lifting your ass higher as he angles your hips. He smothers his face in your as he drinks you in. He gulps as if he is starving, as if he has been wandering a dessert for years.

You put your forehead to the mattress and quake. His desperation is frightening. You can feel it in his touch, in his grip. He isn’t going to stop.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #squeaky clean #maid au #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers

142 notes · View notes

bread-crum206 · 5 hours ago

Text

A Game of Hearts

Chapter four: Beneath the Surface

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 P t 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5

Mornings were always the worst; waking up to the cold, sterile room with only the faintest trace of his presence lingering in the air. He was always gone before you even stirred, disappearing into the depths of the compound to handle whatever dark business his role demanded.

You had yet to share a meal together, much less have a conversation that didn’t feel forced or terse. The tension between you was thick like a string pulled taut, just waiting to snap. And yet, nothing changed.

But today felt different.

You heard a knock at the door, and your heart pounded as you made your way through the common room to the entrance.

You muttered under your breath, “Since when did he knock before coming in?” Convinced it was your husband on the other side, there was an unfamiliar stillness in the air, an almost tangible sense that something was on the verge of shifting.

You opened the door, coming face to face with a man in a pink suit. He wore a black mask with a large white square painted across the front, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.

“Mrs. Frontman,” he addressed you, handing over a small stack of neatly arranged white papers with elegant black lettering. “These are the documents you’re expected to review regarding the VIP room.” His voice was rough through the mask, betraying the fact that he clearly didn’t want to be the one to deliver them. He would much rather be doing something more interesting than talking to his boss’s wife.

You nodded politely. “Thank you.”

You watched as the man retreated down the vast hallway, his footsteps echoing in the distance.

The silence that followed felt heavy as your own footsteps echoed across the room, the sound unnervingly hollow as you crossed the threshold into the sitting room. This room has quickly become your favorite. It was the one space in the complex that felt almost warm. The view outside the large windows was serene, and the only color in the otherwise monochrome apartment came from the beautifully patterned brown and beige rug.

You sank into the cushioned chair by the small table in front of the windows and peeled the paperclip off the stack of documents. You glanced down at the first page.

VIP Room (Very Important People)

This document outlines the private quarters of the VIPs and the central room.You will decide the theme of the room. You will choose the furniture. You will ensure that all the needs of the VIPs are met.

You flipped to the next page, which listed the current contents of the room. From the light switch covers to the diamond chandelier, everything was detailed. The following pages were filled with names of contractors who could be hired to renovate the space, should you decide a change was necessary.

You frowned as you scanned the list. The gold-and-black jungle theme had always felt suffocating, and you especially hated the naked models that stood on display in the corners of the room, meant to entertain the twisted men seated in the center. You thought it was disgusting.

Your mind began to run wild with ideas. How could you change it without being ridiculed? You didn’t know if you could stomach another round of the garish gold accents on the walls.

You muttered aloud to the empty room, “Maybe I could add more plants… Or maybe introduce some new architectural elements…”

You sat at the table for a few hours, brainstorming, sketching out ideas on the margins of the pages. Eventually, you sighed and set the papers down, walking toward the window. The incoming storm was slowly swallowing the sun, and you stood there, staring out into the gathering dark. Even though it was still mid-day.

———————

You were still standing by the window, watching the rain cascade down the glass, when you heard the door creak open behind you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination—an echo from the distant hallways. But then you heard it again: the soft sound of boots on the polished floor.

You turned, and there he was, The Frontman, stepping into the room. His posture was rigid, but there was something different about him today: an edge to his movements, a subtle exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin.

“Didn’t expect you home so early,” you said, the words slipping out sharper than you had intended.

He met your gaze, but said nothing for a long moment. There was no greeting, no acknowledgment of your biting tone. He simply walked toward the side table, setting his mask down with deliberate precision.

“I had a few things to take care of,” he replied quietly.

You nodded, unwilling to let the silence stretch between you. “And?”

He hesitated, as if weighing how much to say. The stillness hung thick in the air, and you found yourself stepping toward him, closer than you’d planned.

With a huff, you muttered, “You don’t need to explain yourself.” You turned away, but there was a crack in your voice you hadn’t expected. “It’s none of my business.”

He was silent for a moment, before speaking, almost too softly to catch.

“It’s all your business now, whether you want it to be or not.”

Your breath hitched in your chest. His voice, raw and unguarded, struck you. You turned toward him, wanting to catch a glimpse of the vulnerability he’d let slip. But by the time you reached the entrance to the common room, it was gone. He had returned to his usual mask of stoic detachment, his eyes cold.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you said, your voice low, harsh. “I didn’t ask to be part of this twisted… thing you’ve built.”

He locked eyes with you, and for the first time in a long while, you saw something in his gaze that wasn’t just resignation or indifference. There was an ache there, something deep, something that mirrored your own. But before you could latch onto it, he shut it down.

“I know,” he replied simply.

———————

Fourth chapter!! Get ready cause more are coming!!! :) Thank you for all the support 🫶

Tag list:

@sunny21200

@lucinda-reads

@shakysif

@whoisbriannaa

@allmylovegoestomusic

@swthrtbyeol

@strawberrychita

@hoddystark

@livelaughcelica

@foulbreadpaenut

@write-from-the-heart

@angelofthorr

@sylviavf

@missroro

@siloveyourmoms

@luv1ze

@audrey223

@khaylin27

@gay4hotmilfs

@mimis-u3u

@captainlunaxmen

@cdej6

#squid games x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game #x reader #in ho x reader #frontman x reader #the front man #marriage au #arranged marriage

80 notes · View notes

alohajun · 13 hours ago

Note

hey so. idk if asks are still open but. you can’t end racer mingyu like that i need more please 🤗

♡ LUCKY CHARM: THE WINNING FORMULA — KIM MINGYU

f1 racer!mingyu x race engineer!fem!reader | wc : 0.8k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, f1 au, coworkers to lovers, fluff, swearing, mentions of skinship | loki's lines : y’all just enabling my f1xkpop addiction atp, now i have smth to do during the off-season until f1 starts again

“go on a date with me, lucky charm.”

your eyes widened at his confession, not having expected those exact words to leave his lips — let alone hear him say them so publicly for everyone to hear.

the pit crew exchanged knowing glances, having known it was only going to be a matter of time until mingyu had finally realized his feelings for you and asked you out.

because even they knew that there was no way he’d be so smitten with you just because of some superstitious helmet knock.

“gyu, are you being for real right now?” you uttered, still processing everything in shock. “you just got pole on one of the toughest tracks and you want to—”

“there’s no better time than the present.” mingyu cut you off, his cheesy grin widening when he saw the flabbergasted look on your face. “so, what say, lucky charm?”

the ferrari paddock burst into laughter at his optimism, knowing exactly how stubborn mingyu could get when he made a decision. they also knew how he never gave up and always got what he wanted.

“kim mingyu.” you exasperatedly sighed, shaking your head in disbelief as you pulled yourself away from his embrace. “just focus on your race tomorrow. we’ll talk after that.”

mingyu opened his mouth to argue but only grinned as he heard the rest of your words. “that’s not a no. i’ll take it as a win.” he chuckled victoriously to himself.

“how about you get us an actual win while you are at it?” you quipped teasingly, the rest of the garage laughing at the playful banter you two had.

oh, and kim mingyu definitely took those words of yours as a challenge.

as soon as the race started, mingyu took off with the perfect start, defending his position from wonwoo as they drove side by side on the first corner.

you stood by the pit wall, practically glaring holes onto the monitors as you analyzed the data coming in from mingyu’s car. “good start, gyu. let’s go on offense once you get the tires warmed up.” you spoke over the radio, keeping calm.

your heart was practically at your throat as the race neared its end. come on, gyu. don’t fuck up. you got this. you didn’t even dare to blink as you focused on mingyu’s car on the screen.

“oi, don’t worry.” mingyu’s deep voice came through the radio, almost as if he were sensing your nerves. “i got this, lucky charm. and after this, i will cash in on that date; thank you very much.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his confidence, rolling your eyes playfully. “yeah, whatever you say, gyu. get that win first.” you quipped teasingly.

and getting the win he did.

the garage erupted into celebrations as soon as mingyu’s car made it past the checkered flag. you let out a sigh of relief as you fell back in your seat, a soft smile on your face as you shook your head to yourself.

it wasn’t long before you saw mingyu making his way towards you, completely covered in sweat and champagne from his podium celebration. you held up a hand, stopping him from approaching you, wincing slightly as you took him in.

mingyu, however, remained unfazed. “so? that date, lucky charm?” he asked, tilting his head as an amused smirk made its way to his face.

“you are really serious about this, aren’t you?” you asked, biting back a smile as you observed the way he looked. goodness, had he always been this good-looking?

mingyu only scoffed in disbelief, as if the answer to your question was a no-brainer. “with you? i’m always serious.” he slowly took a step closer.

your cheeks flushed as you averted your gaze momentarily. “yeah, we can go on that date.” you mumbled, clearing your throat as you shook your head in mock defeat.

a surprised squeal left your lips when you felt mingyu pull you into a spontaneous hug, shuddering slightly as you made contact with his champagne-soaked race suit — which only made him hug you tighter.

your breath hitched as you looked up at him, the garage’s laughter and applause fading into silence as you looked into his eyes.

it was just like the movies, with everything fading into the background as you two just stared at each other.

“i’m not just messing around, yeah?” he spoke up, his voice low and serious, just audible enough for you to hear. “i hope you know that, y/n.”

you nodded slowly, understanding how genuine he was being. “i … i know, gyu.” you reassured him just as quietly.

mingyu’s eyes crinkled as he smiled softly, feeling as if an immense burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

“you are a damn good lucky charm, you know? i won a race, and now i won you over too.”

taglist : @kflixnet @mirxzii @woooooooosh8 @i05wook @gyuguys (to be added, please send an ask or dm!)

MASTERLISTS | TAGLIST FORM

#[📝] works #seventeen #seventeen imagines #svt mingyu #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #kim mingyu imagines #mingyu drabbles #seventeen drabbles #svt drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu drabbles #mingyu fluff #mingyu

76 notes · View notes

esote-rika · 10 hours ago

Text

derision as prelude to desire | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI, fluff if you squint

Summary: Spencer Reid’s new coworker is mean but one night doing overtime together leads to the two of them bonding.

Content: glasses!Spencer, workplace rivals if you squint, Spencer Reid vs technology, reader is kind of mean and based on Blair Waldorf (in background, looks, and personality), Spencer is petty, his mind is in the GUTTER, use of eye drops, making out, sub!Spencer, fingering, oral (male receiving), whining and begging glasses!Spencer. Let’s pretend the BAU doesn’t have any CCTV cameras for this one m’kay thanks

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: This is an ITCH in my brain, like I’ve been thinking about a Spencer Reid x Blair Waldorf crackship since August last year it’s actually concerning. One of my favorite ship dynamics is loser boy x popular girl, so it makes sense. Still in second person to make it immersive. This isn’t a crossover, so there will be no spoilers for Gossip Girl. The reader's personality, looks and background are just based on Blair. Let me know if you want to read more of this dynamic because I have so many ideas for it oh my god. I hope you enjoy it! Also, tagging @darkmatilda as a fellow glasses!Spencer connoisseur.

Spencer Reid often muses on the series of events that had brought you from the streets of the Upper East Side to work in Quantico, Virginia. It would be easy to ask, of course, or even have Penelope do a quick background check on you, but he’s made a game of it instead, piecing together what he knows of your history, filling in the blanks of what would have gone wrong, what decisions you would have taken, in order to leave the privileged life you led and enter public service.

As far as he had been concerned, you don’t belong anywhere near the FBI, let alone the BAU. Spoiled, rich, with a mean streak he is all too familiar with from his time in school.

He had been so sure you wouldn’t fit in when you first joined the team. You had been, and continue to be, perfectly made, every single hair shiny and curled just so, heels always so shiny and matching whatever designer bag you have slung over your shoulder. Everything about you screams high maintenance, and his profiler instincts point to several things: uncooperative, wants everything handed to you, ditzy.

But then you had shown your cards, had proved his assessment so wrong and he could never forgive you for the sting of that defeat.

It doesn’t help that you seem to enjoy riling him up as well. Every case is an opportunity to one up him, an attempt to claim his spot and it’s unfair. You already have everything, yet you still refuse to yield the title of team genius to him, the one thing he can cling to, the thing he knows is his.

He is still glowering today, four months into your employment, passive aggressively hitting the keys on his keyboard. He’s a slow typist, and he’d agreed to write Morgan’s reports for him this week, a favor between friends he’s now beginning to regret. You are the only one keeping him company. The rest of the team has already left hours ago, but you’re typing away at your desk, fingers flying through the keyboard without even a glance. His own skills seem laughable in comparison, going at the keys one by one, with the speed of an old grandparent squinting over a typewriter instead of a man in his twenties.

“Take a picture, Reid, it’ll last longer.”

He blinks, forcing his eyes back to the monitor. “You’re so original.” he mutters, pushing his glasses up to nestle on top of his head. He rubs his eyes, already despising the glare of the screen.

“Aw, what, the genius can’t handle a little blue light?”

He doesn’t bother with a response, blinking at the screen instead. The sooner he can get this done, the sooner he can leave. Sounds of tapping keys fill the air again, but he stops after a few moments again, rubbing at his eyes. He hears a sigh, and then your voice again, haughty but somehow concerned.

“You’re not supposed to rub your eyes, it makes it worse.”

“I know,” he grumbles, “I don’t need you lecturing me about the importance of eye health.”

“It seems like you do, since you’re still doing it.” you reply derisively. He’d be rolling his eyes if he isn’t too busy rubbing them.

“Here,” you say, “Catch.”

Confused, he lifts his head, only to flinch as something hurls right at him. “What-” it hits his desk, then bounces off.

“Oh, look what you’ve done, genius.”

“You threw it at me.” his lips are pulled into a tight line of disapproval, “A head’s up would have been nice.”

“I did, genius, I said catch. You just have the reflexes of an eighty year old.” your voice is tinged with annoyance.

To his surprise, you’re up and walking to his desk, heels echoing in the empty bullpen. He watches as you gingerly kneel on the ground, bending down, and his eyes grow wide. The image of you bent down like this is surprisingly enticing, your skirt straining against the soft curve of your hips, hair falling down your shoulders like a curtain of the night sky. You’ve gotten close enough that he can smell your perfume, something citrusy and clean, and he subconsciously leans closer.

Mouth dry, he manages to croak out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the damn eye drops.” you snap, an arm extending towards him and for a moment he holds his breath, waiting for contact. Instead, you grab something from the ground, “There it is.”

He watches as you straighten, lifting your torso upright, but still kneeling in front of him. An image flashes through his mind, your face between his thighs, those large eyes staring up at him, but he banishes it quickly lest his thoughts begin to stir his body.

“Here, these should help.” You say, finally standing back up and placing the tiny bottle on his desk. A filthy part of him wishes you’d get back on your knees. He catches the tilt of your head, the confusion in your eyes, “Reid. Are you still with me? Has your brain finally short circuited from all those statistics?”

Oh his brain is short circuiting, all right, just from a different cause.

“I’m - yeah.” he replies, and then he rattles off the first thought his frazzled mind could come up with, “Did you know some people have used eye drops as a method for murder? Not these ones, but there are specific brands that contain—”

“Tetrahydrozoline,” you finish for him, “Yeah, I know.”

He blinks. There you go again, proving your intellect, your value, somehow matching his even though he’s pretty sure you are no genius, not in the same way he is. Still, perhaps it’s the late night, or your offer of relief, but the sting of being bested doesn’t resonate tonight. A softer feeling unfurls in his chest, something warm and addictive, something like understanding. He smiles, “That’s right.”

You nod, curls spilling over your shoulders again, “Mhm. Well… These are for your eyes, I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

A scoff, “Please, I’m not dumb enough to attempt murder in the office.”

His brows lift and he finds himself grinning, “So you’ve thought about it?”

“I will neither deny nor confirm.” you’re smiling now too, and he lets his eyes roam over the pretty lines of your face, memorizing how lovely you look in this moment, guards lowered and smiling at him with ease. He thinks he sees something flash in those pretty eyes of yours but he’s not sure. Reading people has never been his strong suit, regardless of his profession.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” you gesture at his glasses, and he immediately obeys, pushing it back up to nestle on his hair. He holds his breath as you come closer, bites his lips when your hand comes to his chin. It’s soft, unbelievably gentle, and you tilt his head back. From this angle, he can see the way your lashes curl, the soft hint of shimmer swept across your lids. Eyeshadow, he remembers from what Penelope and JJ have told him, and it highlights the shape of your eyes, making them appear brighter.

He blinks as coolness hits his eye, and then you’re tilting his head to the other side, and he’s trying not to panic, trying not to be a creep, but in reality, he hasn’t been this close, this intimate to a woman in so long that it’s messing up his ability to inhale, to think, to function. Your hair flutters gently around his face, and the scent of citrus is stronger now, heady, and he feels so light headed he’s afraid he’ll faint.

The same coolness hits the other eye, and before you can pull away, before he can think it through, he’s curling his own hand over your wrist. He lifts it up, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, admonishing any thoughts of germs and bacteria, and instead relishing at the tender flesh beneath his lips. He kisses your palm again, lips gently tracing the lines, before moving down to the inside of your wrist, before pausing.

He dares to peer up, waiting for a reprimand, a cutting sentence that would have him lashing back at you, but there’s none. There it is again, the flicker in your eyes, and now he finally knows the word to attach to it: desire.

He kisses the inside of your wrist again, and feels you pulse fluttering beneath his lips. Fast, to his surprise, almost matching the quick succession of thudding in his chest.

“Reid,” you whisper, and he waits again, allows you time to pull away. You don’t, but he’s apprehensive now, afraid he’s crossed a boundary. He definitely has, but he would do it again if you express the desire to do so, to tumble into whatever this is with him. He just needs confirmation, one verbal acknowledgement that you want this too, because he doesn’t trust his ability to read you yet, not when he’s spent so much time despising you.

But you’re just looking at him, and the embarrassment is almost painful. His cheeks heat up, and he drops your hand.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs, sinking back on his seat. He’s about to turn to his monitor, intent to forget about this, forget everything even though his memory would make that impossible, but he finds his face being tilted up again, cradled between impossibly soft hands, and then there’s lips against his own, your lips, oh god you are kissing him.

He wraps his arms around your waist, following the movement of your mouth to the best of his limited ability. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lets out an involuntary whimper, his body jerking at the sting. He feels you smiling against his mouth, cocky even in the midst of a kiss, in the midst of the most heated kiss he’s had since - since - he can’t even remember her, the brief dalliance he had with an actress once upon a time, because all he can think of is your mouth, and your hands, nails scratching at his scalp, and every single thought is expelled from his mind when you climb on his lap.

“God,” he moans in between kisses, his breaths ragged, but he would gladly drown in you before stopping.

“Not god,” you correct him and nip at his lower lip with more force this time.

“Mhm.” he whines, and kisses you again, shifting so you’re more comfortable on his lap. He wonders if the chair is creaking from your combined weight, but then you’re grinding directly on his cock and he’s lost in a haze of white hot pleasure.

Apparently, Spencer Reid cannot multitask, because his lips fall slack as you grind against his hardening cock. Your laughter tinkles in his ear, before your mouth latches on his jaw, down his neck, open and wet and sticky. He knows you said you aren’t god, and he’s never been religious, but he swears this must be heaven. Fitting too, in the same way he’s never thought he’d reach some place he doesn’t even believe in, he’s also never thought he would have you—beautiful, infuriating, untouchable you—grinding on his lap with a desperation that borders frenzy.

Recognizing that your need burns you just as his is making him reckless, he manages to whisper, “Tell me— tell me what to do. How do I make you feel good?”

You giggle, taking one of his hands away from your waist and leading it under your skirt. The fabric has bunched up over your thighs, and he grips the smooth flesh greedily. But you have other ideas, and he’s eager to learn, so he lets you move his hand higher, until the tips of his fingers brush against moist fabric.

His mouth goes dry. You’ve soaked through your panties.

“Like this?” he dips his fingers past the lace, his mouth falling open at the slick that’s gathered at your core. You have your face buried at his neck, lips and tongue still assaulting the tender skin there, but he feels you nod, feels the shudder that runs through you, and he takes those as a good sign. His touch is exploratory, gentle, fueled by an intoxication over the fact that you’re here and you’re enjoying it, you’re making those sounds for him.

He’s awestruck rather than cocky, and when he slides his fingers into your pussy, he’s immediately trying to figure out a rhythm that would draw out those pretty noises from your lips. When he finds it, he sticks to it, greedily drinking in your moans, no matter how muffled they are against his neck.

There’s a sense of degeneracy to this whole thing. Fingering his coworker in the office, right there on his desk, he could get fired should this get out, they both could. Still, he’s never truly had anyone want him so unabashedly and he simply cannot stop. You had been the one to kiss him, after all, the lines in the sand had been completely trampled by the time you had climbed on his lap.

“You feel so good,” you whisper, and he feels you move, riding his hand shamelessly, and he has to bite your shoulder to keep himself from whining again. The sight alone nearly undoes him, and you’ve barely done anything. He’s been actively providing you with stimulation this whole time, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly, and somehow, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

“Yeah?” he asks, pupils blown wide, wanting, needing the assurance that he’s doing good, he’s making you feel good.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” your voice grows sharper as he curls his fingers with every thrust. After a few moments of fumbling with your panties, his thumb presses against your clit and he’s rewarded by another groan from you.

He draws figure eights against your slick core, finding a rhythm that has you tugging at his hair wildly, and he’s whispering into your ear, pleading, “That’s it, please come for me, please, let me see how good you feel, please, please—”

“Spencer!” you groan, and then you’re shuddering in his lap, and his fingers down to his knuckles are wet with your slick.

He grins, helping you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your hair, the FBI issued office chair creaking so much he’s afraid the two of you would break it if you don’t stop. The image is hilarious in its absurdity, making his grin widen, and you must have taken it for arrogance because he feels a slight smack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get cocky.” you mutter.

He takes you in, the flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, mascara now smudged along your lash lines, and he’s reverential instead of arrogant, grateful that he has brought someone so stunning and capable to the throes of pleasure, has taken you apart so much you’ve ruined your normally perfect facade.

“You’re beautiful.” he tells you, his own eyes glistening with an unfocused daze. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and he’s seized with a desire to keep you hear and bury his fingers inside you over and over again until you believe him.

“Your turn.” You chuckle, hands unwinding from his neck and travelling down the length of his abdomen, coming to the buckle on his belt.

“Wait, I—uh,” he turns beet red once again, clearing his throat, “Are you on the pill? I don’t have—”

You tilt your head, as if the idea of a man walking around without a condom is foreign. Perhaps it is, but Spencer simply never assumed he would have any use for it. He turns away, teeth worrying his lower lip, but you pull his face to you again.

“I have hands.” you say as you resume undoing his pants. You shift, then slink away from him, and he whines at the loss of your warmth, but he sees you on your knees once again, and this time it’s not just his brain making up lewd, inappropriate thoughts, “And a mouth.”

“Y-you really don’t have to.”

“I know,” you grin, pretty as the devil and twice as tempting, and as your hands wrap around his engorged length, thumb circling at the tip, “But how can I not, when you’re this pretty?”

He blacks out, he swears he does, there’s no way this isn’t a perverted dream, no way that you’re actually stroking up and down his throbbing cock. Somehow he comes to, only to feel a warmth, a wetness, enveloping the swollen tip, and his hips buck up instinctively. He whines when your hands push at his thighs, holding him in place.

“Please,” he gasps, babbles, really, “Please, oh god, that feels so good.”

You take him further down and he throws his head back so violently the glasses slip past his ears and clatter onto the floor. He feels your laughter vibrating against his cock and it almost has him keening. He whines, wriggles against your hold with no real desire to break free. He finds that likes the force of your hands on him, nails leaving harsh indents on his flesh as he struggles. The pain is delicious, heightening his already frazzled senses.

You bob your head up and down, your hair swaying gently, and he manages to will his hands to move, gathering the soft tresses in his hand so they won’t impede your movement. Your eyes flicker up, meet his own, and he swears there’s a thank you in the glint of them. He cannot do anything else.

Slack jawed, he watches you hollow your cheeks, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth as you give him the best head he’s ever experienced. Never mind that it’s his first one, and that he doesn’t have a point of comparison. He’s convinced this is the best, you are the best, and he’s never been more thankful for his eidetic memory until this night, knowing that he cannot, will never, ever forget the way you look as you knelt down and sucked his cock like you were being paid to do it.

“God, you’re so pretty, oh my god, yes, just like that, please, please, yes.” he’s aware that he’s whining, and there’s an amused twinkle in your eye that tells him he would never hear the end of this after.

He knows you well enough to know that you would dangle this over his head any chance you get, that you aren’t above playing dirty. Instead of dread, it makes his stomach roil with another gush of desire, and he knows that that is even more concerning than whatever you were going to do.

(It never occurs to him to do the same, that he could tease you back and point out that he has had you on your knees and sucking on his cock like you were made for it simply because his brain cannot fathom ever associating the sight of you kneeling before him as something to be ashamed of.)

He’s drawn from his thoughts as he feels your hands cupping his balls, stimulating an entirely new area that has him thrusting up. He feels his cock brush against the back of your throat, and he pulls back immediately, eyes wide with worry as you gag around his length.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby you can stop if—”

But you do it again, soldiering past your gag reflex and taking him all the way, and he can hear someone saying oh fuck oh fuck I’m cumming agh, please, I’m cumming, and he thinks its his own voice but he’s unsure. His eyes are squeezed shut, colors exploding behind his lids as he feels your tongue swirling over and over his sensitive cock, before the cool air surrounds it, telling him you’ve stopped completely.

When he opens his eyes, you have your head on his thigh, cheek pressed against the fabric, a lazy smile on your ruined lips.

“God,” he whispers, reaching for you, wanting you close, “That was—wow, you—come here, please.”

He watches as a flicker of surprise flits over your face, before you mask it with a giggle, “Good?” you murmur, tucking his soft cock into his pants before climbing on his lap again.

“Incredible.” He holds you tight, your slick only half dry on his fingers, the taste of him still on your tongue, “You’re incredible.”

You’re quiet, contemplative, and he presses a kiss to your neck, wanting to bring you out of whatever funk you’ve gone into, “Hey, what is it?” He’s almost terrified of the answer, worried you would pull away and leave him cold.

“I just didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.” you reply, eventually sinking into his arms. Your voice is soft when you say, “Most men aren’t.”

The thought of her having experiences doesn’t bother him; it’s the fact that they callously left her after that makes him tighten his hold on her. “I’m sorry.”

“For the entirety of shitty men? You’d need more apologies than that,” you chuckle, fingers absently curling into his hair, “But thank you. This is— this is nice.”

“It is,” Spencer nods, leaning into your touch, eyes shut.

“You lost your glasses.”

“I did.”

Your laughter fills the air, “Hey, are you sleepy? You still have Morgan’s reports to finish.”

His eyes flutter open, a sheepish smile on his lips, “Why’d you have to remind me?”

“Because the sooner you finish it, the sooner we can do this again.”

Spencer laughs, kissing your shoulder as he relents, “All right, all right.” That’s more than enough incentive to brave staring at the monitor again.

#spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #dr spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

106 notes · View notes

letsbangts · 4 hours ago

Text

answer your phone || jjk

⤷ summary: when the consequences of his actions come calling

⟡ sequel to mutt ⟡

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 12.8k+ (I couldn’t stop 😳)

18+ // mdni

⟶ genre: angst, smut, fluff, friends with benefits au

⟶ content: fuckboy!jk, tattooartist!jk, jk is on a downward spiral (it's what he deserves), oc is struggling as well, taehyung is the shoulder to lean on everyone deserves

⟶ warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, groping, protected sex, nipple play, oral (m. & f. receiving), markings (hickeys & other bruising), a bit of dirty talk & praising, fingering, teasing, multiple orgasms…I think that’s it?

↬ a/n: HERE IT IS MUTT PT 2! firstly I want to say thank you for all the love & support i received on pt 1 it truly meant so much to me ♡ OKAY so you all wanted #justiceforoc and to see jk grovel so the tables have definitely turned on him ;). angel xoxo

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ answer your phone leon thomas 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

masterlist

Answer your phone I've got to talk to you

Jungkook is sitting on his couch with a girl's lips all over his neck and her hands all over his body, but his eyes are fixed on his cell phone lying on the coffee table. Instead of focusing on how her tongue is licking at his throat or how her hands grope him through his pants, he can only focus on you.

He stares at the phone that won't ring, at least not with you on the other end. It has been over a month since you stormed out of his place. At first, he left you alone and didn't try to reach out because he thought you needed to cool off. Jungkook has dealt with this hot and cold shit with others before; he knows they’ll be back eventually, whether he makes any effort or not. And it’s so much easier not to. But he has been calling you for weeks now with no success.

This past month, Jungkook has been with a handful of women, hoping to feel something, but he hasn't. Not even with the aid of an empty bottle or a joint— and he's certainly had plenty of both— nothing makes him feel as good as you do. Whether it's getting his dick sucked by any of the random women he’s taken into the bathroom of a club or bending one over in the backseat of his car in the parking lot of the tattoo studio, getting on top of someone else to distract him from you hasn’t helped as he thought it would.

Even though the girl with him right now is attractive, with a nice body and a skilful set of hands, he is trapped in his thoughts. He’s annoyed that her lips don't send tingles down his body like yours do, that her hands aren't as soft as your own and that she doesn't have her fingers running through his hair the way you do.

He misses you.

He pries the girl's hands off him and pushes her back as he lets out a deep sigh. She looks at him with a confused expression.

Jungkook licks his lips and, without looking at her, says, "I think we better stop; you should go."

The girl attempts a seductive smile as she moves to unbuckle his belt.

"Stop? We haven't even started anything. Come on, I'll make you feel good, big boy."

Jungkook rips her hands off of his belt, he rubs his hands over his face in frustration.

"Look, I'm just not feeling this, okay?" he says exasperated.

The girl's face drops and her whole demeanour changes.

"Are you fucking serious, Jungkook? Not feeling this? Can you not get it up or something? Is your dick really that pathetic?" she snarks, her eyes scanning him up and down.

He gives her a pointed look with his pierced eyebrow raised as he rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek and chuckles bitterly. He shakes his head, sniffs, and sits up straighter.

"Okay, listen here, Emilia—"

"It's Emily!"

"Whatever the fuck your name is, I don't care. I tried to be nice about this, but if you want to provoke me, that's fine. You're right; I can't get it up because I can't even pretend for a goddamn moment that you turn me on, not even in the slightest, so get your ass out of my fucking house," he sneers through clenched teeth.

Right after Jungkook finished speaking, he felt a sting on his cheek. The response to his words was a sharp slap to his face and, once again, another upset girl storming out of his place, slamming the door behind her.

Jungkook shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. A metallic taste begins to form in his mouth; he must have bitten the inside of his cheek on impact. He rises to his feet and walks to the bathroom. He leans over the sink, gripping the porcelain edge as he spits out blood. Jungkook stares at himself in the mirror and runs a hand over his reddened cheek, marked with a fresh cut from the girl's ring-clad hand.

He isn't bothered that the girl is upset because he doesn't care about her. Jungkook couldn't care less about whether he was an asshole to Emma; all he cares about is you and how he needs to talk to you.

Answer your phone Give me a minute, please Has your heart turned to stone? Have you no sympathy?

He has texted and called you an embarrassing number of times, waiting with every ring to see if you'd pick up so that he could hear your sweet voice. And he does, but only when he's met with your voicemail — "Hey, this is Y/N. Sorry, I missed your call. Please leave me a message, and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks!"— which is a lie because you never do. Still, he leaves voice messages, hoping you will listen to them and call him back. He hopes that with every call, his persistence will make you curious enough to answer and talk to him—even if only for a minute.

Jungkook turns on the tap and washes his face; the cool water momentarily clears his head. However, once he raises his head and looks at his reflection again, his fringe drips with water, droplets falling onto his shirt. He is overwhelmed by the thought of you all over again.

He knows you can't be too mad at him because you haven't blocked him—not his number or on social media. This is how he knows you're not that hung up on what happened since he sees you posting, whether casually going out for coffee or all dressed up to go party with your friends; regardless, in all of them, you look stunningly beautiful.

This makes him miss you even more and makes him unsure if blocking him might have been better since Jungkook has seen some guys in your posts and noticed how they sometimes have an arm around you or how you lean in a little bit too close to them for his liking. He wonders if they are just friends; even if they are, he's sure they want to be more. Have they tried anything with you? Are you dressing up like that for one of those guys? Are you trying to move on with one of them? Is that the reason you're ignoring him?

The thought alone of you with someone else drives him crazy, but having to see you with some guy who probably doesn't even know you that well makes him furious. Jungkook knows you better than any one of those chumps could, yet they get to be around you while he is stuck looking at your angelic face beside some happy idiot through a screen like a loser.

Jungkook bets none of those guys know that you hum while getting ready, don't know that when you're in the car while it's raining you turn off the radio to listen to it fall, don't know that you can't sleep wearing pants or socks, don't know that you hate drinking room temperature water, don't know that you do this adorable little happy dance when you really like the food you're eating, and bets they don't know that the guy who put that tattoo on your hip has fucked you every way under the sun.

Shit. He misses you.

Misses how you would thread your fingers through his hair, scratching softly at his scalp while he had his head in your lap as you both watched TV, misses how you would listen to him complain about a client while you fiddled with his earring but with such attentive eyes that showed you were paying attention, misses how you would scrunch your nose and blush when he made a flirty comment, misses how you would somehow take the pressure of the day off him simply by hugging him.

Why won't you answer? Why won't you give him a proper chance to explain himself and apologize? Did all your feelings for him vanish; has your heart just turned to stone? Don't you see how hard he's trying? Don't you have any sympathy for him?

Upon realizing that his teeth are grinding together and his fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, he pulls himself together, relaxing all his muscles, and heads back to the living room with determination.

Jungkook grabs his phone off the coffee table before sitting on his couch. With his elbows resting on his knees, he goes to his call log filled with your name and presses it, lifting the phone to his ear as he listens to the ringing for the umpteenth time.

I know I fucked this up I know I let you down But I've suffered long enough And you're still not around

He bites his nails while tapping his foot anxiously; he concentrates on what seems like endless ringing. His eyes glance at the clock. You should be home from work by this time, he thinks. When your voice finally comes through—voicemail, of course. Jungkook didn't honestly expect anything else.

He leans back, tips his head back against the backrest, and shuts his eyes for a second, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his thoughts, and when he hears the beep of the answering machine, all those thoughts spill out of his mouth.

I know I don't deserve it But please have some mercy 'Cause I just might die if you don't

Y/N POV

You hold your buzzing phone in your hand and watch as the screen dims once it's finished, only to light up a few seconds later with a notification about a voicemail.

You hit on the notification and bring your phone to your ear, you bite your lip when you hear the deep voice of the man you've been keeping at bay.

"Hey Y/N, I don't know if you even listen to my messages anymore or if you ever did, but I'm not going to give up. I'm sorry, I know I fucked up and I know I let you down, but—fuck, Y/N, I miss you so goddamn much. It feels like I've been suffering for so long like there is this knife that's buried in my chest and keeps twisting the more time you're not around. I know I don't deserve it, but please have some mercy and answer me. Fucking shout at me and curse me out. Answer me and don't say anything— stay silent if you want, but just answer me, please. I need to hear your voice, or see you, something—anything, because this is beginning to feel like a slow, painful death."

You sigh as you lower the phone from your ear, swallowing the lump in your throat. You've never heard his voice so shaky; you've never experienced Jungkook being anything but confident.

Jungkook has been persistent in reaching out, and you have told yourself you must be just as persistent in your resolve not to answer. This past month has been devoid of any trace of him, but just because he hurt you doesn't mean all your feelings for him have vanished. It's been hard on you; many times your thumb has hovered over the accept button when he called, but by the time you contemplate it, the call has already gone to voicemail.

Regarding that night, you have calmed down significantly since leaving his place feeling angry and upset. You have thought it over countless times, and although you still don't condone what he did, you genuinely believe he didn't act with ill intent. You just expected more from him; he always told you how it was different with you, that you meant more to him than anyone else. Only to then treat you like any other one of his insignificant flings. It made you question if you were so whipped for him that you failed to see he viewed you as a girl easy to fool. But you know Jungkook is more than just that one night; he may have disappointed you, but there have been many times he hasn't.

You have ignored every attempt he made to communicate with you; yet, you haven't blocked him on anything—it feels too final. Instead, you have been keeping yourself occupied. When you're not working, you've been going out with friends, reminding yourself of who you were before Jungkook. Of course, you didn't completely ignore your friends when he came into your life, but he did take up a big part of your free time.

They knew about him as well; while they may not have known all the dirty details of your relationship, they did know that you spent a lot of time with him and enjoyed doing so. And if you were happy, so were they. So when you replied in the group chat that you'd be joining them for a night out, they were shocked but didn't ask any questions. They were excited to have the gang together and didn't hesitate to ensure you had a good time.

Usually, you'd spend your weekends with Jungkook since you both were off then. You would be tangled in his sheets, a sweaty mess put in various positions inducing multiple orgasms. You had forgotten the thrill of being in the middle of a crowded dance floor, sweat rolling down your body from the heat of so many bodies so close together. Throwing back countless shots, you and your friends could barely dance in your heels and tight dresses without stumbling over.

You'd also forgotten how much male attention you receive when going out and mingling with new people. Although there are still many creeps around—for whom you had to get your guy friends to come to your rescue—sometimes there would be someone who seemed harmless enough to flirt with, but then you would remember a certain doe-eyed, dimpled-smiled man and would turn them down.

One time, when you had used your friend Taehyung as an escape from an otherwise seemingly good guy, pulling him behind you and wrapping his arms around your dancing figure for protection, he asked you why you didn't go for it. That was when you opened up and told him the full story about you and Jungkook. Taehyung has been a caring and understanding person for as long as you have known him, and he empathized with you when you explained your feelings and complicated situationship.

Since that night, he has been your confidant, your shoulder to lean on. He has witnessed firsthand how this month has not been easy for you, no matter how much you tried to forget about your fuck buddy/friend. After hearing about the detailed story of the last night you spent with Jungkook, he has been vocal about how you deserve someone who wants to be with only you and that you are more than enough. Yet, he never judges you and understands that you know a different side of Jungkook.

You know the Jungkook who moved all the mugs to the lowest shelf in his cupboard so that you could reach them, the Jungkook who sings loudly in the shower, the Jungkook who when he first falls asleep starts twitching with a cute, peaceful smile on his face.

You miss him.

You've passed the tattoo studio on your way home, stared at that flashing neon-red sign, and thought how all it would take to see him is for you to step through that door; if you just walked in and talked to him, maybe everything could turn around in your favour. You both could patch things up and be happy. You could be together.

You've looked through that window from afar, hoping to catch sight of the pierced, tattoo-covered man, reminiscing about when you were on the other side with him.

✧ ──── 《《 ──── ✧

The bell of his studio dings, signalling your entry. At the counter stands the pierced, tattoo-covered man you came for. He looks up from the book with his scheduled appointments, and when his eyes land on you, he flashes you that big, dimpled smile, the corners of his tired eyes crinkling in delight.

"Hey, baby. I wasn't expecting you. What are you doing here so late?"

He drops his pen onto the book and rounds the counter, meeting you halfway. His lips press against yours in a quick kiss as his hands settle on your waist while yours find their way around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair.

"I could ask you the same thing. When you texted that you were still here, I thought I would stop by to see you," you shrug.

Jungkook sighs and gives you a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand to brush through his hair.

"My last client of the day cancelled on me, so I decided to stay back and work on some designs. I sent the others home, and I guess the time got away from me," he scratches the back of his neck.

"Mmm, handsome and hard-working, what a catch," you smile and tiptoe to give his cheek a peck.

"I don't want to disturb you, though. Should I go?" you continue, rubbing your hands up and down his chest.

Jungkook shakes his head as he removes your hands from his chest.

"No, stay. I could use your presence; it has been a stressful day."

He walks over to the studio's entrance, flips the open sign, locks the door, and pulls down the blinds, now closing for the day. Lastly, he switches off the main lights, leaving only the multiple neon lights on the walls in various designs and colours to keep you from darkness.

He takes one of your hands into his, interlocking your fingers, and leads you through the dimly lit room to behind the counter, and to the desk you've seen him work at many times. He rolls out his chair and sits at his desk, looks up at you, and pats his thigh, and you comply with his silent request. You sit, his muscular thighs between your legs. He puts one arm around you, holding your waist to keep you steady, while his other arm rests on your thigh, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Once in his lap, you look at the glance over the wooden surface covered with scattered papers, all filled with his artwork. Some designs are drawn with intricate detail, while others are simple sketches. But they are all equally impressive—sometimes you forget how talented Jungkook is.

"Oh my gosh, Kook! These are amazing!" you gasp, picking up one of the sheets and turning your head to look at him.

He takes the paper from your hands and places it back on the desk. You see the tips of his ears turning red.

"They're alright," he shrugs; you notice he seems sullen.

You turn in his hold, your body sideways on his lap, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"What has got you so stressed out?" you ask, pushing back his fringe before moving your hand to fiddle with his earring.

Jungkook closes his eyes at the feel of your touch, exhaling a breath in relief. He leans forward, rests his forehead on your shoulder and hugs you tight.

"I just—that client, that was the fifth cancellation this month. I don't understand why; we had several consultations, and I listened to all his requests. I showed him so many different design options that I had sketched for him. I don't know maybe I—maybe I lost my touch or something."

"Hey, now that's not true; this stuff is unbelievable, Kook." you gesture at the multiple illustrations on his desk. "And you have been completely booked up with back-to-back appointments every day, I have never seen you so busy."

You tug on his hair and he whines, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and pulling you closer.

"Plus, do you think I would let a guy who's lost his touch anywhere near my skin with even a drop of ink?" you tease, your lips brushing his ear.

"That was months ago," he mumbles into your neck, and you feel the coolness of his lip rings against your skin.

“Yeah, and I would still let you be the one to do it."

Jungkook looks up at you as he argues, “Not like I’m going to let anyone touch you besides me.”

You boop his nose with your own, which makes him chuckle.

“I’m serious, Jungkook. You are passionate about your job, and it shows in your artwork. You are such a talented artist, people see your pieces online and come from all different places just to get inked by you. You. Because you are fucking Jeon Jungkook,” you poke at his chest.

“Okay, okay,” he smiles softly as he brings your hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “How do you always know what to say to calm me down?”

Your eyes sparkle at his question, and you smile gently as you hold his cheek, your thumb caressing the soft skin while pressing your forehead to his. “I know you. Everything I said is simply the truth.”

Jungkook’s mouth parts slightly in surprise, but his gaze softens. You weren’t sure due to the low lighting in the room, but his cheeks seemed to flush as well.

"Thank you, baby,” he says almost shyly, and you couldn’t believe this was the same man who flirts with you so shamelessly at every chance he gets, nor the same man who has had you screaming in pleasure several times a night.

There are many sides to Jungkook, and you adored all of them.

You wrap your arms around his torso, embracing him tightly, burying your face in his neck, and he hugs your waist just as firmly, kissing your forehead.

You both sit like that for a while, and your breathing becomes in sync as if your bodies had become one.

“I-I'm…I'm glad you came here,” he clears his throat as his arms tighten around your waist, basking in your warmth and comfort.

Jungkook has vented to you about work before, but this time, it feels different. You’ve never seen him like this.

"I'm here anytime you need to talk, Kook," you reassure.

“Well, that's good to know…” He said with a nervous smile. “But I meant…I'm glad you came here that day to get your tattoo, that you came into my life.”

Your body freezes momentarily at his words, but soon a fire ignites in your heart and spreads throughout you. You are filled with pride and relief that he feels comfortable and trusts you enough to share his personal feelings so openly.

"I'm glad I did too," you whisper, "I meant what I said though, I'm here if you ever need to talk."

“Okay,” he whispers, “Okay. But on one condition.”

"What?"

He tilts his head to look down at you, you look up at him through your lashes.

"You have to come and hold me like this when I do."

"Deal," you giggle.

"Seal it with a kiss," he leans down slightly.

You lift your head and meet his lips in an emotional kiss which soon turned more heated as your tongues mingled together.

You move down his body, kneeling between his thighs. Your hands grip his belt, and Jungkook pants lightly, his anticipation and need high. You unbuckle it and unbutton his jeans effortlessly, then quickly pull them down far enough for his bulge to be exposed. As expected, he is already hard for you. The effect you have on him is always intense. You glance up at the heavy-breathing man above you, eyes hooded and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You shift your focus from his bulge to his t-shirt, gripping it by the hem and pulling it up. When he realizes what you want, he assists you; he sits up a little, grabbing the back of the collar and pulling it over his head with one hand, fully exposing his toned core. Just like that, his shirt is off, and he tosses it to the floor to be found later.

Your hands create goosebumps across his exposed skin as they brush against his lower abdomen when you grab the hem of his boxers and pull them down. His erection springs up and rests against his abdomen, impatient for your touch.

At the sight of his big, veiny dick, you unconsciously drag your tongue along your upper lip. You quickly remove his jeans and boxers, along with your shirt, leaving you in your bra, panties, and skirt.

Your hand wraps around his shaft, and your thumb swipes across his head, smoothing the precum over his length to make it feel better. You stroke him gently a couple of times before leaning down and placing a soft kiss against the tip of his cock. Jungkook hisses at the sensation, and he throws his head back.

You slowly begin to move your hand up and down his cock; you enjoy building him up gradually and prolonging his release. A knowing look flashes across his eyes when he discovers what you are doing. He chuckles, and then you swirl your tongue around his head, causing the smile to fall from his face immediately as his hand grips the sides of the chair.

“D-don’t tease,” he breathes heavily.

Your lips curve up into a barely noticeable smile at his reaction. You lick him from the base of his length to the top, swirling your tongue around his head once more before slowly pushing him between your lips and going down on him, your tongue pressing against his hardness as you take him in.

His abs clench at the contact, and a moan slips past his lips, “Fuck, yeah."

You glimpse up at him; his eyes are closed tightly, and sweat is forming on his golden skin, the exact way you like seeing him when you suck him off. The fact that you could affect him like that without even doing very much boosts you with confidence.

You start moving back up slowly, your hand wrapping around the base of his shaft and squeezing him gently, earning a whimper. You repeat your movements with eagerness.

You love giving him head, hearing his moans of pleasure, having him fall apart at your touch.

After a few rougher squeezes from your hand, you suck harder and take as much of him as you can into your mouth, using your hand to pump the rest of him that you can’t fit.

"Feel good?" you ask the obvious question.

He whines and raises his hand to your hair, pushing his fingers through the locks and out of your face. “That feels so good," he rasps.

You hum around his dick; you look up and find him already gazing down at you, his eyes dark with lust—an image you will carry with you to your grave.

You flutter your eyelashes at him and take him even deeper, fully engulfing his dick, his tip hitting the back of your throat each time you bob your head.

Jungkook gulps and his eyes roll back in his head. You feel his hands tangle in your hair, pulling slightly as his hips thrust up into your mouth on instinct.

You go back to slowly moving your hand up and down his length, and it lasts for a few seconds until his hands are over yours, stopping you. Before you can question him, he takes your head in a tight hold and forces you to move faster, his large hands enveloping your head. He gently pushes down against your head until his entire cock is in your mouth and holds you there, your nose touching his pelvis. Your eyes water, but you power through, breathing deeply through your nose.

The man appears to be in pure bliss. His thighs are shaking, and his eyes are blinking rapidly, trying hard to stay open. His mouth is agape as he releases breathy moans, his chest heaving up and down.

“Your mouth feels so good, baby, fuck,” he growls.

When he is satisfied, he pulls you up off of his cock and removes his hands. You pop back up and let go of his throbbing length, a string of saliva briefly connecting your mouth to his tip. You gasp for air with tears streaming down your face, and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Always such a good girl for me, aren't you?” he says, lifting your chin and wiping your wet cheeks.

You nod with a sniff, your eyes still glassy.

Jungkook suddenly reaches forward to grab your hips and pulls you onto his lap. You quickly straddle him, your hands pressing against his chest as you grind softly against his dick. His lips crash into yours in a messy kiss; it lasts for a little while before he pulls away and looks straight at you, “You know I love having your mouth around me, baby, but I need to be inside you."

Then he’s capturing your lips once more, his arms encircling your legs around his waist as he does so. His hands rest under your thighs, effortlessly supporting your weight. You’re so immersed in how seamlessly his lips meld with yours that you don’t notice you both have shifted from the chair until you feel him place you on the desk.

Jungkook glides his hands up your thighs, only to have them wound around your waist, pulling you against him with force. He stands between your legs, with your pussy pressed directly against his member.

You grind your soaked panties against him, causing his lips to detach from yours, letting a groan escape from his lips as he tilts his head back, exposing his neck in the process. You trail small, wet kisses from the side of his face, along his jawline, and down his neck, before stopping at the junction between his neck and collarbone. You suck harshly on his skin, earning yourself a few moans from Jungkook, and you feel his chest vibrate.

Jungkook takes hold of your neck, his hand on your throat and kisses you intensely, attempting to express the longing he has felt for you since the moment you walked into the studio. His tongue swipes against your lower lip asking for entrance, and you don’t hesitate to let him in. As his tongue dances with yours, you feel his hands tug at your skirt before he pulls it down, pausing to allow you to lift off the desk enough for him to remove it along with your bra, tossing them to join the rest of the clothes on the floor.

The sight of your naked torso distracts him from doing anything else, his gaze lingers on your breasts before it shifts to your hip where your tattoo is. Jungkook’s hand instinctively glides over the skin adorned with black ink.

“It's still my favourite piece I've ever done,” Jungkook mutters before he plants kisses along your sternum and then finally on your breasts. Before his lips can explore further, you cup his face and bring it back to yours, and you both smile into the kiss. He gathers you in his arms and moves toward the tattoo chair behind him.

Jungkook carefully lowers you onto the reclined chair, and you watch as he stands at the edge of it, removing the black jeans that are already halfway down his legs. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that you’re watching every movement of his; you bite your lip and smirk, and it seems to turn him on even further, which urges him to discard his pants and join you quickly.

He crawls over you, supporting his weight with the arms on either side of your head. He gives you a quick kiss on the lips before he begins his exploration of your body, using his lips. Open-mouthed kisses are placed along your neck, across the curve of your breasts, and back up to your neck, where he decides to leave his mark by sucking on the skin at the base of your neck. The noises that escape your lips only motivate him to suck even more aggressively, creating even more red marks as he moves down your body.

“Kook, do something,” and as if he had been waiting for those words, Jungkook starts to move lower on your body until he’s hovering over your clothed pussy. You watch as his nose skims over the wet patch on your underwear. His hands smooth over your legs before they settle onto your hips, which he doesn’t leave unmarked as he sucks on the skin above your tattoo. Your hips rise, yet his stronghold stops you from squirming. “Kook, I need you.”

Upon hearing your desperate begging, Jungkook presses a finger to your covered heat, skillfully finding the bundle of nerves that have you writhing beneath his touch. He begins to rub between your legs, with the sole barrier to full contact being the delicate piece of cloth. He keeps teasing you through your panties, relishing the sounds you make as you squirm beneath him. Deciding that you’ve had enough of the torture, Jungkook hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties before pulling them down, revealing your glistening cunt. He locks eyes with you, and you observe from above as he slips a finger inside you, his stare unwavering. As he pumps his finger inside you, your head tilts back, and you let out a string of moans.

“You’re so tight, baby,” Jungkook comments before inserting another finger inside you, gentle kisses along the inside of your thighs as your hands weave into his hair. You’re surprised when you feel him sucking on your clit; the extra stimulation makes you tremble against his thrusting fingers.

“Mmm, and so wet. Your pussy tastes so good, so fucking sweet.”

“Oh my god, K-kook,” your back arches off the bed as he adds in a third finger while keeping his mouth on your sex. He smiles triumphantly upon hearing you repeat his name like a mantra, and he sets out to ensure you’re moaning it even more loudly. You bite your bottom lip, trying to suppress your desperate moans, but it's in vain when Jungkook curls his fingers within you, hitting a specific spot that causes you to clutch his hair tightly and cry out his name shamelessly.

Jungkook relentlessly drives into you, his fingers curled to target the spot that makes you moan his name, while his mouth remains attached to your clit, teeth lightly tugging and grazing the bud before his lips form a tight seal around it. You feel the pressure in your lower stomach intensify with every thrust of Jungkook's fingers and every flick of his tongue, all leading up to your orgasm.

Jungkook watches as the wave of ecstasy flows through your body, and he swears you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, with the way your face contorts in ecstasy. His fingers are still thrusting inside, helping you ride out your high, but the oversensitivity soon becomes too much, and you have to push him away.

As you catch your breath, you take a moment to notice what a handsome man Jungkook truly is. Complementing his defined biceps and strong thighs were his abs, impeccably shaped, and you observe as the stunning man above you licks the remnants of you from his fingers. The sight has you wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him down so that his chest meets yours. Jungkook smirks at your action before he hungrily attacks your lips with his glistening ones, letting you taste yourself as you recover from your climax.

“Take this off,” you mumble against his lips, your foot at his lower back attempting to push his boxers down. He quickly complies with your request, shedding the dark grey boxers before leaning down to his jeans on the floor to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket and get a condom. He rips open the foil with his teeth, being careful not to tear the condom in the process, before rolling it down his length. He hovers over you again, keeping most of his weight off of you with the support of his arms.

Jungkook kisses at your navel before trailing upward towards your breasts. His mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking on it, he takes his time sucking one breast while kneading the other one before he switches. Your hands hold onto his biceps, gliding over his skin as he prepares your body for another climax. When he’s satisfied with the marks he’s left on your two mounds, he places one more kiss against your lips before looking into your eyes.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Mhm, Kook. Want you so bad.”

And so Jungkook takes his length and aligns himself at your entrance, the tip of his member almost pushing past your folds. He gives you one last peck on the corner of your mouth before his member sinks into your pussy, making you wince at the stretch of your walls. He pushes himself until he is buried deep within you, causing you to whimper when you feel his full length inside of you. Jungkook groans loudly as he feels himself being embraced by the warmth and tightness of your wet, velvety walls. He reaches for your hands and lifts them to rest on both sides of your head and interlocks your fingers with his. His forehead meets yours, and both of you share a longing gaze while relishing the moment. Once you've adjusted to his size, you move beneath him, and Jungkook takes it as a signal to begin his ravaging.

He pulls back all the way, leaving only his tip inside of you, before pushing himself balls-deep within you once again. You urge him on with your voice, calling for him to go faster and harder, and he complies by thrusting into you at an astonishing speed. With each thrust of his, Jungkook’s name escapes your lips in moans that fill the studio, along with his panting and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

You feel the warmth of his chest leave yours when he sits up, his hands gripping your waist, pressing his fingernails into your skin. The new position allows him to pull you to meet each of his thrusts, hitting at a new angle that makes you cry out his name. When he starts hitting that same spot that tipped you over the edge earlier, you grab his arms and pull him so that he’s on top of you again. His entire weight is on top of you, but you don’t care, not when his thrusts are paired with his lips on your neck.

You moan loudly, which is followed by your pussy convulsing around his cock, and Jungkook knows that you’re close. Your nails scratch against his broad back, leaving a stinging sensation that only adds to his pleasure. You're sure he’ll have red marks all over his back as if he’s been attacked, but it's a fair trade because he’s marked you plenty with his lips.

Jungkook feels you clenching around him even tighter than before, and he’s slamming his hips against yours, urging you to reach your climax. When Jungkook feels your nails dig deeper into his back, his hand reaches between your two sweaty bodies and draws circles on your clit, which sends you off into euphoria. Your second orgasm of the night hits you harder than the first, and your body would have trembled if it were not for Jungkook’s body in the way—the body that is still connected to yours and continues thrusting into you. Your swollen walls clench so tightly that Jungkook starts chasing his high. He groans loudly against your neck as he shallowly thrusts into you, helping the both of you ride out your orgasms.

Jungkook sighs in release, unaware of how long he’s been holding his breath. Jungkook detaches himself from you, and you gasp lightly, feeling somewhat empty as the warmth leaves with him. He rolls off of you, and the two of you lie close together, side by side, attempting to regain your breath after the intense exchange. You sense his gaze from the corner of your eye, and when you turn to face him, your eyes meet his round, dark brown ones.

"Come here."

Unsatisfied with just your shoulders touching, Jungkook turns onto his side, and you do the same before the both of you shift closer to each other. His hands rest naturally on your hips as if returning them to their rightful place. No words are exchanged between the two of you, but there is no need to because you find yourself lost in the softness of his brown eyes, and he can’t help but mirror the wide grin that’s plastered on your face. His hand moves to your tattoo, and you observe his expression as his fingers hover over the indelible design on your skin. His eyes hold a sparkle that evokes a certain emotion to wash over you.

“So, do you feel better?” you ask, breaking the silence of the afterglow, but he looks confused at your words, and you find the sight adorable. “You were stressed out...”

“Me? Stressed out? Huh, I don't know what you're talking about.”

You are the one who's confused this time, but not for long, because the realization hits you when you see his mischievous smirk. You punch his arm playfully, and he grins almost too widely, his eyes forming crescents. His hands, which were placing feathery touches on your tattoo, are now tickling your sides, and he’s elated at the sound of your joyful laughter before pulling you against his chest.

Jungkook looks around the studio, the neon lights casting shadows on his face, "I feel good; how could I not? This is a first for me though— fucking at work."

You look up at him with raised brows in surprise, Jungkook smiles down at you and continues.

"You know, I didn't think the next time I had you back in my chair would be like this."

"Oh my gosh," you blush and hide your face in his chest, a little embarrassed but mostly shy at his remark. He laughs, and you feel it rumble through his chest; his hand lifts to pet down the back of your head.

"You can't be shy with me after all that. Every time I'm working on a client now, all I will be thinking about is you beneath me in this chair."

"I can't imagine what the crew would think if they found out what we did," you mumble into his chest with a little laugh.

"They would think I'm a sterilizing expert because there will be no evidence of what happened here," he sits up and gently strokes your ass, and then gives it a pinch, eliciting a gasp from you, "You're in charge of the desk, you little minx; I'll do the chair," he winks at you.

You're left to blush again, swooning as you both get up to remove any trace of the two of you in the studio.

✧ ──── 》》 ──── ✧

You blink away the tears forming in your eyes. Your thumb hovers over his name, considering calling him back just as you hear a knock at your door.

Answer your phone I've got so much to say I'm at my all-time low And it's just too much to take

Jungkook can raise his hands and admits he didn't handle that night as well as he could have, but he is truly sorry. He realizes that even if his intention wasn't to hurt or offend you, what he did wasn't his best moment. As much as he tells you that you are special to him and that what you two have is different—which is true—his actions didn't match his words, and you deserve better than that. Jungkook may not be the perfect gentleman, far from it, but he is better than that, especially when it concerns you.

As the hands of the clock tick away and more time passes, he gets up and begins pacing.

If you listened to his message you would have called by now right?

Jungkook isn't used to this—needing someone. Sure, he has desired certain women, and he always got them, but once the lust faded, he never wanted them to stay; never needed them to stay.

He hasn't always been like this, and he knows where it all began: the fear of giving his all to someone and then losing them, of handing over his heart to another and having them desecrate it.

Jungkook refused to be like his father; he watched him give his mother everything and love her immensely, only for her to run off without regard for him or Jungkook.

He fears emotionally connecting with someone else will end as he has always seen: being left alone and heartbroken.

Because inevitably love is never simple, nor is it equal in the sacrifice of pouring oneself into another.

He can't imagine what could be worse than letting someone in and loving so wholly only to be left empty because you offered yourself up to someone undeserving.

Jungkook knows how good of a man his father is, and if he could get burned and scarred by love, Jungkook knows he doesn't stand a chance.

And who would willingly walk into a fire?

When people asked him why he didn't get into a serious relationship, he would say, “I like change. Life is too long to commit to one person and too short not to explore your options.”

But that was before he discovered you. Once you fit into his life so perfectly he knew he wouldn’t be able to live without you. He knew he had found that one constant in his life.

The constant being: Y/L/N Y/N.

What he shared with you has always been simple, and the effort you both put in has always been equal.

Jungkook never believed he would find that kind of connection, one that flows with ease. Now that he has found it, he desires to keep you in his life and wants you to remain a part of him.

He will walk through the flames if you're on the other side.

Jungkook has never been fond of lingering and preferred moving from one thing to the next, one woman to the next. He didn't enjoy being too close; he always kept people at a distance maybe not physically but emotionally. Tattooing has been the only steady thing in his life; he was committed to his craft.

But you broke down his walls, shattered the pattern—you got close. He found the courage to let his guard down. He knows there is nothing to be wary of, no looming feeling that he will be met with disappointment. Everything is easy with you.

His cowardice had him ruling out a love that hadn't happened yet. Maybe he is a fool, but he can't live with regret. He's ready to dive off the deep end. It's draining to always be on the defence, ready to push people away, and he's tired. He wants to settle down and commit to you.

Jungkook can be vulnerable around you; he knows you won't use his weaknesses against him like people have in his past. You don't even view them as things that make him weak just what makes him human, because no one can be perfect. However, he would argue that you seem to be pretty damn close.

He feels most comfortable with you; he trusts you and can be himself. There is no pretence with you; Jungkook likes who he is around you.

Jungkook loves you.

In your eyes, he is the guy who comforted you when he saw how nervous you were while getting your first tattoo. The one who keeps an extra hoodie in his car for you because you are never dressed for the weather. The one who finishes work and picks up takeout for the two of you to eat together. That's the Jungkook you see, the one you know better than anyone else—the one you have wrapped around your precious finger.

You've never asked him to be any different from who he is, despite his shortcomings in many aspects. You never judge him for the life he's leading and never pressure him to change his ways, no matter how flawed. Yet you still never expect the worst from him.

So now, all he fears is that he has accomplished the one thing he dreaded the most, and has destroyed the link holding the two of you together.

Should he go to your place?

Jungkook hasn't gone over because he didn't want to seem overbearing; he wanted to give you your space until you felt ready to talk to him on your terms. Also, if you weren't answering his calls, you most likely wouldn't answer your door either.

But he doesn't want you to think he won't fight for you. He won't lose you without a lack of trying. If Jungkook is anything, he is persistent. He has too much left to say to you and he isn't about to sit here and take this distance any longer. He's willing to do whatever it takes.

As he looks out of his window and stares at the hundreds of lights, he feels a new surge of determination; he is rising from this low point he has sunk into, fed up with wallowing in his self-pity.

He turns and strides to his door, yanking it open with vigour. He sprints down the stairs and rushes outside into the chilly night, heading straight for his car.

Jungkook pulls out of his spot and drives the familiar route to your house, accelerating down the road at the maximum speed permitted by law. In his state of urgency, it seems that all he encounters are red lights and stop signs.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, and he has to hold himself back from stomping too hard on the gas pedal when the light turns green.

Answer your phone I've got to get to you God, I hope you're alone And someone new isn't next to you

Y/N POV

You gather yourself and halt your wandering thoughts to get up and check who is at your door. You are not expecting anyone, and you told your friends you won't be going out with them tonight. Your excuse was being too tired from work, but honestly, you just were too sad to pretend that you were okay.

Could it be him? He said he wouldn't give up, that he had to see me.

Do you want it to be him? You would be lying to yourself if you said no.

So it's a surprise when you open the door and see Taehyung standing there with his hands in his front pockets, teetering back and forth on his heels.

A part of you is disappointed, not because it's Taehyung but because it's not Jungkook.

"Tae? I said in the group chat that I'm not going out tonight. Didn't you see my message?"

He looks you up and down and barges in, walking past you.

"And didn't you see my message? I said you are going out tonight and I was coming over to pick you up. Why aren't you ready?"

To be fair you were so preoccupied on your phone, listening to Jungkook's message and reminiscing, that you didn't notice any other messages. But when you go to your chats, you see his words are true.

He plops down on your couch, stretching his arm out on the back and gives you an expectant look, his eyes wide and his brows raised.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? Go get ready," he makes a shooing gesture with his hand and continues.

"The clubs aren't open all night—well, actually they are..." his brows furrow as he looks off into the distance for a brief moment, then catches himself. "But I don't have all night, so let's go!" He demands with a clap of his hands.

"I'm not going out tonight, Tae. I told everyone I'm staying home."

You lie down on the couch next to his seated figure, with your back resting against the armrest.

"Didn't we just go over this?" he points between the two of you. "You are going out; everyone is already at the club. They got a table, and I'm sure Jimin has already downed a shocking amount of shots, so we have to leave soon if we want to catch up."

Taehyung taps your knee twice and then shoves your legs off the couch, bringing you to a sitting position. You take a deep breath and throw your head back, crossing your arms while closing your eyes.

"I don't feel like going out. I want to stay home."

"And do what? Continue to sulk over pretty tattoo boy?"

You open your eyes and turn your head toward him, pouting, "I was not sulking."

He stares at you with a raised brow, filled with doubt.

Rolling your eyes and letting out a sigh, your arms drop to your sides, "I'm just not in the mood, I'll only bring down the vibe."

Taehyung turns his body to face you, a sympathetic expression on his face.

"You're only making this harder for yourself by just sitting around and thinking about him, Y/N. I understand that you like him a lot—I do—but a guy like that isn't worth wasting your life waiting for him."

You look down at your hands in your lap and chip at your nail polish.

"He's been leaving me messages. He tells me how sorry he is and that he misses me. He sounds like he's having a rough time, too. That doesn't erase what he did, I know, but it was just one mistake. He's a good man, Tae. I've always known he wasn't perfect, but everyone has faults, right?"

Taehyung holds your hand and squeezes it, leaning down to meet your gaze. His voice is careful when he speaks.

"People like him always know the right thing to say. If he were such a good guy, he wouldn't have used you the way he did. Yes, everyone has faults, but you can find someone whose faults don't hurt you. It may have been only one mistake, but if he truly cared about you as he claimed, he would have never treated you that way."

Tears form in your eyes and your voice cracks. "It's just—I know him; it sounds pathetic, but he has shown me a side of himself that I know he doesn't show everyone. The real him and that's the Jungkook who has my heart. That's the Jungkook I love. We've experienced so much together, it's difficult to just move on from him."

"If you don't try to move on from him, how can you expect to, babe?"

He's right; you haven't tried. Throughout this entire period of your ignoring him, you have consistently kept Jungkook in your thoughts. Every time you went out with friends, every time a guy tried to flirt with you, and every time you held your phone—Jungkook. When you woke up, when you were at work, and when you went to bed—Jungkook. Even when you heard a knock at your door, as Taehyung did earlier, you hoped it was Jungkook.

Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook.

Your mind and heart were devoted to Jungkook. Everything revolved around him.

Your tears overflow, and you finally break. Taehyung wraps his arms around you, and you cry into his shoulder. He holds you until you calm down, and your sobs turn into sniffles.

You lift your head and wipe your cheeks.

"I'm such a mess, I'm so sorry, Tae. You came out to have a good time, and here you are consoling me. I have probably fucked up your fun night out," you croak out. "I must seem so stupid, all hung up over a guy."

"You haven't ruined anything, and you certainly aren't stupid. I would never think that of you. I know how much of yourself you give to someone important to you. I wish you would give yourself to someone worthy, not someone who takes advantage of you. You are an amazing person, and if Jungkook hasn't realized how lucky he is to have you, then he's the stupid one, Y/N."

"Thank you, Tae. Not just for tonight, but for listening to me go on about Jungkook this past month like a sad, broken record. You stuck by me, have been so caring, and always validated my emotions. I swear I'm the one who's lucky and unworthy of you."

"Nonsense, you know you can depend on me anytime," he says, patting your head and smiling affectionately.

You smile back, glance down, and see his shirt is stained with your tears.

"I ruined your shirt," you sniffle, pinching at the fabric.

Taehyung looks down at it and shrugs, "Hey, I prefer your tears to stain my shirt rather than Jimin's vomit," he jokes to lighten the mood.

You laugh, and he points at your face, his expression bright.

"Aha! There she is! Happy Y/N, I thought I had lost her!" he exclaims.

He turns his head, looking around, arms stretched out as if speaking to a crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, no need to fear; I have managed to make Y/N laugh."

Taehyung once again proves to be the best friend one could have; you can always count on him to cheer you up and gather the pieces of your broken heart without fail.

"Shut up, Tae. I have neighbours," you giggle, playfully pushing him.

He joins your giggles and returns your playful push, "Well then, go get dressed! If you don't I will run up and down the hallway screaming. I came here to take you out and have fun. Sitting at home alone can't be better than partying with your insanely funny, incredibly handsome best friend. And if that isn't enough, Seokin's dancing is a sure way to lift anyone's spirit."

"Okay, fine," you agree, getting up with a big smile. The image of Seokjin's dancing already boosts your mood.

Making your way to your bedroom, you yell out, "But if anyone comments on my swollen eyes, you'll be dealing with them!"

"I've got your back, babe. Don't worry!"

You can always count on Taehyung.

Tell me, tell me now am I too late Is there somebody new taking my place? Is there somebody's lips on you Where mine used to be, yeah?

Jungkook parks across the street from your building; he sits in his car, pondering whether it's too late to knock at your door. Are you already asleep? Should he have waited until tomorrow? If you answer and open it to find him standing there, will you shut it in his face?

He knows right now he's not your favourite person, but he doesn't believe you would be so cruel as to turn him away at your doorstep.

He rubs his hands down his face and lets out a deep sigh.

How could he let things end up like this?

He ruined something so special, so sacred. Building a relationship so pure and superior doesn't happen to everyone, and he managed to have it hanging by a thread.

Your relationship can't just end because of one mistake—a big mistake, yes, but he believes that what you two have is strong enough to overcome this. The two of you have made so many wonderful, meaningful memories.

Jungkook remembers how good things were before this—before he ruined everything.

✧ ──── 《《 ──── ✧

Jungkook never imagined he would witness such a breathtaking sight: you bare before him, glazed eyes and slightly parted lips, lovely sounds escaping as he traced wet kisses along the nape of your neck, down your throat, over the curves of your breasts, pausing to swirl his tongue over a sensitive bud, drawing out his name from your throat, the same one now decorated with shades of blue and purple.

“Please, Kook,” you beg, pleading with him for more, and he is more than willing to give it to you, knowing he can hardly deny you anything.

He smiles, kissing his way back up to your lips, positioning his body over yours and aligning his hips so he can slide into your warmth with a soft thrust, the wetness coating the inside of your thighs showing how aroused he has made you.

You clutch at his shoulders with a moan, nails digging in and creating crescent shapes with every thrust he makes. Jungkook fucks you slow and deep, hitting every nerve within you, making you unravel before him in no time at all. His lips move slowly against yours, tongues twirling together as your legs wrap tightly around his body, drawing him closer and deeper into you, his sighs of contentment pouring into your mouth.

Jungkook is sure this is what heaven feels like: his hands on you, hips rocking against your own as you devour the sounds escaping each other's lips. You encourage one another until he picks up pace, gazing down at your face, cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

The coil in your stomach tightens, twisting, and is ready to snap. Jungkook is also at his limit, eyes hooded but maintaining eye contact with yours, his forearms supporting his weight on either side of your body.

Overcome with pleasure, the feeling of his skin against your own, united with you in the most intimate way two people can be. The act is sinful but fully infused with the profound bond you both share. What you and Jungkook have cannot be expressed in words, and he does not think the two of you need to articulate what you both understand.

“Come on, baby, cum for me,” he husks, gently nibbling at your jaw.

One of his hands moves to where your bodies meet, flicking his thumb over your clit repeatedly. Then you come undone, the release so intense that his name echoes off every corner of the small bedroom. He continues throughout your orgasm, prolonging it until the sensation of your walls tightening around him brings him to his climax, spilling inside of you with a groan of your name, lips pressed harshly to yours, putting everything he feels into a single kiss.

He pulls away, carefully removes the condom and ties a knot at its end before disposing of it and falling onto the bed, shifting onto his side to look at you. The moonlight streams through the window, illuminating your skin in a radiant glow. Jungkook trails his fingertips along the surface of your arm, moving down until he reaches your hip, pulling you closer to him as you tuck your head into his chest.

Jungkook spots the numerous red crescents on your body already beginning to take on a darker colour — almost as deep as the black ink he used for your tattoo. Jungkook wishes for nothing more than the colour of the marks to be so deep that it will cover you forever.

He holds you close, his thumb brushing over the familiar tattoo on your hip— the everlasting mark that brought you two together. You found each other that day months ago when you walked into his studio and had him ink his design on you, and ever since then, you have been a part of his life. The ink serves as a reminder of the bond between you and Jungkook, etched onto your skin just as you are to him.

“You should let me give you another one."

“What do you think I should get?” you whisper against his chest.

"My name, here," he replies, his inked finger tracing just above the left side of your chest, right over your heart.

You smile as you push him so that he lies on his back; you move to lie on your stomach between his legs, your chin resting on his chest. His hands come to your back, caressing it up and down.

"Hmm, and you'll get my name here," you lightly run your pointer finger over his left pec.

Jungkook lifts a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smiles tenderly, and nods while humming in agreement. His fingers linger, skimming your face as his gaze softens. His eyes are filled with adoration as he looks at you.

Jungkook can feel your heartbeat against his stomach; he wonders if you can feel his own under your touch. Both of your hearts are beating rapidly, which he assumes is due to the physical exertion you both just experienced and not from this impassioned moment you two are having.

He can physically feel how much affection there is between you two. He has never felt that before. It's moments like this that make Jungkook feel incredibly fortunate to have you in his life.

"Aren't tattoo artists usually against getting other people's names tattooed?" you tease with a smirk and a raised brow.

Jungkook shrugs with a smirk, his tongue playing with his lip rings, "I live by my own rules."

You roll your eyes, shaking your head, "Oh, what a rebel you are."

Jungkook's hands go to your sides and tickle you with a gentle pinch.

"Kook!" you laugh as you jolt further up his body.

"Kook!" he mocks in a high-pitched voice, imitating you before wrapping his arms around you and hugging you close.

You pout and make a soft 'hmph' sound so insanely cute that Jungkook can't resist the smile spreading across his face; he laughs and then kisses your pouty lips and all over your face. You giggle and lightly tug his necklace with your finger, bringing his mouth to yours for a long, sweet kiss. When you break apart, Jungkook gives one final peck above your left breast.

"I was serious, you know," he murmurs, voice low. He juts his chin lightly to where he last placed his lips.

"Haven't you marked me enough?" you stretch out your neck and gesture at the hickey-covered skin.

"I wanna mark you every way I can, baby," he smiles smugly.

One of your hands plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the other plays with the hoop in his ear. You avoid eye contact, keeping your eyes focused on the earring.

"Tattoos are forever, Kook," you say sheepishly.

"You're telling me," Jungkook chuckles, tilting his head toward his right arm covered in a sleeve of tattoos. He turns his head to kiss your wrist and then cups your face with both hands, making you look at him, "Hey, you planning on going somewhere and not telling me?"

You shake your head, his big hands still holding it.

"Hmm, I'm a bit worried now; I need to hear you say it," he squints his eyes, teasing.

"No, I'm not going anywhere," you grin.

Jungkook mirrors your grin and nods, "Good," he pulls your face closer and nudges his nose against yours, "Because I'm not either."

He squishes your cheeks together in his hands, making your lips pucker out.

"It's not easy to find someone this cute," he coos, shaking your head.

You pull your head from his grasp and lightly slap his chest. His hands slide down to your ass and give it a firm squeeze, long fingers digging into the smooth flesh.

"Even harder to find someone equally as sexy,” he whispers in your ear, his teeth grazing lightly. His voice is so deep you feel it vibrate through his body against yours.

"Huh, it can't be too hard, I found you," you quip, poking his cheek.

Jungkook gives your ass a spank, and you gasp as he flips you both over, with you now under his hovering body.

"Why don't I show you just how lucky we both are?" his tone dripping with seduction.

The tip of his nose trails down your neck as his lips ghost over your skin, down to the valley of your breasts. He stops to knead the soft mounds, surging forward to swirl his tongue over one of the hardened nubs before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. He hums in satisfaction. He releases it, giving it a gentle bite, and switches to show the other the same attention.

Once pleased, he continues his trail past your stomach and stops at your pulsing heat. He nestles his head between your legs, his hands grip your thighs and spread you wide open, your already slick folds clench around nothing in anticipation.

Jungkook gives your clit a teasing lick before diving in without hesitation. You whimper when his mouth latches onto you, his wide tongue licking a slow, filthy stripe over your slit, your hands flying into his hair. He groans, his eyes rolling back as he tastes you, his tongue circling your clit and then flicking over it repeatedly before dragging down to press at your entrance. Your hand tightens in his hair as his tongue presses deep into your dripping hole.

“Fuck, Kook,” you whine, grinding harder as your thighs tighten around his head.

He exhales through his nose, eyes crinkling as he smiles into your pussy when you buck your hips against his face. The sequence of sucking, licking, and prodding with his lips and tongue has you both writhing in ecstasy. The wet, sloppy sounds of his lips and tongue working against you fill the room. The intimate night of passion continues until the moon gives way to the sun.

✧ ──── 》》 ──── ✧

Jungkook is pulled out of his memories when he sees the door of the main entrance to your building open. He watches you step out, and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest upon seeing you.

Your short, tight dress hugs your body in all the right places. Your tall, thin high heels complement your legs phenomenally. Your hair cascades down your figure, making you look like an angel. You look gorgeous.

The sight of you would bring any man to his knees. You must be dressed to go out for the night, so he must act now if he doesn't want his drive here to be for nothing. He moves to get out of his car, but just as his hand touches the handle, he sees a man walk out right behind you, and Jungkook freezes.

Jungkook looks closely at the man's face; he's good-looking. He's sure he recognizes him from your posts. He looks like one of the guys you've tagged in your pictures, the ones where he's had his arm around you. The happy idiot. What was it... Taemin? Taejin? Taewoo?

Whoever he is, he extends his arm for you to link with yours, and you do. You're about to step down the stairs when you stop and say something to the man. You have an anxious expression, but whatever you say to the man beside you only brings a fond smile to his face. He responds to you and leans down to kiss your cheek.

The cheek that Jungkook's lips have been on more times than he can count.

And you light up as if he made everything better. You walk down the stairs, arm in arm with the man whom Jungkook worries has taken his place.

Once you step off the last step, you stop once more, unlink your arm, and pull out your phone. The light from the screen shines on your face; you tap your fingers on it for a few seconds before putting it back in your purse. You relink your arms with who Jungkook thinks is the luckiest guy in the world and set off down the street, heading to your destination.

Jungkook feels the wind being knocked out of him. He hadn't even realized he had gotten out of his car. He stands far enough that you don't notice him, but close enough to see you perfectly. To see how you were on the phone he knows is full of his messages and calls—that you are still ignoring.

Tell me, tell me now, what can I do To make it up to you Won't you tell me, please? Tell me, please

All the hope and determination he had when he left his house seemed to have disintegrated. He feels small, much like your figure becomes as you walk further away from him on the arm of another.

Jungkook stares at your back until he loses sight of you as you round the corner. He stands there feeling like he has just been slapped in the face for the second time tonight, but this one stings much more.

What else can he do?

Jungkook doesn't know how to make it up to you, and at this point, he's unsure if he's fighting a losing battle. You seem to be doing just fine without him. It hurts to see you happy when he has been miserable without you.

He needs you to talk to him, to tell him what to do to win you back. What he has to do so he can hear your laugh, smell your scent, and touch your skin. He needs to have you back in his arms, on his lips—in his life.

He tilts his head back, eyes focused on the moon and how it mocks him, shining brightly while he is filled with darkness.

He stands there, disoriented; all he can do is let out a bitter laugh at the irony that he drove all the way here to watch you walk away from him—now and quite possibly forever.

With a sad smile, he is overwhelmed with questions, out of his mind. Why are you two ending? How can you? How can you two end?

All your memories together overflow out of his perforated heart, he puts his hand over his chest trying to block them and keep them inside, but they escape through his fingers.

Jungkook had you by his side and took you for granted; now he is watching you be cherished by another man while he stands by like a stranger in the night.

He doesn't want to be like this, he doesn't. He hates this, really hates this.

He doesn't believe it would hurt this much even if his heart stopped.

Answer your phone I've got to talk to you I'm out here in the cold Trying to get through to you, oh

Jungkook never envisioned that when he finally loved someone, he would be left alone and heartbroken— not because you decided to run off, not because you were undeserving, but because he pushed you away.

He took too long to walk through the flames and got burned. He dove off the deep end too late into a pool of emptiness and hit the bottom.

Jungkook stands in the street, the cold air biting at his cheeks, but he can't find the strength to return to his car and drive home. He came here on a mission to talk to you face to face. He hopes that if he stands here long enough, you might walk back around that corner and come straight to him. He hopes you will answer his plea and do something to fix him. Hold him in your arms and tell him that everything will be okay and that the two of you will work together to mend what has been broken.

But you don't, and Jungkook's heart may be beyond repair at this rate.

Jungkook's heart hurts so badly that it's strange that he's even alive.

He should have followed you, chased you blindly even if you were trying to run away from him. He should have yelled at the top of his lungs that there's a hole in his heart that can't be filled and he's dying of pain.

How can he forget you? He doesn't know how to do that.

Like the tattoo he inked on your hip, you are etched in him— an indelible impression on his heart.

You are the only person he wants, your hands to comfort him, your voice to soothe his heart.

He'll have to settle for listening to your voice through the phone, even if it's only your voicemail.

Jungkook digs into his pocket for his phone, unlocks it and with your name already on the screen, presses the call button and waits.

Answer your phone, answer your phone Answer your phone, answer your phone Answer your phone

But he doesn't have to wait for long.

He's immediately met with a voice, but not your sweet voice; instead it's an answering machine.

And now he has been slapped for the third time tonight, so hard that he stands there in the cold, gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles might bleed. He releases a shaky breath as his eyes fill with tears, and spill over before he knows it.

Jungkook is hit with the reality that you still refuse to talk to him. You have now blocked his number on your phone and blocked him out of your life.

"We are unable to reach the person you are calling at this time. Please try calling back later."

↬ so how do we feel? hope he suffered enough for your liking. let me know what you think! muah! 💋

taglist: @bangtans-momma @celticcountrygal @annafarrr

69 notes · View notes

bokutosbabe · 2 days ago

Note

Omg I love love love your writing sm 🙏💕💕 and the new event is such a good idea I literally wanna eat your writing 😞

Could u request Shidou Ryusei with the emojis 🍉 and 🍭 please?

awee tysm!

a shidou ryusei watermelon lollipop

જ⁀♡⊹｡° it can't last

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event!

♡ content — shidou ryusei x gn! reader, gn! reader, nicnknames of 'baby' and 'sweetheart' used, shidou thinks this is funny, reader dislikes shidou, fake-dating

♡ synopsis — shidou ryusei isn't meant to be a settled down man, but this simulation with you may change his mind.

“Of all the people I could’ve gotten paired with, it just had to be you.”

You stood at the threshold of the shared apartment, glaring at Shidou Ryusei as he lazily leaned against the doorframe. His signature smirk was already in place, like he was thoroughly enjoying your misery.

“C’mon, you know you’re thrilled.” He winked. “Who wouldn’t wanna fake-date me? I’m the total package, baby.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

“Or the best time of your life.” He stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

And you couldn't help but be annoyed by the display of your points going from '0' to '10' before you could even step into your new space.

From the beginning, Shidou made it clear he wasn’t going to take this seriously.

“Why bother?” he’d said with a shrug when you tried to go over the program’s guidelines. “This whole thing’s a joke, anyway. Just play along, and we’ll ace it.”

Playing along, as it turned out, meant Shidou being as over-the-top as possible. He’d drape an arm around your shoulders during group activities, call you ridiculously embarrassing pet names in public, and find any excuse to pull you close.

It was all a game to him—a way to keep things interesting. But for you, it was exhausting.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he teased one afternoon after you shoved him off for the third time that day. “You don’t like my affection?”

“It’s not affection if it’s fake,” you snapped, brushing past him.

“Fake?” He tilted his head, his grin turning sharp. “You wound me. I’m a method actor, you know. I don’t fake anything.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

Despite his antics, there were moments when Shidou surprised you.

Late at night, when the apartment was quiet, he’d drop the act, his usual bravado replaced with something softer.

“Don’t you ever feel like this whole thing is stupid?” he asked once, sprawled on the couch with his arms behind his head.

You glanced up from your spot at the kitchen table. “What do you mean?”

“This simulation crap.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Pretending to be someone’s perfect match. It’s all so fake.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “I guess… it’s supposed to teach us something. About relationships, or compromise, or whatever.”

He snorted. “Relationships are a waste of time.”

“That’s a pretty cynical take.”

“It’s realistic,” he said, turning his head to look at you. “People just screw each other up. Why bother?”

You didn’t have an answer for that.

As the program went on, you started to notice cracks in Shidou’s façade.

The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when he played the role of the perfect “husband.” The way he’d get quiet when the instructors praised other couples for their “genuine connection.” The way he’d occasionally look at you like he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

One night, after a particularly heated argument about how to divide chores, he blurted it out.

“You know, you’re not half-bad at this whole fake partner thing.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… thanks?”

“I’m serious,” he said, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen. “You’re… easy to be around. Even when you’re nagging me.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you pushed the feeling aside. “Don’t get sappy on me now, Shidou.”

He laughed, the tension breaking as quickly as it had formed. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

The final week of the program arrived faster than you expected.

By then, you and Shidou had settled into a strange rhythm. His over-the-top antics had toned down, replaced with something almost… comfortable.

But you couldn’t ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of your mind. For all his moments of sincerity, Shidou was still Shidou—chaotic, unpredictable, and impossible to pin down.

And you? You were starting to forget where the line between fake and real was supposed to be.

On the last day, as you packed up your things, Shidou lounged in the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“So, what happens now?” he asked casually.

You paused, your hands stilling over your suitcase. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us. Fake-dating or whatever.”

You swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. “The program’s over. I guess we go back to normal.”

“Normal,” he repeated, his tone unreadable. “Yeah. Right.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence stretched, heavy with things left unsaid.

Then he pushed off the doorframe, his smirk back in place. “Well, it’s been fun, partner. Try not to miss me too much.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you alone in the empty apartment.

You didn’t know what to make of the way your chest ached as you watched him walk away.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe Shidou was right—relationships were a waste of time, and pretending could only get you so far.

But a small, stubborn part of you couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if things had been different. If the line between fake and real had blurred just a little more.

As you closed the door behind you, you told yourself it didn’t matter.

But deep down, you weren’t so sure.

they could never make me hate you shidou

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy answers asks :)#airy posts #blue lock #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #ryusei shidou #shidou x reader #ryusei x reader #bllk shidou #bllk shidou ryusei #blue lock shidou #blue lock shidou ryusei

62 notes · View notes

dominicfikeme · 2 days ago

Text

Moonlit Shores – Satoru Gojo

Summary A walk along the beach with your best friend, Satoru, should feel simple—easy. But not when you’re hopelessly in love with him. Maybe tonight, things will finally change. Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, best friends-to-lovers trope, Satoru being playful and tender, tension, unspoken feelings. Hiii thank you sm for reading! Likes and re-blogs are highly appreciated and I wish a cold pillow to sleep on to anyone who does so lmao <333

Cool air sweeps across the waves, carrying with it the salty taste of the ocean. A flavor you don’t particularly want to taste, but right now, you couldn’t care less. After all, any inconvenience the beach might bring fades away in the presence of your favorite person.

That’s the only reason you’re even here at this odd hour—Satoru and his puppy-dog eyes. You figure accompanying him to the beach is the least you could do, especially after you begged him to join you at an art gallery just the other week, a place he has no interest in. Yet, he tagged along, listening intently as you explained why a certain painting made you feel so nostalgic.

You find yourselves doing this often—taking every opportunity to be together, even if the setting isn’t your favourite. It’s not so bad; you’ve come to appreciate the beach a lot more. The soft sand beneath your feet, the chorus of waves crashing on the shore—makes the whole experience rather enjoyable. Well, that and the sound of Satoru’s excitement as he dips his feet into the ocean for the first time.

You’ve noticed he doesn’t do many things for himself. He’s never really had the luxury of being just a little selfish. Sure, he may come off that way to others, but everyone having known about his strength since childhood means he’s carried an unfair amount of responsibility on the same shoulders he dusts off so easily pretending as if it all doesn't get to him.

For whatever reason, Satoru feels comfortable being a little childish with you—wanting late-night walks on the cold beach, and for whatever reason, you indulge him.

You walk along the shore, arms brushing every few seconds but never lingering longer than necessary. Satoru’s telling you how he got in trouble with Yaga for being late to class, though it wasn’t his fault his alarm didn’t wake him up. You roll your eyes at his excuses and laugh—a laugh that Satoru loves to about.

He’s always looking for moments to joke, no matter how dumb, just to see that smile on your face. A smile you offer so readily, no matter how ridiculous the joke. Even now, you laugh at his complaints about the terrible alarm clock Yaga gifted him for Christmas in an attempt to fix his tardiness. The laughter is so contagious that Satoru can’t help but join in.

In moments like these, with both of you smiling your biggest smiles, time seems to freeze, Satoru’s eyes reflecting the soft moonlight, his white hair messy from the breeze and the natural high of laughter filling the air, you feel free of all inhibitions. You feel an overwhelming pull to take his hand, to pull him closer, to seal your shared laughter with a long yearned for kiss. You wonder if he feels it too, the magnetic pull, the need to be more than whatever you both are, the need to have you close.

His laughter softens, trailing into a content hum as he looks out at the horizon. “Toru–” you say softly, a kind of sincerity in your tone that Satoru picks up on. He looks at you, something tender in his expression urging you to carry on. But you are unable to, you can’t find the words. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to close the small gap between you.

Satoru, unusually patient, simply reassures you with a kind smile, one that allows you to take a leap of faith, letting your hand brush his but this time not pulling away. He looks at your hands, a smile growing ever so slightly as he curls his fingers around your hands. He looks back up at you, eyes soft. You brush your thumb against his knuckles, savouring the feel of his hands in yours, savouring the smile on his face, savouring the electricity that's coursing body because of a simple touch.

A shaky breath escapes you, breaking the silence. Satoru raises a brow, clearly holding back a laugh which only makes you chuckle first. It doesn’t take long before you both are laughing again, the tension giving away to a shared amusement. “You know,” you say, “I think I like the beach a lot more now, I reckon we do this more often.”

“Yeah? Is it the waves or the company?” he teases, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You grin, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “Definitely the company.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #icymi #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #jujutsu satoru #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut

70 notes · View notes

eoieopda · 5 hours ago

Text

triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

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

He didn’t love that analogy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day in question went like this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

And he meant it, wholeheartedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

“Bambi.”

He didn’t love that analogy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

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

Bullseye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom. The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower.

Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no less bouncy and glowy than it was before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay, Thumper?”

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

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

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

Ah.

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

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

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

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it hot in here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Petty, no.

Psychic? Probably.

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

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

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s it.

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

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

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

Soyeon’s eyes brighten.

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You open your mouth to argue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Say something.

Say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear it. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens.

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

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

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

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

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

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

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

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

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

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

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

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

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

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

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

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

“Seokmin loves love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would it hurt?

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

So, you won’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” His grandmother squawks.

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

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

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

“Exactly. Can you —?”

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

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

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

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

Poor bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Foot, meet mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

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

Actually…

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

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

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

His hands are far too busy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were right, though.”

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

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

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

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

“How long —”

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

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

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

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

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

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

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wail, “Noooooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

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

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek. Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you. “No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

56 notes · View notes

dissvicious · 13 hours ago

Text

Alone in Wano - 1 / 2

A/N: it's been an eternity since I posted a fanfic here & I deleted the last one I posted here because I was too self conscious so words can't fathom how much I'm nervous right now lmao. No much content warnings but contain Wano spoilers, canon violence & also apparently it makes people cry. thanks @a-killer-obsession for beta reading, & @wyvernslovecake for letting me play dolls with Shriek ♥

One month.

29 days.

690 hours or so.

Nina sighed, grunting as the baby kicks in her belly kept her from sleeping. She tried to change position in the uncomfortable futon discarded on the ground, to relieve the pressure her womb was applying on her guts - without any effect. She closed her eyes, and, as usual, images of what happened flashed in front of her eyes. Kaido falling in the ground at Ozzy’s birthday party, Kid refusing to submit, the beast pirates destroying the castle and locking everyone in the jails of their ships, sending them to Wano. Quincy, Heat, Wire, Hip, Papas…Thanks to gods, she didn’t see Shriek in the cramped cells. She must have locked herself in her room, just like Nina asked. She silently prayed for her safety and rolled on her back again, looking at the ceiling.

She hadn’t felt this lonely for a long time. Not since she joined the Kid pirates, in fact. She almost managed to believe that life was going to be ok, she almost touched that peace from the tip of her fingers, but Kaido took everything away from her. Nina rubbed her eyes, trying to chase the tears that threatened to flow on her cheeks. One month without Killer tenderly spooning her in her sleep. 29 days without Kid playfully grabbing her ass while passing by in the morning. 690 hours, or so, without passing her fingers through the soft fur of Shriek to untangle it.

"MAMAAAAAAA"

Ozzy’s tears took her out of her reverie. She sat up in the futon, and took the toddler on her lap, before opening her kimono to allow him to latch on her breast and take some milk. She passed her hand through her son’s pink hair, looking down at him tenderly. At least, Kaido didn’t separate them. She was so scared at first, when he discarded them to Orochi, saying that a pregnant chick and a toddler was no use for him. Nina wasn’t strong, she didn’t have any power, she didn’t have haki, and without her chainsaw, the only thing she could do to protect her heir would have been to run and sink her teeth into whatever neck presented to her. Thankfully, Komurasaki seemed to have pity for them and asked Orochi to keep her and Ozzy in her court, which Orochi accepted. Not that he seemed to be able to refuse anything to Komurasaki, though. Nina and Komurasaki immediately understood each other on this - Nina, too, had to pretend to like men for her safety in the past. And staying near the shogun, she could maybe learn a thing or two about Kid or Killer’s fate. Ozzy finished eating and she hugged him tight, seeking comfort in the scent of his hair. God, she missed her lovers so much. Ever since he helped her sober up, she had never been separated from Killer for this long. And as much as it cost her to admit, she missed Kid just as much. After years of being used and tossed away, she finally had a home, a family. She just wanted them back.

Loud screams coming from Orochi's banquet dragged her out of her spiraling. She put back her breast in her kimono and held Ozzy close to her chest, mother instinct going full mode as a little girl with a big grin and pink hair ran to her, crying, holding her close as to seek reassurance in her arms.

“Toko… ?”

Nina bent down and managed with some effort to take Toko under the arm that wasn’t holding Ozzy, finding, by some miracle, space for the little girl, the toddler, and her big round belly.

“Toko… what happened?”

Toko looked up at her, unable to answer, her breath cut by a burst of laughter. Nina bit her lip to restrain any reaction that could hurt the girl’s sensibility. Even if Komurasaki explained to her the whole shit about SMILE and its effects, she still needed to process that Toko could have a big grin or laugh, but still be sad, angry or scared. One thing for sure, the more she learned about Kaido, the more she wanted him dead.

As she was about to question Toko again, Komurasaki and Kyoshiro barged in the room. Nina's eyes went wide open and she stood up as she saw the blood on Komurasaki's clothes.

“The hell?” she asked.

Komurasaki seemed to do great, though, and she walked in with a hurry to take Toko in her arms after changing into a discreet, more modest robe than her usual attire and throwing her jewelry on the ground. Nina turned an inquisitive glance to Kyoshiro who frowned at her.

“No time to explain. All of you need to leave the castle.”

“But…”

“NOW!”

Nina frowned, sensing the urge in Kyoshiro’s voice. She nodded and, holding Ozzy close to her chest, she followed Komurasaki and Toko through a secret escape.

One month.

31 days.

738 hours or so.

Nina’s eyes didn’t leave the hearth, fire crackling and flames casting a warm light through the little wood shed. Toko was sleeping peacefully next to her, holding Ozzy against her, her permanent grin not leaving her face. Nina looked up at the green haired woman sitting across her, a protective hand on her belly.

“So what do I have to call you now?” Nina asked.

“Hiyori.”

Nina studied her face. When they arrived at the secret hideout, Hiyori explained everything to her. How she was actually Oden’s daughter. How she was born on the Oro Jackson, a long time ago. How she had to watch her little brother jump forward in the future thanks to some time travel devil fruit, while her mother was dying in the flames. How a plan to take down Orochi and Kaido was in place, silently building in the shadows for the past 26 years. Once again, Nina met her eyes and a silent comprehension passed between the two women. They both experienced what true loneliness was, they both saw the ugliest face of men. At this exact moment, Nina understood why Hiyori took care of her. Seeing her alone with her baby, pregnant with the second, must have reminded her of her own family.

“That’s not everything.” Hiyori said, a serious glance on her face. She bent aside and grabbed a newspaper on the ground before giving it to Nina.

Nina frowned and took the journal, and her eyes went wide in shock as she read. The news was about a pirate captain sent to Udon jail, and even if the picture below was only an ink drawing, she couldn’t help the tears flooding down her cheeks when she recognized Kid.

“I need to go there.”

“Nina…” Hiyori started to sigh, but Nina cut her off.

“No, you don’t understand!”

She looked at Ozzy, still peacefully asleep in Toko’s arms, occasionally twitching in his sleep.

“His father… Ozzy’s father. One of them. He’s maybe there, I can’t-”

“Nina.”

Hiyori's tone was stern now, and Nina sighed, knowing already where the conversation was landing. Since Hiyori saved her, they had it on a daily basis. Nina sat down, putting a hand on her belly.

“I know, I know. I’m pregnant. I have to be careful.”

Hiyori smiled softly, looking up at her with her big, soft eyes, and Nina smiled back. Both women looked at the fire in silence for a moment.

“I hope they’re doing fine.” Nina whispered, caressing her belly softly, where her little one was giving high kicks again. “I can’t live without them.” She cursed herself mentally for being so sappy.

When did she become so sensitive? After the whole Perona disaster, she thought she was done with romantic bullshit. She was a tough girl, picking up fights in bars and sailing alone, surviving out of thieving and brawlings. She sailed for months, years maybe even, alone, and she held herself alone, even if she had to rely on drugs or sell her body to keep on going. But destiny made her cross paths with Kid pirates, and Killer saved her, and she allowed herself to fall in love again, and then she fell for Kid as well, and the crew adopted her, and she adopted them. And then there were the children, and soon she was surrounded by more tenderness and affection than she could handle. She wiped her tears. Fucking mood swings.

Hiyori seemed to notice her demeanor change, because she moved ever so slightly to wrap an arm around her shoulders, slowly comforting her.

“They’re alive. I would have heard of it if they were dead,” She whispered. Nina nodded, nuzzling against Hiyori's shoulder, closing her eyes.

“I hope so.”

Nina woke up the next morning, snuggled against Hiyori. She sighed in relief. It was good to feel the warmth of another human being again - well, an adult one. With regret, she withdrew herself from the green haired woman's embrace. She stood up and took Ozzy in her arms, cradling him tenderly. Behind her, the fire was dying slowly. It was cold outside, they would need to light another one, and there was no more dry wood left. She wrapped Ozzy in his carrier and tied it on her back. Hiyori would scold her for not resting but she couldn't help it. She didn't want to feel like a burden. She didn't want to feel useless. Hiyori had saved their life, the least she could do was to ensure her a warm room to wake up in. She walked out of the small cabin and closed the door behind her.

Nina was out in the snow, gathering some dry wood, when a deafening scream pierced the ambient silence. She jolted her head as she recognized Hiyori's voice. Without thinking, she put Ozzy in safety next to the wood carrier, wrapping her vest around him to keep him warm and safe, and ran to Hiyori as fast as her round belly allowed her to.

Her mind went blank at the scene she was witnessing.

Hiyori was hidden behind a green haired samurai who looked a bit like the mugiwara sword guy… Roronoa? She was shaking, terrified, holding Toko close in her arms. And in front of them…

This laugh.

This blonde mane.

Those icy blue eyes.

Nina eyes went wide and without thinking, she ran to them as Roronoa was about to attack.

“NO!!”

She yelled, throwing herself between Roronoa and his opponent. Hiyori screamed, but Nina couldn’t care less, her focus on the laughing figure in front of her. Tears perked at the corners of their eyes and she took a few steps forward. At this moment, Roronoa didn’t exist anymore, Hiyori didn’t exist anymore, even Ozzy was far away in her mind. The only thing that mattered for her were those beautiful icy blue eyes piercing through the bandages. So soft. So familiar. The eyes that looked at her with adoration every morning and always managed to make her feel safe.

She took a few steps forwards, wiping her eyes with a relieved chuckle.

“Killer? My lion?”

The blonde looked down at her, a grin plastered on his face. Killer didn’t usually grin without his mask, but after a month without seeing each other, he was probably happy to see her too. She took another step forward, still chuckling in relief. Killer looked down at her, immobile. She looked up at him with pure adoration and sobbed.

“Killer, I'm so…”

She froze when he suddenly arched back, letting out a loud burst of laughter. He laughed. Loudly. Killer laughed. In front of perfect strangers. In front of an opponent.

Puzzled and worried, she held a hand to caress his cheek, an attempted comforting gesture, but before she could touch his skin, she was violently thrown in the snow, kicked in her belly by the wood of his scythes. She felt an intense pain bowing her in half, then, nothing.

The last thing she saw before passing out was Killer's frame passing by her side as if she was nothing but an insect he brushed off his shoulder. The last thing she heard was his laugh fading in the distance, and then everything went black.

56 notes · View notes

hauntedhokage · 1 day ago

Text

this is going to be the longest friday of your life

word count: 9.7k

warnings: references to sex explicit sexual content

[read on ao3] [masterlist] [ko-fi]

“You’re up early.”

“Could say the same to you.” You mumble back, pushing his hair back so you could clearly see him while his eyes try to focus on the new light of the room. He’d been working hard the last few days, you’re confident this is the first morning all week that he’d woken up in a bed and not his office chair or an unused gurney left in a hallway. “Sleep well?”

“Getting to sleep in bed with you is always preferable.”

“I’m glad I could inspire you to take me to dinner and to bed, then.” His smile as you speak is warm, full of adoration that makes your heart flutter with your own smile stretching across your face. “Could I possibly inspire you to make breakfast?”

“I can be bought.”

“How so?”

“Kiss tax, plus a few extra, and I’ll even make the coffee.”

You pretend to think about it, finger tracing patterns against his bare chest as his hand carefully caresses your jaw. There’s a clench to his jaw that you catch, reflective of the urges you knew he was fighting to repress for the sake of whatever moment it was that you were sharing in your bed - urges that you’d press with hope that he’d let himself go again like he had the night before. “I think we have a deal.”

His own fingers dance across your lips before he leans in, the feather light sensation replaced by his soft lips that somehow still tasted of his minty chapstick. His kiss is languid, your movements still affected by the haze of the lingering sleepiness mixed with the warm bed sheets and body heat. His hands pull you to roll with him so you’re laying on him, holding you by your hips to keep you with him.

“Does that only count as one? Or can we make that two?”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

Not that it mattered, the rumbling of your stomach was enough to cut off any escalation of your physical intimacy with Zayne for a while. He carefully sits up, keeping you in his arms until you’re both upright before he’s depositing you to sit beside him so he can stand then help you to your feet.

“You always look so cute when you steal my clothes.”

You look down at the green long sleeve you had picked up on your way back from the bathroom last night, one of Zayne’s oversized shirts that he slept in but was now serving a higher purpose - not just keeping you warm, but also keeping you cute for your boyfriend. Cute wasn’t a normal word for Zayne, but you were going to take it and savor it because you liked being cute for him.

So cute that he keeps you perched on the counter, passing a mug of coffee between you that you have to turn around and refill as he cooks. Your kiss tax for breakfast is paid in full at least twice over by the time he’s helping you down so you can make your way to the table with your plate and coffee to eat.

“Thank you for cooking, Zayne.”

“It’s never a hassle for you.” His assurance has you smiling as you bite into your toast, warm with the knowledge that he enjoyed taking care of you. “Is there anything you’d like to do today?”

“Not really. Let’s just see where the day takes us and, if it’s just laying on the couch then that’s fine by me.”

The faint sound of a ringtone can be heard from the bedroom, and you pause mid-bite as you focus your hearing on the noise. That was your phone, and Zayne nods when you tell him as you stand from your chair so you can half-jog to the bedroom to see who was calling. Your hope that it was just someone inviting you out is squashed when Jenna’s name lights up your screen, and you can only redirect your hope in the direction that she’s only checking on you instead of needing you in the field.

That hope is squashed as soon as you hear her tone on the other line, laced with apologies unspoken for calling on your day off. But apparently Xavier needed your help with a Wanderer he’d been tracking, and that was a big enough deal for having your day interrupted.

“...If Xavier wasn’t specifically requesting you, then-”

“Yeah, I know Captain. I’ll be out there ASAP.”

And you know that he knows exactly what had just happened, knows what you’re about to tell him when you reappear wearing your usual combat pants, but you still have to brace yourself for the words to leave your mouth.

“I hate to dine and dash, but-“

“I know, duty calls.” He doesn’t look surprised nor disappointed, only shooing you towards your bedroom as he stands from the table. “Go finish getting ready, I’ll make some coffee for you to take with you.”

You nod, starting to head that way but quickly doubling back to steal a kiss from him. “You’re the best.”

“I try to be.”

“Hey Xav,” you greet, sneaking up on him for once and laughing when his startled expression meets your own smug grin.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Extremely. Even more proud that you requested my help.”

“I stole your kill yesterday, this is a courtesy.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” You check your gun one last time, nudging him with your elbow to signal that you were ready to move. “You just like spending time with me.”

“I won’t argue that, partner.”

You listen as he tells you about the wanderer he’d been tracking this morning, now aware of why he’d requested your backup as he explains that this wanderer was being drawn to a Luminivore that he’d been trying to pin down for about a month. He didn’t want to risk letting it go, and after this long it would be strong - better to get the help than not and risk it getting even stronger by feeding off more wanderers.

When you do find it, the battle is difficult. The creature was more unpredictable than any wanderer you’d come face-to-face with, moved faster and was all around nasty - even Xavier had been caught off guard a couple times and was reliant on his speed being greater and trusting in your aim being steady and not shooting him by accident. Aiming at blurry subjects was never easy, and you're grateful that you hadn’t come close to hitting Xavier even once throughout the battle despite what you felt were a couple close calls.

“This restaurant just opened today.” Xavier tells you as you walk through the city, having relaxed from the tough battle. “I figured it was something we could try together.”

You nod, not looking up from your phone while you texted Zayne to let him know your mission had gone well and that you were going to get lunch with Xavier. You don’t expect an immediate response so you pocket your phone so you can give Xavier you full attention.

“I was given a flier the other day on my way to the no-hunt zone.” It’s a simple explanation that makes perfect sense, and you nod again while teasing him for being able to sniff out a new restaurant in town without the help of a promotional flier. He rubs his neck as he agrees, earning some nudges from your elbow to his side as you enter the building.

He orders a roast beef sandwich while you go with the waitress’ recommendation, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the chicken salad that’s put in front of you just ten minutes later. There’s discussion between you and Xavier about the fight, as you need the additional reassurance that you hadn’t come close to hitting him with any of your shots while he’s happy to make you feel better about that. Next you talk about any plans you might have for the rest of your day off, since you both already know that he’s going back to sleep after exerting so much energy on the wanderer.

When you leave you’re happy

“Careful.” Xavier comments, his hand tugging you back by your collar to get you out of the narrow crosswalk just in time to avoid the truck barreling through the intersection. A good call, since the vehicle was huge and probably would have killed you if he hadn’t pulled you out of the crosswalk.

“Katie!?”

You both turn at the sound, your eyes seeing the woman rushing into the intersection before they find that she was rushing towards. A young girl, no older than twelve, was laid in the center of a growing group of people. Xavier is already calling for help as you move in to push the crowd back to give the girl and her mother space, but the whole time you can only think about the fact that it was almost you in that position.

Maybe it should have been you? Better you than a kid, right?

The thought haunts you through the rest of your day. You’d come home to an empty apartment, a text from Zayne telling you that he’d been called in to the hospital to assess a cardiac patient admitted from the emergency room but he’d ordered you dinner in advance that would be delivered around six. You text him asking if he’d heard anything about the girl that he could share with you before you get into the shower. Your shoulder aches, and your fingers find blood from a small wound that you’d have to wrap up on your own and ask Zayne to look at in the morning. You weren’t going to the hospital today, you just needed to lay down now.

DAY TWO

This felt unusually similar to the last day, but you shake the unease as you watch Zayne continue to sleep - or at least pretend to be sleeping.

“What time do you need to be at the hospital?”

A smile as he knows he’s been caught, and your hand gently caresses his cheek as he sighs into your pillows before telling you, “Not at all. I’m yours all day, if you’ll have me.”

There wasn’t a single place you’d rather be than with him, and the way his cheeks develop a pink tint makes you smile as you lean in to kiss his nose. You swear you’ve had this conversation before, down to the way Zayne bashfully presses his face deeper into the pillow to try and mask the normally uncharacteristic smile - but that was your smile and you weren’t going to let him hide it.

“Stop hiding your handsome little face from me right now.”

“Is that a request or a demand, miss hunter?”

“A…req-mand,” you respond with a grin, sitting up in the bed so you could look down at him. “If I may make another?”

“Yes, I’d happily cook our breakfast.”

“You’re a blessing and a doctor and a wonderful boyfriend.”

“Anything else?”

“You’re also great in bed, but you knew all of that already.”

“I still like to hear you say it.”

Your phone rings as you’re eating, and you sigh as you stand to retrieve it from the bedroom. It seemed you never got a day off, even when you were supposed to have one. Two days in a row wasn’t fair, and you have half a mind to complain to Jenna about it after she explains the situation but hold off in favor of keeping your job.

Zayne had followed you to the bedroom, and you’re disappointed at the slight frown that graces his usually stoic features, but he was just in demand as you were so you know he understood your situation. It still sucked though.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you assure, leaning against the doorframe as he presses his forehead to yours. The strong hand on your hip keeps you in place, three little words weighing down the tip of your tongue as he leans in to capture the kiss he’d been seeking. “It’d just be nice to have a day with you.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” he assures, kissing you again in something much more weighted with the adoration he held for you - a true parting kiss that you needed to be able to leave comfortably. I’ll see you later, I hope.”

“Yeah, I should hopefully be back around dinnertime so you can make sure I eat something.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

It had to have just been deja vu. That made the most sense as to why you felt like you’d been to this exact area with Xavier telling you it was him wanting to make up for stealing your kill. This entire morning felt familiar, down to the way the wanderer swung at your left shoulder. Any closer and it would’ve gotten your skin instead of just slicing through your shirt and you’d be gang lectured by Xavier, Jenna, Tara, then Zayne in that order.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Lunch?”

“Lunch.”

He tells you about the little diner he’d found and wanted to try, and you nod along as you walk back towards the city. Walking with Xavier was always refreshing, even when you felt uneasy- as if you’d been in the exact situation before. But it was possible that after how long you and Xavier had been partners that every battle felt like a repeat of one before it.

When you go into the dinner you pause, looking around only to realize that you’d been here before. There was no way this was the first day they were open, and Xavier only shakes his head as you take your seat across from him in the booth.

“Maybe you’d been to whatever was here before,” he starts, tilting his head when you shake yours. “This building has been closed for the last year while they remodeled for this restaurant to open.”

“I swear we were just here yesterday.”

“We didn’t see each other yesterday, remember? I had the day off and you were with that artist.”

You had been with Rafayel, but that was two days ago. Yesterday you had been with Xavier in this restaurant. He ordered-

“I’ll have the roast beef sandwich.”

That.

“And you, miss?”

You weren’t ready, too busy staring at your menu in disbelief at being correct. Xavier was impossible to guess when it came to a menu that didn’t have hot pot, and you were able to get that? How?

“I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

You’d done that yesterday, too. This waitress would likely bring a salad like she had yesterday, and it would be a damn good salad.

“She’s going to bring a salad, and I know this because we were here yesterday.”

“Here yesterday but she didn’t recognize us?” Xavier retorts, leaning back into the booth as you cross your arms over your chest. “Did that wanderer hit you? Do I need to get you to the hospital?”

“No it didn’t, but thanks for your concern. Maybe it’s just deja vu, then.”

“Or maybe you need to buy a lottery ticket.”

It was possible that you should’ve bought a lottery ticket, as you find yourself an hour later in the same intersection trying to keep the crowd away from the horrified mother and the daughter who’d been hit by a truck. But this time you don’t go home, you call a taxi to take you to Akso Hospital where the girl had been taken for emergency care.

You just weren’t expecting to see Zayne crossing the reception area when you walked in, needing to be redirected by a receptionist to see you.

“What are you doing here?” He’s carefully inspecting your body for injuries, even carefully gazing into your eyes to look for signs of head injury. You let him look until he’s satisfied, knowing that if you didn’t he’d just continue to worry and check you out as discreetly as possible - even holding your hand a particular way so he could check your pulse for any irregularities.

“I promise you I’m fine. A girl was brought here after being hit by a truck,” you start, something that has Zayne instantly registering who you were talking about. “I wanted to see how she was doing.”

He adjusts his glasses, and you know that he wasn’t going to have an answer for you that would feel satisfactory. But there was also very little that he could actually tell you, due to patient privacy laws and the like. But even hearing that she was projected to be okay would be enough for you.

“She’s in surgery now.”

That was better than being dead on arrival, but you’re right in not feeling satisfied by the answer. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, so you can’t fault him for not texting you from the operating room about a kid you had no obvious connection to.

“Why are you here?”

“Cardiac patient admitted to the emergency room displaying signs of protocore syndrome. I needed to come in to operate with the goal of stabilizing their condition.”

“Dr. Zayne the elite cardiac surgeon.”

“Specialist, not elite, but I appreciate the compliment.”

“Yes, yes, ‘medicine is about helping people, not being popular’,” your impersonation of him earns a smile, his hand catching yours before you could back away from him. But something is tugging at your heart, your repeated close calls enough to remind you that life was very fleeting. “Zayne?”

It’s not the right time, the hospital reception area had too many eyes on you and so many listening ears courtesy of the receptionists and passing nurses that watched with interest as you talked. “You look tired, I’m sorry to have kept you up last night.”

“I’m hoping for a repeat tonight, Doctor.”

“I hope I’ll be able to leave in time to give you that.”

You did too, but for now you were content with just the kiss pressed to your forehead and a whispered request that you text him when you got home so he knew there weren’t any other truck incidents. You just attracted trouble, and you knew that worried him but there wasn’t anything you could do about it - it’s not like you were intentionally seeking it out but you trusted that he knew that.

DAY THREE

“You’re acting strange,” Xavier points out, a hand on yours to stop its anxious tapping against the table top. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

You only shake your head at first, weighing your options before you settle on, “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“That ship sailed a few months ago. I do watch you throw yourself into danger at every possible corner, y’know.” His teasing does exactly what it was meant to do: make you feel better about telling him what had been bothering you. Now that you’d thought about it, he had a bunch of experience with Wanderers and their abilities, maybe he knew how to help?

“This is my third Friday. I’ve woken up three days in a row, and it’s been Friday. Every. Day.”

“I thought time loops only existed in comics and movies,” he mumbles, bringing his finger to his lips as his face settles into something much more serious. Your hope that he would know something about the cause dissipates quickly, and he also deflates a bit when he sees your dejected slump back into the booth. “Everything was the same both days?”

“For the most part. Yester- I guess the last loop is a better description - I had a slightly different conversation with Zayne but that didn’t change anything about waking up this morning.”

“You have to figure out what it is you need to change to break the loop.”

“Do you think this could be the effect of a Wanderer?” you ask, leaning forward on the table once more as Xavier also leans in a bit. Asking directly would likely get you to where you wanted to be information-wise. “That one yesterday was a little weird.”

“It was weird, but not time-manipulative kind of weird. I haven’t heard of a Wanderer who could do that.” That has you slumping back into your seat, a pout on your face as he sighs. “What happens next today?”

His question makes you check your watch, seeing 1:47 looking back at you has you rushing from your seat and out the door of the restaurant. If you could prevent the girl’s accident, maybe that would break the loop? It happened at 1:49pm on the opposite corner of the restaurant you were eating at, and you see the bright floral sundress of the young girl approaching the corner as you use your evol to boost your speed just that much more so you can pull her out of harm’s way just in time.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine! Thank you Miss Hunter!”

“Be more careful crossing streets,” is what you leave the girl with before making your way back to the restaurant.

Xavier is still sitting patiently at the table, an amused smile on his face at how winded you were after the show of talent to save the girl from getting hit by a car. It’s all you can do to simply shrug when he asks, “You knew exactly when that was going to happen?”

“The last two loops we were out of here at 1:45, then you pull me out of traffic but she gets hit. Today, neither of us got hit.”

“Loop broken?”

“Let’s hope so.” To celebrate, you order a dessert for you and Xavier, trying to relax but unable to shake the feeling that something still didn’t feel right. It could just be that the loop was truly broken, and now your universe had shifted just that much to create a strange feeling, but you supposed you’d find out when you woke up the next day.

“Where do you go next?”

“I’m not sure. The first time in went home, last time I went to the hospital.”

“I think we’ll need to go to the hospital again,” Xavier comments, pointing his fork at your shoulder where red was blooming under your white blouse. “From this morning?”

“Probably made it worse when I grabbed the girl. I can get myself there, though.”

“Let me at least make sure you get there in one piece. Then you can do whatever and I’ll go home and sleep.”

You reluctantly agree, and find yourself sitting next to your partner on the train as it speeds towards the hospital. Outside the doors you perform your little handshake with Xavier before he leaves you with a request to check in and update him on your status throughout the evening, something you agree to with a smile before thanking him for listening to you and giving you his own advice.

Regardless of the day or time, there is always at least one receptionist working who knows exactly who you are and has sent a message to Zayne indicating your arrival and the state in which you walked through the door. You know this time there is a new receptionist available to greet you, ready to have you redirected to the urgent care area until Theresa - a long time receptionist very aware of your relationship with Zayne - tells her not to bother since your primary care physician would be seeing you shortly.

Three minutes and twenty two seconds. That was likely a new record, something you tease him about as Theresa lets him know that an appointment had been booked for him. She always looked out for him in her own little ways, safeguarding the time he’d get to attend to your health without interruption was just one of those things she did for him.

He’s always so composed as he leads you to the elevator, a composure you do your best to mimic for his sake despite knowing that wasn’t necessary. The security of the elevator is when that composure crumbles a bit, and he’s turning to face you properly as he asks, “How deep is it?”

“Not sure.” You’d shrug if you could, but all you’ve got is leaning against the wall of the small elevator. “I didn’t know I was hurt until half an hour ago.”

“What made it open up more?”

“I rushed to pull a girl out of traffic before a large truck could hit her.”

“Always the hero,” he comments with a smile, hand on your back to guide you out of the elevator when the doors open. “My daring Hunter.”

A kiss grazes the top of your head as he leads you to the exam room that he’d use to stitch you up. That’s the only purpose this white room would serve, you know the rest of your appointment time followed by whatever free moments he potentially had would be spent in his office to ensure true privacy as you enjoyed each other's company.

His fingers are nimble as they traverse the familiar road that was undoing the straps of your protective gear then continue into the buttons of your blouse. His eyes always drift to appreciate your skin as he gets the honor of exposing it, a crack in the perfectly crafted mask of professionalism that Zayne always wore in the hospital - a crack only you could’ve created and only you get the pleasure of looking into to see Zayne without the title of Doctor in front of it. His fingertips drag along your skin as he helps you remove your blouse without further agitating your wound, allowing himself to touch you ever so slightly in the way a lover should rather than a doctor, and you can only reach up to cup his cheek once your healthy arm is free to move.

“I worry about you when you’re out of my line of sight.” A tilt of his head to kiss your palm, his hand coming to hold yours to his lips while also giving a small squeeze. “I know that you’re capable, and trust that you aren’t throwing yourself around recklessly, but I still worry. Seeing you hurt like this, it’s a smaller wound but I never want to see your blood.”

“I know,” is all you can say, continuing to hold his eye contact despite how small that focused gaze made you feel sometimes. “I try my best.”

“That’s all I can ask for. Let’s get you patched up.”

You were as good of a patient as you could be, given the situation you’d found yourself in. Stitches were never an easy procedure to sit through, and the location of your injury meant that you got to look at Zayne as he did it. He was so focused, eyes locked onto his task with minimal room for distraction. That hand that wandered previously to graze at your chest as he cleaned the wound was perfectly still as it helps to hold you still while his other hand handled the sutures. His eyes didn’t even move to look up at you, not until he was done and bandaging your fresh stitches.

“Please go home and rest. Don’t lay on it, no alcohol, but eat before you take any medications.”

“Yes, Dr. Zayne.”

“I’m serious. If they call tomorrow you need to say no.”

“I know, and I will,” you assure, hand on his chest as he sighs.

You’re not sensitive enough to think he’d be mad at you, you both knew the risks involved with your career and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that you’d always be out of harm’s way. You were damn good at your job but you weren’t resistant to wanderer attacks nor were you able to truly predict their moves before they were made.

“I know. You’re quite the capable patient.” His praise as he helps you get your shirt buttoned back up makes you smile. “We’ll both take a real day off tomorrow.”

You weren’t confident that he wouldn’t get called in again tomorrow, but it sounds so nice to hear him say it anyway. He didn’t promise, which is how you know he’s not confident either, but that was a concern for tomorrow and not this moment where Zayne is helping you down from the table. The air still feels heavy, even as he meads you out of the room and turns to leave after a kiss.

“Zayne, I-” You stop short when he turns to look at you, biting your lip as you try to look away from his dissecting gaze. “I’m sorry for worrying you. Thank you for always taking care of me.”

He smiles, closing the distance between you two and taking your hand in his own. “It’s my job as your primary care provider. Will you be heading home?”

“You don’t have time for dinner?”

“Not anymore. The emergency room has seen quite a few patients get fully admitted, it’ll be a busy night tonight.”

“Oh, then I can bring you something so you’ve got some protein when you’ve got a few minutes to breathe. I’ll just leave it in the little fridge you keep in your office.”

“You’re too kind to me. I love-“ he stops to clear his throat, and you’re ready to say it back until he finishes with, “Excuse me. I appreciate how much you want to take care of me.”

“It’s my job as my primary care provider’s care provider.” You’re grinning at him despite the dull ache in your shoulder, and he leans in to sneak a chaste kiss before you start to back away. “Will you come by when you’re off shift? Give me something nice to wake up to?”

“If I get out of here in time. If I don't, will you come see me here?”

DAY FOUR

You wake up surprised to feel that Zayne had made it to your home last night with how busy the ward was. But it was still nice to have his warmth encase you and keep you hidden away from the evils of the world for as long as you could stay in this bed with him - and even more relieving that he was resting after such a busy afternoon and evening.

It was still a day off for you both, at least it was supposed to be, so staying home all day was definitely required. You had a balcony with decent chairs, so you’d get the sunlight that you know the doctor will suggest and that would suffice for one day - it had to after the last three Fridays you’d been forced to experience.

You lift your phone to send a text to Xavier, excited that the loop had been broken, only to pause when you see the time and date over the picture of you and Zayne that was your background.

06:52

Friday

You want to throw it, you really do. Anything to make it feel like it was any different day. But you can’t, since phones were very expensive to replace - as if that would matter if you lived the same day anyway.

“Fuck me,” you groan, sinking back under the covers and burrowing yourself into Zayne’s waiting arms.

“I’d be glad to, but what’s the occasion?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy. Hell, I think I’m crazy.”

A thoughtful hum leaves the doctor, followed by a kiss to the top of your head as he pulls you in closer. “For the record, I’ve thought you were crazy since we were children. Second, I like that you’re a bit…eccentric at times.”

“I’m stuck in a time loop.”

“Repeat that?”

“I’m stuck in a time loop. This is Friday round four, Zayne.”

You don’t even want to look up at him, can’t bring yourself to see the face he was making before he asked if you’d hit your head while out on assignment yesterday. Zayne was a man of logic and science, a time loop did not follow any real logic. It sounded crazy saying it to Xavier before, but saying that to Zayne makes you feel batshit nuts.

“I know, it’s ‘wanderer ate my baby’ nuts, but I know what I’m experiencing.”

“Then you’ll stay home today. I have today off as well, so we’ll stay in and keep you out of trouble.”

“You believe me?”

“I have no reason not to.” That had you looking up at him in surprise, confusion clearly etched on your features when he shrugs as he sits up. “There’s a lot you would mess around with me about, but I know your tones well enough to know that this isn’t a joke. So we’ll stay home and hope that breaks this vicious cycle you’ve managed to find yourself in.”

“But it’s-“

“It’s absolutely ‘wanderer ate my baby’ crazy, and I don’t understand the logic, but still if this is happening we’ll figure it out.”

“And if we don’t figure it out today, and tomorrow I wake up and it’s still today and you don’t remember?”

There’s only a moment of hesitation, a slight furrow in his brow as he considered the fact that if this didn’t work then he’d forget about all of this. But he relaxes, a smile on his face as he assures, “Then you’ll tell me again. I believe you today, don’t I?”

“You get called in at around one.”

“That’s a problem for the afternoon. It’s only seven.”

“Jenna calls at like eight fifteen.”

“Then we have time. Just lay back and let me take care of you.”

These were doctor’s orders that you would never ignore, and you watch as he moves to the end of the bed to have the room you needed to shimmy back into a lying position with him between your legs. The hem of his sweater that you wore is bunched up near your belly button, allowing him full access to see what had become favorite treat. Those eyes are almost dissecting you as he takes you in, long fingers carefully parting your folds so he could see his handiwork from the night before.

“You’re already so wet,” he starts, bringing his thumb into his mouth to wet it. That thumb is then gently rubbing circles against your clit as he watches your body react to the pleasure. “But more is always better.”

It takes everything for you to keep still, keep looking at him as he watches you. They said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and Zayne believed that which was why he’d always watch you so intently. He thrived on eye contact, needing it as his way of assessing whether or not he was succeeding in his goal of pleasuring you.

“Please don’t tease,” you whine, reaching down between your legs to catch his free hand. “I’ve been through too much, Zayne.”

He only gives your hand a squeeze, kissing the inside of your thigh then leaning in to lick at your tender clit. His fingers graze the inside of your labia, teasing the edges of your already fluttering hole before two long digits easily slide in. A third joins quickly after, Zayne clearly wanting to stretch you out some more than he had the night before. His eyes have left yours, now more enamored by his fingers disappearing inside of you and how sweet your breaths sound as your hips rock up to meet his pace.

“Think you can take one more?”

You’re nodding without hesitation, although your brain doesn’t register just what you’re agreeing to until you feel his hand shift to allow his pinky to join the other three fingers that were stretching you out. The initial discomfort quickly dissolves into pleasure, and you’re struggling to keep your legs open as you feel your stomach tighten with your impending orgasm. His head disappears between your legs again, lips suctioning to your clit in a way that sends you toppling over the edge with a cry of his name. He just holds your thighs that now hold his head in place, letting you ride out your orgasm against his tongue that was eagerly lapping at your essence. There’s a pleasured groan that leaves him at your taste, the vibrations against your clit causing your legs to tighten around his head until he’s gently prying your thighs apart so he can sit up to look at you.

“I think you’re ready, are you ready for my cock?”

You nod, but you know he wants to hear you so you gather yourself just enough to give him that verbal confirmation. He’s pleased, hands caressing your thighs before he moves up along your body while pushing his sweater up as he goes, leaving the occasional kiss to your skin as he exposes it.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, tossing the sweater to the side once it’s over your head and smiling when you grin up at him. “I’m incredibly lucky that you chose me.”

“Every day I’ll make the same choice.”

The air between you grows heavy; a sentiment that you can’t voice lingering on your tongue, just waiting to be captured and held by him. The look in his eyes is one you’re familiar with but unable to decode, the only thing you’re certain of is that it’s an affectionate gaze and nothing less, a gaze that betrays his evol and sets your heart ablaze and makes your fingers tingle with the intensity held in those green irises.

The strong vibration of your phone against your nightstand has you sighing, pushing your head back into the pillows as Zayne whispers for you to ignore it. You weigh you could, but you know what time it is and that it means Jenna is calling to let you know that you will need to meet Xavier to complete a mission, and failure to answer the call would mean that someone would be sent to you to make sure you were okay and instead would walk in on Zayne fucking you on some surface in your apartment. Your attempt to reach for it is stopped by Zayne as he starts to push his length into your waiting cunt.

“It’s Jenna,” you inform, struggling to keep your eyes open when he starts to push his cock past your slick folds. “I can’t ignore it.”

“Give it here.”

The exchange is brief, but Zayne catches your hand before you could pull away to kiss your palm as he settles into the base of his length. You feel so full, so content when he’s inside you like this regardless of how often you had sex with him. He completed you, you always knew that he did and that no other partner would compliment you as Zayne did. He truly was perfect, despite all of his perceived flaws. You’re so caught up in the feeling that you almost forgot that he was supposed to be answering your phone, but he didn’t.

“Yes good morning,” Zayne greets, lowering his fingers to play with your sensitive clit to keep you occupied while he spoke to your captain. “Yes, she’s still in bed under my care. Running a high fever of over a hundred degrees with severe nausea, I wouldn’t recommend her leaving home today.”

His finger moves faster, the pattern becoming recognizable the more you feel it. Only now he’s moving, something that has you biting your knuckle to keep from moaning at the sensation of his cock stretching you open more.

Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-A-Y-N-E

His name, over and over again against your clit until your body is tightening around him while he nods along to whatever it was Jenna was saying to him. But he’s proud of himself, watching the fingers of your left hand curl into the pillow under your head as your nails dig into the taut skin of his thigh. He's proud that he’d made you cum now for the second time when he was just getting started.

“I will pass along those sentiments and let her know to reach out once she’s feeling better ... Yes, and to you as well.”

He tosses your phone to the side, promising to buy you a new one when he hears it bounce off of your bed and hit the floor with a harsh smack that lands in time with the first full meeting of his hips against yours. Not that you really cared; the phone was replaceable, these moments with Zayne were not.

“How do you recommend treating this high fever, Dr. Zayne?”

“Careful attention from your primary care provider. There is also a special medicine I can provide, but it’s internal.” You only quirk a brow at him, knowing that dirty talk wasn’t his strongest skill when it came to sex but proud of him for trying. “That didn’t sound sexy, did it?”

“Not exactly,” you respond, a smile on your face as you rub his thigh. “But I could listen to you read a medical textbook and still get off, so don’t worry.”

“You’re too kind,” he murmurs, taking one of your thighs into his firm grip to bring it up and around his hip. “Be a good patient for me.”

You follow the doctor’s orders for once, very pleased with the praise he gives you as he fucked the stress of the time loop out of your system. It was still a bit awkward, given that he wasn’t the most experienced or really comfortable being vocal in bed, but that was Zayne and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Feeling any better?” He asks when he returns from the bathroom, washcloth in hand so he could help you clean up.

“A bit. I feel better that you know and are just as bamboozled as I am, but it’s still a weird situation.”

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.” His assurance makes you feel a bit better, the gentle nudge to your cheek with his knuckle getting a smile out of you as he carefully cleans up the mess he’d made of you. You were so in love with this man it was unreal, but it didn’t feel like the right time to tell him that.

“I’ll go make breakfast now, you’ve got to be starving.”

“Let me,” you request, something that has him looking at you in surprise. He always made breakfast since you preferred the way he cooked your eggs compared to your own, but you were desperate to force any change to the routine in hopes it would break the cycle. “Trying to break the loop.”

“Right. I’m going to take a quick shower, I should be out by the time you’re done cooking.”

You nod as you pick your robe up from the bedroom floor, giving him a wave as you leave your bedroom.

The breakfast you cook is the same as the previous ones he’d made, only instead of coffee you opt to pour some orange juice for the both of you. A small change that could have a huge impact, like a butterfly effect in time travel.

After breakfast Zayne pulls you to lounge on the couch with him, putting on the drama you’d been watching together in hopes that it would distract you from your predicament. You’re comfortable between his legs with your head on his chest, his fingers gently massaging and scratching at your scalp making you drowsy halfway through the episode.

“Relax and get some rest, we can always restart it when you wake up.”

DAY FIVE

This time when you wake up you’re mad.

Why would the loop reset when you’d only laid down for a nap?

What did the universe want from you? If it wasnt avoiding reckless combat, or saving the girl, or letting the girl be injured - what the actual fuck did it want from you?

It’s with a sigh that you pull yourself from Zayne enough that you can sit up, leaning back against your headboard while trying not to look at your phone. The date and time would only make you cry, you’re sure of that fact, so you only tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling.

You might as well get your morning started.

“I know you’re faking,” you tease, gently poking Zayne’s cheek when he smiles. “Doctor faker.”

“Good morning to you too.” His greeting comes with a hand on your side, pulling you into him but laying across him slightly due to your previous positioning. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good. I’m still kinda tired but I don’t want to go back to bed. You?”

“I also slept well. Going to sleep with you helps me sleep better.”

“Is it me or the sex?” There’s a dusting of pink across his cheeks, something that has you grinning as you pull back to sit up again. “I know I wear you out both in and out of bed.”

“You do, but you’re the sweetest cause of exhaustion,” he murmurs, sitting up and stealing a kiss from you. His hand slips under your shirt, warm against your skin as he tries to nudge you into his lap. But his attempt at getting more than just a kiss from you is thwarted when you pull away and roll off of your bed - landing solidly on your feet while flashing a thumbs up at him. “You’re cruel, honey.”

“Maybe you can dip into your honey pot later.” You suggest with a smile, though you know that he likely wouldn’t get the opportunity since Jenna would be calling. But he didn’t need to know all that since clearly it didn’t make a difference in the time loop if he did or didn’t know. As frustrated as you were with this situation, you would simply let it be and enjoy the little variations of this morning with him. “Breakfast time, Doctor Zayne.”

The day has the same elements every other Friday has had.

Breakfast.

Call from Jenna.

Hunting a wanderer with Xavier.

Save the girl.

Hospital for stitches.

You’d probably be able to do the whole day with your eyes closed, including shooting at the high-speed wanderer. You felt like a hamster on a wheel, destined to do this forever while chasing a reward that didn’t exist. How this ended, you fear you’d never know, and that is disheartening at best but heartbreaking at worst. You were looking forward to a lifetime with Zayne, but instead you were likely to live the same Friday forever. Maybe this was your forever?

“You’re thinking hard, are you alright?” Zayne asks as he fixes your shirt, eyes scrutinizing your expression in a way that tells you that you won’t get away with lying to him but you were going to try anyway.

Telling him about the loop doesn’t help you at all, so why waste the breath? All you can muster is an “just tired” that he certainly doesn’t buy, and that has him inviting you to sit in his office with him for as long as he can avoid his duties without being negligent.

You choose to stand by the window, looking out at the hospital courtyard to see a couple children attempting to fly kites despite there being no wind. If you had an evol that could create the breeze they needed, you’d do it in an instant to provide them that joy of flying kites together.

“Alright, what’s bothering you? Was it the-”

“Wanderer was fine, and the girl is okay so that’s not on my mind.” You assure, finally looking at him as you turn to lean against the windowsill. “It’s just been a long day and my shoulder hurts. I’ll be okay.”

There’s a lot of unspoken emotion hanging in the air around you, creating a tension that wasn’t unbearable but only because this was standard for these moments with him. After the day you’d had with the abrupt exit in the middle of breakfast to meet with Xavier, his own call into the hospital to perform an emergency surgery, your injury made worse by pulling that girl out of traffic - it was quite a bit stacked onto itself and that was without considering your additional stress that was the time loop. He’s boxing you in against the windowsill, hands on your hips with thumbs gently massaging into your skin beneath your shirt, it seemed like there was always something that he looked like he wanted to say, and you had your own sentiments that you wanted to share but never felt like it was the right time. Another mission, another patient - just too many distractions that ruined the moment.

The realization hits you like that truck almost had earlier in the day - and you feel stupid at the fact that it took five rounds to get to this point.

There was only one thing you hadn’t done, the one thing you’d been terrified to do, and you were going to be brave and just say it. He already knew, you were sure of it, but you couldn’t let it go unspoken any longer. Two near death experiences in a day clearly meant that you needed to just get it off your chest before you couldn’t and you were going to do it now. Potential disruption from another doctor or nurse be damned - you had to do this before you lost the resolve. You’d been stuck in this stupid time loop for far too long, you had to see if this would break it.

“Zayne,” you start, hands carefully holding onto the lapels of his lab coat to keep him close to you - as if he’d be going anywhere with how wedged between your legs he’d made himself. “I love you, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to just get the words out.”

“You know that you can’t hide anything from me, right?”

“You’ve known this whole time?”

“You mumble it when I leave in the morning and you’re still sleeping. I’ve always said it back.”

“Doesn’t count if I’m sleeping.”

“You’re right,” he states, his nose brushing against yours as he leans in. He’s looking at you through his lashes, and you’re grateful that he’d pocketed his glasses so you had a clear view of the deep green irises. “I love you, and I’m very grateful to have you love me in return.”

You’re in his place of work, the door to his office only providing a slight protection of your privacy for this intimate moment with him, but still he kisses you. Large hands moving from your hips to carefully cradle your face and keep you close to him as his lips coax yours into opening for him. He has work to do, patients to attend to and nurses to provide medicinal instructions to, but he’s standing here kissing you against the window without reservation for your location. Your hands move up his shoulders to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you relish in the taste of bitter coffee and mint on his tongue.

His pager beeping forces you to separate, the sound bringing a disappointed sigh from your boyfriend as his hand has to leave your warm cheek to check the notification. “Surgery patient just woke up.”

“I suppose you need to go handle that,” you murmur, smiling when his lips reconnect to yours in a much more chaste affair. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll be rewarded for your sacrifice. I should be able to leave in about an hour, if you’re willing to wait.”

“You wanna take me home?”

“Every night for the rest of our lives together,” he whispers, stealing another kiss from you. “Get comfortable here. I’ve got to finish up some rounds and check on my patient, but we should be heading home soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” And you are, there was plenty to do with him - mostly catch up on lost sleep and exchange some more words of love and affection to make up for the weeks of intended exchanges left unspoken. “I love you.”

A smile, small and shy with cheeks red and radiating a warmth is what you get from Zayne - uncharacteristic given the location and his need for a collected personality at work. He needed to be as cool as his evol, but with a kindness that kept patients calm and comfortable in his presence. But that was your smile, your bashful boyfriend who exposed his emotions to you as if he were a painting in a museum, a private collection with only your name on the invite list.

“I love you, too. Stay out of trouble and please don’t shift items slightly to the left while I’m gone.”

You hadn’t planned on it, having seen the book you’d left last time you visited sitting on his desk and ready to sit and read that, but now you’re inspired to shift a few things to the right this time. Maybe move his pen cup and other things that were more convenient being on the side of his dominant hand. He hadn’t said anything about moving things to the right, bringing a mischievous grin to your face that makes him shake his head as he backs away from you with just a warning to behave.

DAY SIX

Another morning comes, sunlight sneaking in through a crack in the curtains that is perfectly positioned to hit your eyelids. Just bright enough to be annoying, so you turn to hide your face into the warm chest at your back while pulling the duvet over your head for good measure.

You’re terrified to open your eyes, not wanting to have to relive yet another Friday since you weren’t sure what would break the loop if telling Zayne that you loved him didn’t do the trick. You were tired of learning a lesson, you’d been through enough.

“You’re too tense for just waking up.”

…that was different.

Now that you were thinking about it, this wasn’t your bed. Your bedroom smelled sweeter, vanilla and spice courtesy of the incense Zayne had bought you for your last birthday. This was bergamot, mint, and sandalwood, an earthy scent that was unique to Zayne and his bedroom - and when you open your eyes you come face to face with the picture of you both that he kept on your nightstand and the Wasabi Octopus that sat beside it. The picture had you both with arms full of plushies because you’d gotten much too lucky one afternoon, the octopus on the nightstand balanced perfectly atop Zayne’s head but he didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. He was excited to have all those plushies, but more excited at how happy you were - he was looking at you rather than the camera.

This wasn’t Friday morning, there was no sun to assault your eyes but there were gentle fingers tapping Mary had a Little Lamb along your side - light enough that it wouldn’t have woken you but noticeable enough for you to make out the pattern. The only song the doctor’s fingers could perform, a pattern your skin could never forget and a song you’d never tire of. This wasn’t your bedroom, this wasn’t your bed - this whole morning was different.

Finally, a change in the loop.

Your head almost slams into his in your haste to sit up, Zayne barely dodging by laying back on the bed as you move.He can only watch as you scramble to grab your phone from the nightstand, only to groan when you see that it was dead courtesy of you forgetting to plug it in, then turn to lean over him to grab his. Your elbow knocks into his ribs a bit in your scramble, pulling a pained grunt from your lover that is met with your apology as you frantically tap on his phone screen to wake it up and check the time.

ignoring the fact that you were naked since every other Friday you’d woken up in Zayne’s very comfortable green sweater that he’d worn when he met you for dinner on Thursday night.

07:34

Saturday

“It’s Saturday?”

“That is the day that comes after Friday, is it not?”

“Zayne, it’s Saturday.” You could honestly cry, having never been happier to see Saturday than after experiencing five Fridays in a row that were tragically nearly identical to the other. You can only stare at the date and time that covered the landscape of his lock screen, the image perfectly placed to avoid blocking your face at the last festival you’d gone to. “It’s Saturday, and we love each other, and-and-“

You’re overwhelmed with emotion as you pull him in for a kiss, his very confused hands settling on your back and carefully rubbing your skin as he kisses you back. It doesn’t take long for you to be straddling him, continuing to make out with your now accepting boyfriend as his hands move to get your body ready for the inevitable conclusion to your early morning.

“I’ve never seen you so excited for Saturday,” he mumbles when you give him time to breathe, his hand leaving your breast to wipe at the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. “Are you alright?”

“Yesterday just sucked, aside from the love confessions.”

His promise to wash it away is mostly successful, his touch tender but delivering exactly what you had needed to lose yourself in him and his love for you, only for him to do it again in the shower before carefully scrubbing at your sensitive body and freshly stitched shoulder wound to properly clean you up. You then get to sit on his countertop, watching as he cooks a simple breakfast that would tide you over until your lunch reservation.

“What made your Friday so awful, if I may ask?”

“It was…” You trail off as you consider your choice of words, reaching out and cupping his cheek as he smiles at you. Explaining the loop of Fridays didn’t seem worth it when you’d come out of it on top, especially since you know Zayne wouldn’t want you to spare a detail So he could understand it better. “Just extremely tedious.”

“We’ll just have to make sure your Saturday is anything but.”

“I love you, Zayne.”

“And I love you. Now let's have breakfast and then we can visit the arcade before lunch.”

#zayne x mc #zayne x reader #zayne x you #love and deepspace zayne x reader #lads fanfic #lads fic #lads smut #lads x reader #lads x mc #zayne li smut #zayne li fic #zayne li x reader #zayne li x mc #zayne lads x reader

56 notes · View notes

writinganon1 · 3 days ago

Text

This is called I went insane! enjoy :)

@cokoweee

O, now, for ever. Farewell the tranquil mind; farewell content.

Othello, Act 3 Scene 3

Water licked against his arms as he floated there silently, occasionally wiggling his fingers to create ripples that lapped against his face.

The heating lamp above the tank rotated to heat the rest of the water. Pushing off the wall to follow the direct rays he let his head dip under the water. Warmth rushed over his head, his legs flicking momentarily underwater as he let himself sink beneath the ripples.

A smile spread across his face.

It was so nice to be here again. Nothing but him and the water.

The door to the room opened with a squeal. He sank deeper, hoping she would look over him and leave him be.

He swore violently as a hard plastic ball hit his head with surprising accuracy. Reluctantly floating back to the top, he let his head barely break the water's surface and glared at Kendra.

“ I made dinner. Eat some of it.” She paused, eyes sweeping over the deck of the tank. “With me so I know you did.”

“I already ate today.”

She groaned and kicked at the water. “Two rice cakes, a mango, and a bag of oranges do not count as eating. One meal. K’mon, we agreed to this.”

“M’not hungry.”

“I will drag you to the kitchen worm. Do not doubt me.”

He let air hiss from his mouth softly and flopped to his stomach, letting his feet rise to the top of the water. He kicked in a single swift motion to reach the bottom of the murky pool water. Propelling off the gritty pool floor, he shot himself upward through the water toward the deck. He kicked twice, his legs close together, arms held tightly in front, soaring through the water. When he was able to see the light again, he let his arms fall to his side and let his head bob up to the top. He shook his head to get rid of excess water he swung a leg over the ledge of the pool and climbed out.

“Dramatic much,” Kendra grumbled, water beads dripping rhythmically from her hair. “I know you can get out normally. I’m on to you.”

He shrugged, wrapping a large towel over his shoulders and dragging his feet over the rough pool deck. “Turtle stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”

She rolled her eyes and quietly followed him, mumbling all the way.

She threw a pair of sweatpants at his back. “Put on some pants you big slut!”

He held up his hand, letting the longest of the three stick up.

“Did you just give me the middle finger?” She laughed. “Do you even have a middle finger?”

He turned his head, scowling at her laughing face as she overtook him on the walk to the kitchen. “I’d say go to Hell, but they’d hate you too.”

“I’m gonna pop the soup in the oven.” She looked him up and down. “You stop being a whore.”

He called back, waving the pants over his head. “ I am a proud slut!”

He paused as the smell of the pants hit his nose.

Lavender.

It definitely wasn’t his detergent. He just got whatever Drax claimed was the cheapest. Had she been washing his clothes? He’d honestly assumed Sheldon had been doing most of it for him, but Sheldon knew better than to use her detergent. Why would she do that for him?

He pulled them over his legs, his mind twisting in circles as he shuffled into the dimly lit kitchen. Snapping his fingers quietly, the lights burned a brighter hue, purple flickering in occasionally through the yellow light bulb.

Kendra placed a bowl of soup in front of him, sliding it towards him when he didn’t immediately start eating. He placed his hand on his chin, lowering it slightly towards her as he pulled it away. Thank you

She nodded briefly before sitting down next to him, her own bowl of soup in front of her.

“What's wrong?”

He frowned, ladling soup into his mouth as she watched him. He didn’t need to bother her with what he was dealing with. Didn’t need to weigh her down.

So he smiled instead, his lips curling upward ever so slightly as he moved his hands. He brought a hand to his chin again, this time letting his fingers rest just below his face as he curled them into an O, his fingers expanding outward as he moved them away from his face. Nothing.

Kendra’s frown deepened as she translated his hand motions. “You’re not talking. Something is wrong. You were just talking a second ago. What happened?”

He paused, the soup on his spoon dripping into the bowl beneath it, as he conjured up the strength.

“Why are you still here?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean it. Don’t play dumb. Why are you still here? With me. Dealing with all of this?” He waved his arm around the poorly lit kitchen, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I could have given you enough to move out and get a place of your own. But you stayed here. Why?”

She stayed silent, rolling her eyes as she went back to eating her soup.

Maybe this wasn’t the time to have this conversation. She seemed happy. There was no need to ruin her night.

He cursed silently as a hiss fell from his mouth. There was no getting out of it now. Kendra looked over, almost on cue, her head tilted in question.

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know…taking care of me.” He lowered his head as heat flushed his cheeks. “Doesn’t it ever get too much?”

Her head tilted further, eyes softening as she watched him flounder over his own words, silent nonetheless.

“I wouldn't have had dinner if you hadn’t made it tonight. Isn’t that pathetic? Don’t you want someone else? Someone who can take care of you the way you deserve? Why me?”

Silence filled the kitchen, her eyes following his head as he sank to the counter to rest his forehead against the cool granite.

She was not a broken thing like him. She had cracks along her face sure, but she was still beautiful. Still perfect and stunning. Perhaps those lines allowed her to understand him in some way. The way he felt for her when she opened up.

But he- he was broken. Chips taken from his heart, from his soul. They could not be replaced by time. They were forever gone and he was forever broken. No one would fill those cracks. For his were not relationships lost, but people he would never hold again.

No amount of love would bring them back.

“I’m not mad at you you know?” She said softly, her hand reaching to his hand, fingers twisting with his. “I should’ve said something.”

“I’m sorry.”

She scooted closer, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’ll listen.”

Of course she would. She would always be there for him. In some form or fashion, she’d be there. He couldn’t do the same for her. It was pitiful. And yet she was still here.

“Do you hate me?” He asked quietly, pushing her head away from him.

She paused, her hand outreached, inches away from his arm. “I hate what you have allowed yourself to become. Nothing but a plastic bag floating in the wind. No purpose, just going where the wind blows you.” She punched him, her eyes flickering with anger. “ It’s ridiculous. I know you’re more than this. I know it and I want to see that man. I want to see you back in that lab of yours making things you love.”

“I can’t.” He whispered,

“Why not?” She pressed, holding his arm like he would float away if she didn’t force him closer.

Looking to the side he stared at the hallway leading to the lab. “If I make something it has to be perfect. It has to be amazing and useful.”

“You can’t just make things for fun?

“It had to make up for the fact it came from me.”

She yanked her hand away, lips curling in disgust.

She believed it too then. That he was nothing more than a disappointment. There was no harm in continuing. She was sure to leave after this. After she saw who he was.

“I am not the same person you met all those years ago. With a want and passion for life. Building things on a whim while I pretended I was someone I wasn’t. I’ll never be him again. He’s-”

Her face hardened suddenly. “Don’t tell me you’re not the same person I met years ago like it’s a bad thing. I am not the same girl you fought in the streets. Change may not be easy, but it’s not for the worse either.”

He blinked slowly. It was true. She had taken time to become better. She’d worked hard to overcome her past and become someone new. But he had just sat there. Wasted away while the world passed around him. Fought dozens of battles. Won dozens more. And for what? There was no real purpose to it.

Just anger.

Just emptiness.

Just pain.

He was no butterfly. Locking himself away from the world like she had, emerging something better, something beautiful. Taking to her new life like a fish to water. He was no beautiful creature.

He was a worm. Aimlessly wandering through the dirt. Stopping often to sit and ponder. What did worms think about? Probably their worm brethren. Or worm sisters perhaps? No matter. Worms were gross and he was one. He liked to wiggle around on the floor too. Dirt was nice. He would probably have to bury himself in the mud after this conversation anyway.

He looked back up to see her staring at him, her eyes full of compassion.

Taking a deep breath he continued. “They left and suddenly things changed. I didn’t want to get up in the morning. There was no one there to greet me. My hair got long. I didn’t cut it. I didn’t care. I stopped building things. It wasn’t fun anymore. I couldn’t bear making something that wasn’t for them. I didn’t care for the company my dad fought too hard to give me. The house got messy. I didn’t clean it. It took- it takes, so much effort to do anything. My dad started coming less and less. He probably hated me for a while. Life hated me. That I know.” He paused. “I suppose I hated myself too. “

Her hand reached out again. “You’re always going be sad about what happened to them. We can’t fix that, can we? But it doesn’t mean you made the wrong choice back then. It’s just something you have to carry.” She wrapped her fingers around his nubs. ” It hurts to let go. But maybe it also hurts to hold on so tight? It’s a fine line you balance Tello, and I think you have a foot on both sides. You shouldn’t expect to be able to balance it perfectly. And eventually, we’ll work on setting it all down, but let’s try to deal with carrying what you have for now ok?”

He stared, eyes brimming over with tears. How could he ever manage to balance the now with what had happened all those years ago? He couldn’t let go of them, they were a piece of him. And yet- they were holding him back from truly living.

She climbed from her chair to sit on the counter in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “I’m not asking you to endure this on your own. I’m aware that it’s hard, I know all too well. But I know that enduring this will bring the outcome I want to see most.”

“Which is?”

Reaching out, she cupped his face gently. “You. Caring about yourself and not just the ones closest to you.”

“I’m sorry” He whispered, turning away.

She moved his head back to look at her. “I’m not upset with you. I’m just sad. Sad that you think you don’t matter to me. I want you here. But you’re locked up in that little world of yours so often that I don’t get to see you.” She slid her hand down to his cheek, cupping it once more. “I like it when we see you. You know that right? Sometimes I try knocking. And you’ll open the door a crack and you just sort of stare for a second and then disappear right back in your little hidey hole.” She tightened her grip ever so slightly. “What can I do for you to stay outside?”

“Wait for me.” His voice comes out choked and small. “Wait for me. I need you to wait for me. And I’m sorry that it’s taking so long and that it’s going to take so long. You really don’t have to stay for me.”

“I’ll always wait. Even if it takes twenty years or a lifetime. I’ll wait for you. And if you are too tired to speak then let me sit by you.” She leaned her forehead against his. “I too am familiar with the silence.”

The dam burst.

Tears fell faster than he could wipe them away.

“I am lonely Kendra. Even with you here next to me, I feel so hopelessly alone. There is nothing I can do to fill the void I feel. I’ve tried everything. It just gets deeper and deeper and I continue to drown. Nothing I do lets me swim.” He swiped at his face furtively as tears dripped down his face.” I feel so empty, so- so drained. I can’t describe to you what I feel because it would make no difference. There is nothing. Nothing you can do to fix it.” He gestured to himself. “To fix me.”

He will always be a fragile thing. A caged bird with broken wings. He had built that cage himself of course. Broken his own wings as he let himself slide deeper and deeper into the void of crushing loss. Broken birds did not fly.

He certainly never would.

Kendra moved from the counter to his lap, her legs dangling over the seats edge.

She wrapped her arms around him, head in the crook of his neck, words breathed softly against his skin. “Maybe you do not need fixing. You’re a mess of good intentions. I can see it. I don’t know why you can’t.”

He pushed her away again. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.”

“Mmm?”

“I hurt people in the Nexus. I did it just to feel something but I didn’t even feel anything. Just anger that my brothers weren’t there.” Running his fingers through his hair he leaned his head back. “I killed some of those people in cold blood Ken.”

She pressed closer, placing his hands around her.

He melted against her, body racked with sobs. “Do you want to know something? Rock bottom isn’t as bad as they say it is. It’s a nice place to rest your head. No one expects a thing from you. You can look up and admire the sky. Admire the beauty of the world passing around you. Climbing up from rock bottom is what’s hard. People expect you to be what you were before you fell. But I don’t think I’ll ever be that again. And it hurts. It hurts to fall.” His chest heaved with hiccups as he tightened his grip on her, tail curled around her leg. “Because the climb up isn’t easy. It’s hard and I’ve scraped my knees and torn my hands to shreds and all I have to show for it is this.” He gestured around the dingy kitchen hopelessly. “Looking up was safer than wondering when I’d fall again. I don’t like this. Is that awful of me? To want to go back sometimes. When I was just nothing.”

There's silence again. She holds him, letting his tears soak her shirt as he does nothing for her. He was such an idiot. Spilling his heart out to someone who had her own struggles. She never told him about her life. Would he ever get to know about her past? Other than the spats they’d had the in streets all those years ago.

“I’m sorry” He choked out.

“For what?” She whispered against his head.

“...Being me”

Pulling him impossibly closer she took a deep breath. “Grief never leaves, maybe it starts to feel less like stabbing at your heart and more like a hand helping you through life. I think you need to look at where you were a few months ago. You’ve come so far and I’m so, so proud of you.”

“You can leave. You don’t have to stay here with me.”

“Othello Von Ryan one more word out of you about me leaving and I will personally drop-kick you onto the freeway.” She said, her voice dripping with sweetness.

“There are simply no words suitable for what I need to say to you. Maybe we were never meant to fall in love. Maybe we were meant to stay enemies, friends at most. But here we are and I managed to fall for you. And I fell hard. You were never supposed to know about my childish crush on you. But you did, and now we’re here acting like two strangers fumbling through their life stories while we fall apart in each other's arms.”

She laughed, her voice thick with emotion. “ That’s why I’m here. I am going to love you in all your moments. Whether you are fighting to keep your head above water, or soaring through the waves I will be here. Do you understand? I want to be here with you. I want your mess as much as I want the rest of you. I’m not leaving because I don’t want to. This is where I belong. I fell in love with you not because you were some sort of perfect man to fix all my problems. I fell in love with you because I saw how hard you tried. Because you let me see your imperfections and worked past them, pushing past your comfort to help me.”

Her face pressed against his plastron, tears running down her face as she hugged him tighter. He watched as she held him close, as if her arms alone could hold him together. It was beginning to feel like they could.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled against her hair.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” She whispered against his neck.

He leaned against her, a funny feeling in his chest. What a curious thing love was. So strong that it could make him forget his past. So gentle to caress his broken body. So perfect for the two broken people they were.

He wrapped his fingers in her hair, hard enough to feel her pulse beneath her skin. She immediately reciprocated, hand wandering to tangle in his hair, the other around his neck.

“Can I ki-”

She cut him off, pressing her lips against his, quieting his words.

He kissed her back, kissed with a desperation he didn’t know he had. Passionate and fierce; tender and questioning.

Her lips were soft, pillowy against his, her smile pressed against his own. He could feel the tickle of her breath under his nose as he breathed her in. He moved off the stool, hands lowering to her hips to carry her. Her torso melted against his skin, breath hot against his face.

Stumbling backward, tripping over the coffee table they’d placed there earlier, he fell backward onto the couch. She buried her face in his neck, laughing at his mishap while running her fingers over his shell.

He shivered as she drew circles with her thumb, her other hand still tangled in his hair.

“I’m not…” He spoke haltingly, voice raspy with fear. “Good enough for you.”

“No one is perfect.” She mumbled, inclining her head to lean against his forehead.

He brought his hands up to frame her jaw, their breath intermingling from the closeness. “I am more imperfect than most.”

She leaned against him, pressing her lips to his. “I will love the deepest darkest parts of you. I will kiss away the pains your head causes you. I won’t leave. I will fall in love with you over and over. I don’t care how, where, or when, no matter how long it’s been your mine.” She murmured against his lips.

Warmth blossomed in his chest, sparks flying as he watched the rise and fall of her breath. Kendra was his.

Nothing else matters. Not the past conversation, not the salty tears streaking their cheeks. Nothing mattered but her. The way her body pressed against his, with every fiber and part of his being he wanted nothing more than her.

Because it was Kendra. Kendra who tasted like home. Kendra who’s hands were soft and gentle. Kendra’s hands who would cradle his broken heart. Kendra who whispered her way through his mind. And it was Kendra who he’d focus his time on. She saw something in him that he couldn’t see in himself. But her lips held no lies. There must be something there that she was waiting for him to unlock.

He hoped she would be there when he did.

She loved me for the dangers I had pass’d. And I loved her that she did pity them.

Othello Act 1 Scene 3

-Writing anon 🤡

✨la de da de daaaaaa✨🧚@crowleys-pockets

#heh 😏#I am actually so sorry for this #theres a hint of Epic here can you tell?#I am so sorry this is so bad I don't usually write stuff like that but I went insane and did it anyway #I also ate like six oranges so maybe thats what fueled this maddness #I HATE THEMMMM

39 notes · View notes

woozisguitar · 2 days ago

Note

happy 200 followers : )

I have a prompt for reader and seokmin, so the reader has parents in almost their late seventies and she is 25, they hope to see her get married but they never pressure her to do that because they like whatever she does.

so, she one day overhears them talking how they like her and are content with whatever they get, she bursts into tears. next thing YK, she tells her best friend seokmin about that and he decides to help her out.

so, yeah, seokmin decides they both can get marry because they both are best friends and he also likes her but never told her and type.

I'm sorry it was so longgg.

jayyyyyy :(((( thank you so so much im so sorry this took far too long but I hope you enjoy!!!

requests for 200 celebration post: open (but closing soon!)

ps: shoutout to @sherlyscatcafe for proof reading this lysm pookie <33

warning: fluff, hints of angst, mentions of weddings

one of the biggest perks in your life was growing up with siblings older than you because not once did you ever have to worry about taking over the family business or continuing a legacy. while they had everything already decided for them, your parents were a lot more lenient when it came to you. they were supportive when you told them that you wanted to take a gap year and go backpacking across europe to find some inspiration. they were also supportive when you got back and announced your interest in theatre, especially playwriting, and that this was your preferred major of choice for college. that's where you first met seokmin.

it was the first day of freshman year, and it had been a while since you were last in a classroom setting. your parents dropped you off at your dorm, wishing you the best for class and leaving you alone to set up. your parents gave you a fair allowance which, when added to the little money you saved up working jobs, allowed you to opt in for a solo dorm. for the past year or so, you had little to no interactions with strangers who you'd see for a long time, and this made you worry that your social skills were perhaps rusty.

you saw seokmin near the back of class. the seat next to him was empty, and he was reading a copy of hamlet. you made your way over to him and cleared your throat, announcing your presence. he looked up, pushing his glasses over the bridge of his nose, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. you smiled and pointed at the seat next to him.

“is this taken?"

he shook his head no and smiled, moving his bag to let you take a seat. he went back to reading his book in silence, and you took this as a cue to pull out your own copy of comedy of errors.

“what's your favorite work of shakespeare?” he asked, after a moment of quiet.

“oh, me?” he nodded. “it's either hamlet or this,” you said, nodding at the book in your hand.

“what about you?”

“either romeo and juliet or a midsummer night’s dream,” he answered instantly.

“a big romance guy, i see,” you teased him, to which he giggled shyly. “what other books do you like?”

“not a lot by shakespeare, but i do enjoy other classics like pride and prejudice, persuasion, sense and sensibility, and you get the idea. what about you? big on romances?”

“hmm, i don’t know. i don’t have a specific genre i enjoy; i’m more interested in the setting of the book and the background highlights of it, you know?”

seokmin nodded in agreement, and you felt a soft glow in your chest. you barely knew this guy, let alone his name, but already liked being around him.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you,” you said, holding your hand out for him to shake.

“seokmin, and likewise,” he said with a charming smile, shaking your hand. “so, what made you join intro to theatre, y/n?”

you hesitated to tell him about your gap year. you weren’t particularly ashamed of it, but you noticed that people didn’t react well to it, often resorting to comparing you to your siblings’ success. but your subconscious argued that this guy knew nothing about your siblings and family, so you decided to tell him the truth. to your surprise, seokmin had also taken a gap year to work as an actor in a local play and decided to go to college after wrapping up to polish his skills further.

your similar past and even more similar taste in hobbies instantly made you take a liking to him. from asking each other to be partners, taking up almost all the same classes, matching schedules, late-night binge-watching tv, attending (and performing) plays in theaters big and small, you had seokmin by your side. you had seen every possible side of each other: sad, heartbroken, vulnerable, raw—you name it. he had seen it all and still decided to stick by your side. when you told him about your plans to do an mfa in playwriting and direction rather than performing on stage, he had given you utmost support and joked that you should cast him and give him his big break.

and much less to your surprise, you found seokmin sitting there in your postgraduate class for creative writing. when questioned about his sudden plan to pursue the degree, 'i’m just following where my heart takes me,' was all he said.

years passed, but your friendship with seokmin only grew. he was one of the closest people in your life, your best friend, and you knew you were his too. he met your family, who accepted him as one of their own and often teased the two of you about romantic ties. he had been your date to all your siblings’ weddings, saving you from sticky situations with pesky relatives, and at this point, everyone was convinced the two of you were endgame. however, whenever someone asked, you’d just politely smile and decline, saying you’re just friends.

but now that you were twenty-five, and your parents were well in their seventies, they started to bring up the topic of you hopefully getting married. they never pressured you into going on dates or meeting their friends’ sons, not even once, but they did express how much they’d love to see their youngest daughter get married. that was until one night, when you were staying over at your parents’ house, you overheard a conversation.

“i’m worried, you know,” your dad said. “i’m scared one day we won’t be around, and she’ll be all lonely.”

your mum made her way from the vinyl shelf to her husband, taking a seat next to him. “she’s capable of taking care of herself, you know.”

“i know she is, but still, as her father, i worry. i just really hoped to walk her down the aisle to a man i know will always keep my daughter happy. i would die a happy man.”

“yes, but she’s happy now. let her be. her happiness is all that matters, after all,” your mum patted your dad’s hand and squeezed it, giving him a small smile. your dad nodded, accepting your mother’s words. your heart absolutely burst into parts. with tears streaming down your face, you decided that you would fulfill their one wish in return for all the love they gave you.

“i want to get married.”

seokmin spit out the drink he was nursing at your sudden confession. after leaving your parents’ home, you called seokmin and asked him to meet you at your regular coffee shop.

“so... so suddenly?” seokmin asked after wiping the corner of his mouth, his drink now forgotten.

“yeah, it’s just—” you stopped. you knew he wouldn’t judge you, but you weren’t sure yourself. part of you wanted to wait for love like everyone else, but the other, much stronger part of you wanted to fulfill your parents’ wish. you told him about the conversation you overheard and looked back at seokmin to say, “it’s just that i want them to be happy, you know? they’ve done so much for me and let me explore myself into being this person with no pressures. i just want to give back to them.”

seokmin nodded solemnly, and you could almost hear the gears in his head turning. after a moment of silence, he quipped, “we... could get married.”

now it was your turn to stay quiet. marriage? with seokmin?

in hindsight, it wasn’t a bad thought. you trusted seokmin with your life and knew he would never do anything to hurt you. your careers aligned, so you wouldn’t have to worry about what the other does or how it will affect them, and he had spent over enough nights to know the two of you could coexist very peacefully in the same space. you slowly looked at seokmin and nodded. “are you sure, though?”

in return, he just gave you his trademark smile and said, “yeah, i’m just following where my heart takes me.”

the two of you decided to announce your ‘engagement’ to both your families by the end of the month. you tried to be more affectionate in public, in front of your friends especially, so the sudden marriage announcement wouldn’t come as a shock. you even started to show a more romantic side of each other on your social media. seokmin took you to decide on a ring, one that he had saved for, and booked the two of you a dinner cruise with his planned proposal. all he said was, “can’t let the romantic in me die now, can i?”

now, in the car seat outside your parents’ house, with a ring on your finger, you were worried about how they would take the news. your entire family, siblings and their spouses too, were present for this dinner, and you couldn’t think of a better place to announce it. seokmin opened the door for you and held your hand throughout. his presence felt like the comfort you desperately needed. your family welcomed the two of you with warm hugs and kisses, no one noticing the ring. when dinner rolled around, you and seokmin shared a look, deciding this was the right time to announce it. you clinked your glass with a fork, standing up and waiting for the room to quieten.

“we... have an announcement,” you looked over at seokmin, who gave you an encouraging smile. “seokmin and i are getting married,” you smiled in your parents’ direction.

the whole room erupted into cheers, your sisters fighting over to see your ring while the men patted seokmin on the back. your mom hugged you tight, a small tear sliding down her cheek, and you saw your dad discreetly wipe his own. in that moment, you saw seokmin and realized maybe he was meant to be yours all along.

the next few months passed in a blur of wedding preparations. both your and seokmin’s families were excited at the news of their youngest getting married and pressed the two of you to plan the wedding of the decade. getting over your initial hesitance, you decided to fully enjoy the planning, and seokmin’s forever-positive outlook made even the tedious tasks seem enjoyable. one night, when you finally had some alone time with no deadlines to finish and no wedding meetings scheduled, you decided to look through your old photos and videos, backing them up and sorting them. you were honestly surprised at the amount of photos and memories you had with seokmin, some of which you didn’t even remember, and you were glad to have them saved digitally. looking at the picture of seokmin you took during freshman year, you felt your heart skip a beat and small butterflies erupt in your stomach.

he looked so much younger than he does now, yet so much the same. he gave this signature toothy grin, posing with a bagel. you giggled to yourself as you saw more silly pictures of him, and you thought to yourself, ‘what if i like him more than a friend?’ you quickly shook it off because this was seokmin for god’s sake! he had seen you get drunk and throw up in front of your long-time crush, all while trying not to get sick himself. he was your closest confidant, but now that the thought entered your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if it’s really such a bad idea to love seokmin more than a friend.

the wedding planning was of no help to your already tumultuous thoughts and feelings that were growing for seokmin, and spending all your time with him, along with the romantic acts he did to come off as the perfect fiancé, took a toll on your poor heart. one week after you first had the thought, you had now realized that you may have been in love with seokmin all this time.

you remembered precisely when it started: during your second year of undergrad, when your boyfriend broke up with you, and only seokmin was able to comfort you. he held you as you cried, got you ice cream, and binged cheesy sad romance movies with you. he was always there, just a call away, and you now realized that the adoration you held so dearly for him was actually love. no wonder you barely had any successful relationships after that, because all you searched for in them was seokmin, subconsciously comparing them all to your best friend. hell, when the two of you announced your engagement on your socials, everyone from your old university, including your exes, joked that they always knew you’d end up with seokmin. it has truly always been him.

seokmin wasn’t doing so great either. when he first proposed the idea of marriage, he thought he could keep his romantic thoughts to himself. but soon, seeing you in such a romantic and domestic light, all the feelings he had spent years suppressing started to bubble over the surface. he’d catch himself staring longer than a friend should and mentally reprimand himself for slipping. thank god you were always distracted by something to notice. sometimes he felt like he was betraying you by not telling you the truth, and these conflicting emotions led to him making a very stupid decision. or perhaps a great one, his subconscious argued.

seokmin decided to confess everything during your rehearsal dinner party, finding it harder and harder to keep his feelings under wraps. he arrived at the venue beforehand to decide on the spot where he would confess. he figured if you accepted his feelings, it should be a moment that lived fresh in his mind for all his days, and if you were to reject him, he would at least like to be rejected in front of a pretty view. always such a romantic, your voice rang in his head, and a smile formed on his face. seokmin gave himself a small pep talk, texting you to meet him by the bench around the back of your venue.

he saw you walk out, looking around in awe at the empty courtyard, with fallen cherry blossoms from the trees scattered around. your eyes met his, and you gave him a shy smile, making his heart skip a beat. you made your way over to him, and his heart started to beat faster. “what's up?” you said, giving him a questioning smile. “i—” seokmin’s words were stuck in his throat. for a second, he was so mesmerized by you, just you, that he forgot what he had prepared and just said, “i love you.”

now it was your turn to be at a loss for words. seokmin took your silence as a cue to continue. “i... i love you. and i’m not saying this now, just two days before our wedding, for the sake of it. i have been in love with you for so long. years, if i’m being honest. you own every corner of my heart. hell, you are my heart. my everything. that's why i felt compelled to be closer to you, to have you near me. you were the one my heart made me follow, y/n. i just don’t want to marry you, if you still want to marry me, under a fake guise that i am doing this to help you, and i couldn’t help but feel like i was betray—” seokmin’s spiraling rambling was cut off by you softly pressing your lips against his.

seokmin’s eyes grew wide, and he froze. when you felt him try to pull back, he grabbed the back of your head and kissed you back. his lips moved slowly against yours before you pulled back to take a deep breath, a smile gracing your face. seokmin mirrored your smile and dived back in to kiss you again. this time, the kiss was filled with his desperation and longing for you. “god, i fucking love you, you cheesy-ass romantic,” you whispered breathlessly when the two of you separated. seokmin giggled and kissed your nose. “not as much as i love you, pretty girl.”

when you stood at the altar with him by your side saying, “i do,” you realized that this was your destiny all along. like a theater play, the two of your lives were written to play out this way. and while everyone wants to have the romantic interest who follows his heart all for themselves, this one will belong to you, forever and always.

35 notes · View notes