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xcertaindarkthingsx · 4 years ago

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make you mine

pairing: jealous!mando x fem!reader

summary: you’ve been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now as a healer and caretaker for the Child. one day, the Mandalorian needs your specific skills to help him catch a bounty, and needless the say he is NOT happy about it.

warnings: two idiots that don’t know they like each other, some fluff and yearning, a smidge of possessiveness/jealousy, canon-typical violence, swearing in basic and mando’a, brief mentions of unwanted touching, mentions of taking care of injuries/stitching and blood, SMUT 18+ (minors BEGONE), porn w/ plot i guess, thigh riding, finger sucking, grinding, a lil’ dirty talk (if i miss any just please let me know!)

word count: 7.6k (i’m soRRY)

a/n: WHEW OK so i originally wrote this for #dincember but because i suck at deadlines and take forever to write it just turned into something else. reader is a lil insecure but mando makes it all better (self-projection, anyone?) ummm, this is my first time writing for din AND my first time writing smut but i hope you guys like it! comments/likes/reblogs/feedback are completely welcome and much appreciated! i apologize if this is a mess kladjflkd but shoutout to @a-dorin and @princessxkenobi for being wonderful beta readers and helping me when i got stuck. i am planning on making this a two parter, so if you want to be added to my tag list let me know! if you prefer to read on ao3 you can do so here . mando’a translations at the end!

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

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Soft coos filled the air inside the Razor Crest as you desperately tried to rock the Child back to sleep. You were almost certain he was starting to get hungry, but you were out of snacks and Mando had told you not to leave the ship under any circumstances.

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now, after being picked up on Arvala-7. You were a healer—a pretty damn good one, if you had anything to say about it—and had patched him up after a bounty hunt gone wrong.

The Mandalorian thought your services would be helpful if things ever got a little dicey again, so he asked you along for the ride (the reality was you had nagged and scolded him so much about how cauterizing was not the answer for every wound, that he eventually caved just to get you to stop). There wasn’t really anything tying you to Arvala-7, so you agreed.

Plus, the Child had taken a real liking to you, and how could you say no to that precious face?

The Mandalorian was an odd man—well, no. Not odd. More like intriguing, and you were drawn to it. It had been quiet and awkward the first few months. He was a rigid man of few words, never speaking more than necessary (unless he thought he was alone with the kid; the way he spoke with him made your heart melt). But after countless late nights together of taking care of the Child and constantly tending to his injuries, you were surprised to find there was a sense of gentleness under all that beskar.

The Mandalorian had been just as surprised as you when he found himself warming up to your presence. It was all the little moments that had snuck up on him, the stolen glances and lingering touches, and now his heartbeat seemed to quicken every time you were together.

Little did he know, yours did too.

At the sound of the hatch door opening, you looked up. You watched as the Mandalorian walked up the platform, admiring his strut. How someone could look so good just walking, you had no idea, but it was maddening.

“No bounty?” you called out, turning the kid in your arms so he would be facing out towards his dad. It was unusual that Mando hadn’t found the target yet, but you were just thankful he was in one piece for now. He shook his head.

“Not yet. I ran into some… complications,” he huffed and even though his voice was laced with frustration, it put you at ease. Being on the ship alone for nearly the whole day, sometimes you just missed hearing that husky baritone filtering through his modulator.

Not to mention you thought it was sexy as hell.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Complications?”

He heaved a deep sigh, lifting a hand for the Child to grab, which he took happily. “Hey, kid,” he whispered, and you smiled as the Child babbled back. Mando turned his helmet towards you and continued. “Yes, but I found a contact who should be able to give more information. I came back for you and the kid first. I know you guys must be hungry.”

You nodded at the same time the little green bean gave a resounding coo, earning a soft chuckle from the both of you. “I’ll get the pram ready.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After a quick stop in the marketplace for supplies, Mando had led you two into what seemed to be the only bar in town. It was only late afternoon, leaving it nearly empty, save for a few older patrons lazily sipping on glasses of ale. You ignored the way the Weequay behind the bar seemed to look you up and down.

Mando set you and the kid up with two bowls of soup at a table nearby while he talked business with his contact, who happened to be the bartender. Sipping your soup, you tried not to eavesdrop as the two began to fall into what you would call a heated discussion. On Mando’s end. Apparently, this was a particularly “difficult” target.

“Lucky for you, he’s got an eye for pretty girls,” the bartender drawled, jutting his chin at you. “She’ll do fine.”

Your head snapped up from your task of feeding the child, spoon mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“No. Absolutely not,” resounded Mando’s gruff voice from under the helmet.

“Listen, Mando. This guy is high-profile, practically untouchable, bodyguards with him at all times. And I’m not talkin’ your run of the mill pair of idiots that can’t shoot for a damn, I’m talkin’ highly trained mercenaries.” The Weequay sighed. “I don’t doubt your skills as a Mandalorian, but you’re just one man. You need to get him alone, and she is your only way of doing that,” he insisted.

“I said, no,” Mando gritted out. You were non-negotiable.

The bartender just shrugged. “Then consider this a loss, cause you’re not getting anywhere near him.”

Your heart hammered in your chest listening to the two of them argue. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, remembering the way the bartender eyed you when you walked in. All you wanted to do at this point was bury yourself in the confines of your room in the Razor Crest.

Mando seemed final in his decision, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want you involved or if he thought you simply lacked the skills to do so. He could probably tell you weren’t really the seducing type, and truthfully the thought of trying to do was mortifying.

But Mando needed this, right? You thought of all the things he’s done for you, how he’s protected and provided for you. This was the least you could do for him. You could deal with one night of potential discomfort so he could get his bounty. It was a lot of credits.

“I’ll do it.”

Mando snapped his head around at you so fast, it was a miracle he hadn’t hurt himself. “For the last time, I said you are no—”

“I’m doing it,” you said a little more forcefully, cutting him off. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring daggers into you from underneath the helmet, but it was going to take more than a dirty look to get you to change your mind.

“Excellent!” the bartender’s cheery voice cut through the tension in the room. “Come on back, I’ve got an old dress an ex-girlfriend left behind that you could probably use.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The dress in question was a slinky black number that had you freezing your ass off in the cold of the desert night.

The dress was too… everything. Too short, too revealing, too tight; but the only other thing you had to wear were some oversized t-shirts and utility pants, which aren’t exactly sexy, so you were shit out of luck.

Mando nearly choked when you came out of your room, thankful for the helmet for hiding his widened eyes and agape mouth. You looked absolutely ravishing, the black fabric clinging to all the right places on your figure. His eyes roved over the valley of your chest, the curve of your hips, the length of your legs, and his hands balled into fists, just aching to hold you. It’s as if your skin was begging to be touched.

You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly exposed and wondering what in the blazes Mando was looking at because you were certain you looked absolutely ridiculous. The noise shook him out of whatever daze he was in and he quickly shifted his gaze.

“Not a word,” you warned, wobbling down the platform. As bad as the dress was, the heels it came with were somehow worse. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You shouldn’t,” he answered a little too quickly. “You look…” words were lost on him as he tried to find the right one. One that wouldn’t make it obvious that he was losing his kriffing mind in front of you. “Good,” he finally decided on, and mentally kicked himself for it. Good?

You gave him an exasperated look. “I know you’re just being nice.”

He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by an ill-timed fit of babbling from the kid. You had bent down as best you could to give him a little pat on the head and he could feel a lump forming in his throat.

Mando couldn’t express how much he didn’t want you to do this. And well, he tried. The whole way back to the ship, in fact. But for some reason you were completely hell-bent on doing this for him, and he didn’t know how to explain that you and your safety meant more to him than a few thousand credits.

The reality was, Mando wanted you. He never thought he’d be so fond for someone besides the Child, but you were the exception. And even though he wanted to make you his, he knew it would be selfish of him to pursue you, to claim you, when he couldn’t give you everything you deserved; his Creed prevented him from doing so.

But Mando was a greedy man, so he took what he could get. He drank up all the kindness you so freely gave him, like a parched soul wandering in the desert, and cherished every little moment the two of you shared. They probably meant nothing to you, but they were everything to him. And he wanted more.

Not only was he a greedy man, but a stingy one as well. The thought of anyone other than him seeing you in that dress was enough to send his thoughts into a jealous frenzy.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tried to reason again.

You placed a gentle hand on the soft spot between his pauldron and neck and offered a small smile. “Don’t worry, Mando. Everything will be fine.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

The night had started well enough. After all of Mando’s failed attempts at dissuading you again, he had finally resigned to silently stewing in his disapproval rather than voicing it.

You entered the bar while he stayed behind and watched closely from the outside. He had given you a comms device, that, with the push of a button, would let him know you were alone with the bounty and it was time for him to step in.

“Just press it, and I will be right there,” he assured, his gloved fingers pressing the device firmly into your bare palm. Something about the protective tone of his voice stirred something in you. You nodded before looking away, trying to ignore your racing heart.

The bar was rowdy that night, patrons hooting and howling from the booze. The smell of stale spice and death sticks wafted in the air, making you wrinkle your nose. Your newfound bartender friend had waved you over, pointing out the target with a nod of his head.

Your eyes fell on a Pantoran man across the bar with a drink in his hand, dozens of black suits surrounding him. His associates—a Rodian and another Pantoran—seemed to all be talking business. The bartender wasn’t kidding about this guy’s security.

How the hell am I supposed to get this guy’s attention? You desperately racked your head for subtle ideas but came to a halt when his eyes met yours. Kriff, he had caught you staring. So much for subtle. Trying not to panic, you flashed your best coy smile before turning back towards the bar.

Somehow, that was enough to give him the courage to approach you.

Cocky bastard, you thought as he swaggered on up to you, leaning in close, leering. With his chiseled features and striking yellow markings, you would’ve called him handsome— if you didn’t already know what a sleazebag he was. An air of arrogance surrounded him, the type that made him think he could get whatever he wanted with a flash of those pearly whites. Typical douche. You wanted to smack him for being so close.

Instead, you flashed another winning smile. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned in close and with a breathy whisper of, ‘Let’s get out of here’ he was tossing credits to the bartender and signaling to his guards that he was leaving with you.

The Weequay had shot you a knowing look as he watched you leave; a warning. You assured him that everything was fine with a slight nod of your head.

The asshole had his arm snaked around you, hand on your ass, as you made your way to the motel just across the street. You fought back the urge to throttle him, instead fawning about how, ‘I can’t wait to be alone with you, darling.’

Your hands began to clam up as he retrieved the keys from the clerk, and you tried to convince yourself that everything would be fine once you clicked the button on your comm from the inside of the room.

Wrong.

Immediately after the Pantoran locked the door, the unease in your stomach began to grow. Bile rose in your throat at his grinning face, the way he fidgeted and licked his lips as he pressed you into the wall. A hand landed on your bare thigh, trailing dangerously high, where you shuddered in disgust at the feeling.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he whispered, and that was your cue to press the comms device you were desperately clutching in your small purse. Your mistake was failing to mask the faint beeping noise it emitted. Your companion stiffened at the sound, pressing you further into the wall.

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled, using the other hand to rip your arm from your purse. He stared at the comms device with contempt, before turning his attention back to me. “You bi—”

He never got to finish, because the next thing you knew your Mandalorian was crashing through the door, blaster in hand.

The scene Mando had walked in on nearly made him sick. That osi’kovid’s hands all over you, and worst of all, the look of pure fear on your face after being made. He’d planned to put a quick end to the whole ordeal, but the bounty had plans of his own.

Mando rushed him, shoving him into the wall and away from you. As expected, the Pantoran went flying before crumpling onto the floor. What Mando hadn’t been expecting was for him to be armed. He didn’t peg him as the type to get his hands dirty.

The Mandalorian was about to release the fibercord whip from his vambrace when the bounty rose from the floor with a sneer, a small combat knife in hand as he lunged at Mando, before wrestling him to the floor and sending his blaster skittering.

You watched in frozen horror as the two fought for the upper hand. At one point, the bounty had tried to charge at you, slashing wildly, but Mando was already there blocking his blows. The knife caught on the cowl above his chest, slicing the skin underneath with a sickening noise. That seemed to kick your brain into overdrive, and you dived for the fallen blaster on the ground.

You took a steadying breath before you aimed and shot once, twice, at the bounty’s leg. He cried out from his place above Mando before clutching his leg and finally falling over.

Mando rose and immediately released the fibercord, imprisoning the bounty. He held his hand out for his blaster, and you watched with wide eyes as he smacked the butt of it into the Pantoran’s face once, twice, three times. The third time ended with an appalling crack, his head lolling forward, and leaving him unconscious.

You stared as Mando stood in front of the bounty, seething. You could have sworn his hands were shaking.

“Stars, Mando, your neck,” you murmured, breathless. The room was dim, but you could see the dark stain of blood that was beginning to drench his cowl. Your hands went to inspect the wound, but he quickly brushed you off.

“We need to go,” he grunted, gathering the rope and heading towards the back entrance of the room. The two of you hadn’t exactly been quiet and the bounty’s guards were bound to notice their boss had been gone for too long. When you had opened your mouth to argue, to insist that you needed to check his injuries, he was already out the door.

Adrenaline still coursed through your veins as you walked back towards the ship. You pulled your arms tight across your body in an attempt to quell your trembling hands; guilt, bubbling up in your stomach as you replayed the events of the night in your head.

You had been the one to volunteer yourself for the mission.

You were the one who had repeatedly insisted that everything would be fine.

And now, your Mandalorian was bleeding profusely from a nasty wound on his neck.

“Mando,” you pleaded, trying to keep up with him in your ridiculous heels. Instead of acknowledging you, your words fell to deaf ears. He was stomping his way back to the ship, the unconscious bounty in tow.

Worry bloomed in your chest. The wound had looked bad back at the motel, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it. You could hear his ragged breathing from behind; whether it was from the fight, the long walk, or the wound, you weren’t sure.

“Mando,” you tried again, this time raising your voice as you approached the hatch of the ship.

Nothing.

He let out another grunt as he hauled the bounty onto the ship, towards the carbon-freezing machine. You pursed your lips, jaw clenching in his direction. You did not appreciate being ignored, especially after just half-saving his ass just moments before.

Granted, you were the one that had put him in that position, but that was besides the point.

His back was to you and you stepped closer, ready to unleash a piece of your damn mind, when you stopped. You took in his brooding stance and clenched fists. The tremble in his hands. Anger seemed to roll off the Mandalorian in waves, making you falter.

What the hell was his problem?

“Mando, can you kriffing listen to me? I need to treat you, you have no idea if he nicked an important artery or something. I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, but you’ve been bleeding for a few minutes now and I just need to look—” annoyance rose in you as he continued to prep the carbon machine. “Maker, can you even hear me?”

The Mandalorian couldn’t hear you, not clearly anyways. Blood was still rushing in his ears, his vision still tinged red. But with another call of his name, you were finally able to get through and he suddenly whipped around.

“He touched you,” he gritted out, seething and shaking. “That skanah had his hands all over you and I swear if I didn’t need him alive for the bounty, he’d already be dead.” He punctuated the last word with the slam of a button on the machine.

You took a step back, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Something warm tightened in your chest and belly. Wh-why did he care so much? A lump had lodged itself into your throat. “Mando, I—I’m fine. Alright? I’m okay,” you tried to assure. “So, can you please calm down and let me just—"

But the Mandalorian already had his back turned again. You threw your hands up in the air, groaning in frustration as he continued to work. Another minute passed and with a faint whoosh, the bounty was finally set in carbonite.

A shiver ran through your body as the cool night air blew its way into the Razor Crest, raising goosebumps on your exposed skin. Seeing you tremble in the cold seemed to break Mando out of whatever angry stupor he was in.

In all honesty, he hadn’t meant to ignore you, but something in him snapped back at the motel. The image of that skanah touching you had made his blood boil, and his sole goal was to get him back to the ship and be done with it.

“You’re… cold,” he stated, the words coming out slow and soft, like pulling them out of a dream. You must have been freezing in that dress.

Your head snapped up at him. “I—what?”

“Let me get you a blanket or—” He hesitated when he saw you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed shut.

You couldn’t believe this idiot.

“Mando, seriously?” Your heart and your brain were having a hard time deciding whether you should be flattered about him caring so much or pissed off because he didn’t seem to give a damn about himself.

You chose a mix of the two.

“Mando,” you sighed, looking up at him. “I promise you I’m fine, thank you. Really.” You gave him your most genuine, caring look to show you were thankful for his concern, and then quickly replaced it with a hard one. “But if you don’t get up into that cockpit right now and let me treat you, I’m going to use that damn pulse rifle on you.”

And just like that, you had managed to dissolve the lingering traces of anger in his mind. His lips twitched under the helmet. “That supposed to scare me?”

You glared. “Don’t push it.” You could have sworn he was laughing under there.

The Mandalorian would have laughed if the wound on his neck hadn’t began to ache. Instead, he begrudgingly nodded, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before disappearing into the cockpit.

He began to input the coordinates back to Nevarro into the navicomputer, warmth unfurling in his chest as he listened to you check on the Child. A tiredness had begun to settle in his muscles from the fight earlier, and he grimaced as he reached for a lever on the control panel. The pain on his neck was getting worse, and if he was being honest it burned like all hell, but he was not going to admit that to you.

The door behind him slid open and you stepped in frazzled, medkit in hand. Even with your hair in disarray and scrapes littering your arms and legs, he thought you looked breathtaking.

“Uh, so bad news,” you began, gesturing at the medkit. “They didn’t have any at the market earlier, so we’re out of bacta shots and spray. I’m gonna have to stitch it closed depending on how deep it is.” You shot him an apologetic look.

He nodded, putting in the last of the coordinates before removing his chest plate to give you easier access, and turning his chair to face you. You closed the space between the two of you, quickly going to work. Careful hands began to peel away at the fabric stuck to the wound, a hiss of pain at the tip of his tongue as you ripped off the last of it.

“Sorry,” you whispered, inspecting the fabric before discarding it. “You’re definitely gonna need a new cape.”

He shrugged. “At least now you’ve got a new blanket.” You always had a habit of curling up into all his old stuff.

With a smile, you returned your focus to the task at hand, mentally sighing in relief as you began to clean the wound. It could have been worse, but it was still very deep. An inch to the left and just a smidge higher, and you would have had quite the problem on your hands.

“Idiot,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Lucky,” you corrected, biting back a smirk. “You got lucky. Any higher and this would be a lot messier.” You tossed the last of the gauze out and prepared the needle and thread.

Mando took in your awkward stance as you tried to bend down and begin stitching. Standing was fine for when you were cleaning, but for something this intricate it wasn’t the best position. You cursed and tried again, trying to get the angle right, but it was no use. The thought left his mouth before he even had a chance to filter it.

“You can sit on me if that’s easier.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks at his words, nearly dropping the damn needle. “Oh—um—” Coherent thoughts didn’t seem to be forming in your head at the moment.

Panic flooded the Mandalorian’s brain as he took in your shocked expression and realized his mistake. “I—well, not like that—what I meant was—” he spluttered, trying to find the right words, thankful that his helmet hid his mortified expression.

“No, no it’s okay I—I know what you meant,” you managed to choke out after picking your jaw up off the floor. It would have been comical—the certain and capable bounty hunter struggling to regain his composure—but his words had flooded your mind with some less than innocent thoughts and images, ones that left you heated and flustered. You swallowed hard in an attempt to relieve your suddenly very dry throat. “I can, if you’re okay with it?”

He slowly nodded, mentally kicking himself for being so daft. He held his breath as you stepped closer, bracing a hand low on his chest as you perched yourself on his lap. You cursed, trying to your best to maneuver yourself onto him without being inappropriate.

Finally, you were situated, hovering precariously over his thigh. You breathed deep, willing your mind and body to calm down. Being in such close proximity to the Mandalorian was… dizzying, but you had a job to do. And so, you went to work.

A few minutes in, Mando could feel the tension rolling off your body, the tremble of your thighs as you tried to hold yourself above him. “You can sit if you need to.”

The thought had crossed your mind, but truthfully you were afraid of how your body would react if you did. Eventually you gave in, shivering at the cold kiss of beskar on the insides of your thighs as you straddled his leg. A knot was forming in your belly, low and warm.

Maker, help me, you thought.

The change in position had slid your dress higher and Mando’s eyes began to wander again, taking in the exposed skin where your dress had hiked itself up, the material bunching around your hips. His hands felt that pull again, that ache to touch you; to dig his fingers into the soft, plump flesh.

Osik, he cursed, trying to control himself. In his mind he conjured up the image of a blaster, mentally taking it apart and putting it back together as a pitiful attempt at a distraction.

You had fallen into a steady rhythm of stitching and knotting, your hands absentmindedly working. The Mandalorian had fallen into a dull haze in the wake of your delicate touches, despite the sting and pull of the needle. But when your hands brushed the edge of his helmet, he snapped to attention, reflexes kicking in.

A strong hand had immediately encircled your wrist, forcefully locking it in place. Your breath seized at the realization of your colossal fuck-up. How could you be so stupid?

“Shit, shit, I—I’m sorry,” you stammered out. “Mando, I—I promise I wasn’t going to take it off, I just needed to adjust it to get the needle under.” Your heart thundered against your chest, and you swear you could hear it in the empty silence of the cockpit. The iron-clad grip he had on your wrist was starting to hurt, biting into your skin.

Mando saw the flash of fear in your eyes, the way you had flinched at his touch and loosened the grip on your hand. Regret began to bubble up inside him. He opened his mouth to apologize, it had just been his instincts, but you beat him to it. Your next words caught him off guard.

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed hard. Of course he did. There was no question about it. You were the one constant in his life besides the kid; the one he found he could rely on time and time again for anything. You had never betrayed him, in Creed or otherwise. He took a steadying breath before answering. “Yes.”

You tried to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest at his admission and what it implied. Instead, you nodded, slowly allowing yourself to move again and continue your care. “Lean back,” you whispered and he obliged, fully baring his neck to you. It was a vulnerable position, but the cautious movements of your hands crushed any anxiety that threatened to well up in him.

And maybe it was that cautious, careful touch that had begun to wear down his walls; the tenderness you so freely gave that softened his heart and opened him up. He wanted to make up the last minute to you, to show that he really did trust you. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop the next thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Din.”

You paused mid-stitch, confusion flickering on your face. “What’d you say?”

His heart felt like it was going to fly out of his ribcage. “My name. It’s Din.”

Confusion slowly morphed to shock at his revelation. He had just shared his name with you; something incredibly personal and dear to him. Knowing it felt… intimate. How many people actually knew his real name? You couldn’t stop that slow smile that had begun to spread on your face.

“Din,” you repeated, hushed as if someone else would hear. His heart skipped at the sound of his name on your lips; the soft way your voice curled around the short syllable. Your eyes peered into his through the visor of his helmet, a question behind them. “Just ‘Din’?”

“Din Djarin,” he corrected.

You repeated it again, delight clear on your face. “I like it.”

I do too, he thought. Especially when you say it. “You can use it whenever, as long as we’re alone or it’s just the kid.”

“Of course,” you nodded, then added a soft, “Thank you.” For trusting me.

The two of you had settled back into a comfortable silence, his hands resting comfortably on your hips, and Din couldn’t fathom why you kept biting back a smile. You were the first to break it.

“I’m sorry, for all this.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that painful.”

You shook your head. “No, I mean—” you gestured at his neck and then to you. “He was aiming for me.”

He scoffed. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d let anything happen to you.” You could hear the anger beginning to simmer beneath his words again. “No, I… I would protect you every single time. Besides, that osi’yaim got what he deserved in the end.”

Your eyes flicked to his visor again and you tried to ignore the way the knot in your belly tightened at his promise to you and the shiver his low voice sent down your spine. Instead, you tried to change the subject. “Osi’yaim?”

“A useless, despicable person. A waste of space.”

A soft laugh escaped you lips. “You need to teach more Mando’a. Something besides the bad words.”

Din’s heart clenched at your request. Something about you asking to learn his language stirred something deep in him. “Of course,” he managed to reply, but it came out more strangled than he had meant it to.

You continued with your task, getting lost in the repeated movements of your fingers.

Watching you work had always fascinated Din. You granted each injury the same amount of attention, whether it was as small as a papercut or as big as the gash he had now. It was endearing. The meticulous way you ensured every stitch, every bandage, was perfect and in place. The adept movements of your fingers, steady with every touch. The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow as you concentrated.

He was captivated by it, and you, every time.

His gaze was concealed by his helmet most of the time, but tonight you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. Your cheeks began to burn at the thought of him staring at you so closely and you thanked the maker that he couldn’t see the crimson hue painting your face.

“Are you warm?” he asked, the low rumble of his voice startling you.

“What?”

“You’ve been shivering since you started, but… you’re all flushed,” he explained.

Your eyes widened at his words, heart stopping. “Wait—how can you see my—”

“Heat sensors.” Din couldn’t help but notice the way the heat on your face spread even more, down the soft slopes of your neck and chest.

Of course, heat sensors. You were absolutely mortified, a nervous laugh erupting from your chest. May as well be honest.

“No, not warm, more like embarrassed,” you tried to explain, unable to meet his eyes.

Din tilted his head, trying to understand. “Why?”

You scoffed. “’Cause I just realized I’ve been sticking my ugly mug in your face for the past 20 minutes.”

Din was dumbfounded. Ugly? The mere thought of you seeing yourself in that way made his heart ache. How could you think such a thing when he saw you as the most radiant thing in this galaxy? That, every time he saw you, he had to remind himself to breathe?

He had no idea what the in blazes he was doing, but he knew that he couldn’t let you go on thinking such things about yourself. Din reached out and tilted your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes.

“Cyar’ika, you are the furthest thing from ugly that someone could be. I—you are absolutely stunning. Do you—do you know what seeing you in that dress tonight did to me?” he confessed, letting out a breathy laugh. The front of his pants tightened in reminder. “I’ll teach you something new in Mando’a right now.” He paused, letting his fingers brush over your chin. “Mesh’la.”

It felt like you were on fire at that point, burning under his gaze, but somehow you found your voice underneath all the flames. “What does it mean?” you breathed, unable to mask the tremble in your voice.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

Your body betrayed you, melting into a puddle with just a taste of his touch and the boldness of his words. It was a devastating effect, and there was no denying the dampness that had pooled between your legs now. You managed to stutter out a, ‘thank you’ before trying to finish the last knot of his stitches.

“All done,” you whispered.

Din watched as you admired your handiwork and noticed that you made no move to remove yourself from him. Instead, your hands were softly dragging across the planes of his exposed chest, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went. It was such a foreign feeling, flesh against flesh on such a shielded part of his body. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there, let alone so gently.

A strangled sound caught in his throat as you brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, just above the other side of his collarbone. It was almost too much, the shot of electricity that singed his nerves, but it felt good.

His body involuntarily bucked at the sensation and his hands gripped your hips roughly, pressing you flush against him.

You gasped at the sensation, of your clothed core dragging against the beskar plate on his thigh, your knee brushing against the bulge that had tented his pants. Your hands scrabbled to find something, anything, to anchor yourself from the blinding pleasure that fizzled through you.

“Maker,” Din murmured, letting out a shuddering breath. “Osik, cyar’ika, I’m didn’t mean to touch you like that but—”

“But what if I want you to?” your own voice sounding foreign to your ears. You did not miss the way his breath hitched, caught in the modulator of his helmet.

Din’s mind was reeling. “You—you want me to?” he swallowed thickly around the ball of shock that was caught in his throat.

And you’re nodding, eyes dark and body and mind clouded with need, leading his hands up your torso and chest; but Din, he needs to hear you say it. “Use your words, cyar’ika. I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Din. Please,” and that’s enough to dissolve any shred of self-control he thought he had. The sound of you saying his name like that, a plea for him and only him, was maddening.

His hands were on you in an instant; hands that you had seen nearly beat a man to death just for touching you, but on you they were soft, gentle. Desperate, but tender. Rough, but passionate and loving. The contrast was making your head spin.

“Din,” you whimpered. “You have to be careful, your cut—”

“I don’t care,” he rasped. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you? Make you mine?” He pulled you closer against him, hands grasping at anything he could reach. He wanted to erase any trace of the bounty from your presence.

You tried to answer, but you were a mess, filling the cockpit with soft moans and mewls as you bucked your hips on his thigh.

“I want to watch you make yourself feel good, can you do that? Just like this?” You frantically bobbed your head. “Good,” he answered, stroking your cheek. “You deserve it after tonight, sweet girl.”

The sound of ‘sweet girl’ sent wet heat straight to your core. If anything, you thought he was the one that deserved to be taken care of right now. But you were not about to argue with the Mandalorian who insisted on you using him to get yourself off.

Your hands pawed at his chest again, struggling to find some kind of purchase to anchor yourself. They finally settled for his biceps, nails digging deep. He watched as you grinded down on his thigh, eyes screwed shut. His hands fingered the strap of your dress and you nodded, giving him permission to slide it down.

Din took in the sight of your bare chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air of the cockpit. He ached to take them into his mouth, hear you whimper and moan against his tongue, but he settled for brushing his gloved fingers over them and watching you arch.

You ground down harder, desperate you get the friction you needed. Din’s hands slipped from your breasts down back to your hips, stilling them. A high whine escaped your throat and it was almost pitiful.

“Up,” he instructed, confusion marring your face as you lifted yourself off his leg. He gripped the thigh plate and dropped it to the ground, promptly setting you back onto his thigh. “Wanna feel you,” he growled, and you could only moan in response.

Soon enough, your arousal had seeped through your panties and onto the fabric of his pants. The heady smell hit his nose and his mouth watered, desperate to know what you tasted like, to know what sounds you would make if he buried his face between your thighs.

You guided his hands back up your chest, up to your neck. His fingers cupped your face again, thumb brushing the bottom of your lip. You held his hand in place, biting the leather tip of his glove and slowly slid it off, letting it drop between you.

The feeling of his bare thumb resting on your lips sent another wave of arousal through you. “Wanna feel you,” you breathed, grinning before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking hard. Din’s eyes rolled back and he groaned; the sight of your hollowed-out cheeks and the sensation of your tongue on the pad of his thumb nearly sent him over the edge.

One hand trailed to the base of your neck, tangling itself softly in your hair. He took in the way your eyes were screwed shut, the furrow in your brows as you chased your high. You had taken your bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard and almost splitting it from the pressure. It was almost the same concentrated expression you wore as you tended to his injuries, though it was clear you were concentrated on something far more rewarding now.

“Mesh’la,” he commanded. “Look at me.”

You wretched your eyes open, fixing your gaze on him.

Din watched, enraptured, as you continued to pleasure yourself. You were a sight before him; pupils blown, mouth agape, chest heaving as you tried to ease the ache in your belly. He was lost in the way your eyes sparkled, perfectly matching the dark galaxy you were set against just outside the viewport.

Your moans filled the cockpit, desperate sounds and pleads of Din’s name as he sent delicious licks of pleasure throughout your body. You held on for dear life, panting as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

He feels the tension simmering from your shuddering figure, like a coil just waiting to spring.

“Are you close, mesh’la?” he whispered, his words and the rasp of his voice sending you higher and higher. “Are you going to come for me?”

And you’re a wreck, whimpering and pleading, yes, Din, yes; and all Din can think is he can die happy knowing how you moan his name. He shifts you, pulls you right onto the straining bulge in his pants and you both gasp, the sensation pulling you even closer to your orgasm. A bare hand snakes between where the two of you are pressed against each other and he presses right onto your clit.

A sob tears from your throat and stars burst behind your eyes as you’re pushed off the edge; and you’re falling, waves of ecstasy washing over you and burning straight to your toes. Din holds you close as your body continues to shudder, a steady hand on your back coaxing you down from your high. He lets out a groan when he feels evidence of your orgasm seep through to his clothed cock.

Fog clouds the bottom of his helmet as you softly pant, the pleasure lulling to a dull thrum in your veins. He’s admiring your sleepy eyes, the flushed cheeks of your afterglow. You give off a shy smile, peering into his visor. “Beautiful,” he murmurs right next to your ear. “Just like I said.”

“Thank you,” you hum, pressing a searing kiss onto his bare neck and sliding a hand over the hardness trapped beneath you.

Din hisses at your touch and you laugh, trying to ease the ache between his own legs. “Mesh’la,” he warns, grunting at the loss of contact as you lift yourself off him and slide between his knees, kneeling.

“Yes?” you respond, sliding your hands up and down his thighs, and pausing at the button of his pants.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“But I want to, Din,” you assured. You rest your head on his knee, peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes, awaiting his permission. “Wanna return the favor, wanna taste you,” and you grin at the strangled sound that leaves his throat. He couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to.

Finally, he nods, spreading his legs wider to accommodate you. Your smile grows and your nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on his pants. You’re just about to free him from the confines of his boxers when an alarm signal sounds from the ship, startling the both of you.

“Come in, Mando,” Greef Karga’s voice crackled through the small room. “We’ve got a problem. I repeat, we’ve got an emergency, please come in.”

Din groans and you throw an exasperated look towards the comms on the control panel. “Just ignore him, it can’t be that—” and you’re cut off by another sound.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead into Din’s knee. You loved that little green bean to death, but damn him for his horrific timing. Din softly slid his hand over yours and you looked up.

“It’s alright, cyar’ika,” he hummed. “Go check on him,” and you slowly nodded, shooting him an apologetic look before rising from your spot on the floor.

Din watched in mild amusement as you wobbled to the door, before turning his chair towards the control panel and sighing. His own arousal was almost overwhelming, but he did his best to shove it to the back of his mind.

Whatever Greef needed, it had better be good, he grumbled in his head.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

mando’a translations:

osi’kovid – shithead

skanah – very hated person, fucker

osik – shit

osi’yaim – cowardly, useless person

cyar’ika – darling, beloved

mesh’la – beautiful

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

thank you for reading! let me know what ya think!

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #make you mine #certaindark writing #the mandalorian smut #smut #AHHHH I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT #IDK HOW TO TAG LOL #I’M SO NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS BUT IT’S FINE #din djarin x reader

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arvinsescape · 4 years ago

Text

Glad to be home

A/N: First time writing smut. Hope it’s okay and you enjoy! Edit: This has been in my drafts for days.

Summary: You’ve not seen each other in six weeks and Tom’s missed you. Fingering, unprotected sex (Wrap it up folks, stay safe).

Warnings: Swearing, smut. (minors do not engage).

W/C: 2.3K

You’d missed Tom an incredible amount whilst he’d been away, that goes without saying. Four years together and you still never got used to the ache you felt when he wasn’t with you. You’d decided to take a bath to pass the time before he arrived home later that evening. You laid in the bath and thought about what was gonna happen when he walked though that door. You knew you’d be in for a long night and you couldn’t wait. Deciding it was pointless to really change into pajamas, you slipped on a silk nightgown and matching dressing gown. He always said this attire drove him insane, he couldn’t explain it but when you’d first bought it, he’d been all over you.

You sat on the couch waiting for his return and as soon as you heard the door click your heart started racing, god you’d missed him.

“Baby, you still up?” He called, loud but not loud enough that if you were asleep, you’d have heard. He’d nailed the tone to a T and it just reminded you how much he loved you. That even though you hadn’t seen him physically in almost six weeks he’d still allow you to sleep if you’d gotten too tired waiting up for him. You stood up from the couch and made your way over to him.

“Yeah, I’m still up. Hi Tommy.” You said as you approached him. He dropped his bag as he took you in. He visibly gulped as he saw you in the silk dressing gown, he could see the nightgown peaking out from underneath. He embraced you and sighed as he breathed in your scent.

“I missed you.” He whispered into your ear as he kissed your lips. You smiled as you kissed him back. “You look good.” He whispered again as he ghosted his lips over yours, not quite connecting them.

“Thank you. So do you.” He laughed lightly against your lips as he connected them. It was sweet at first and you relished in having him home. His hands were in your hair and you wrapped yours around his broad shoulders. “Missed you so much.” He mumbled as he deepened the kiss. His hands moved from your hair to the curve of your ass as he squeezed, and you gasped. He pulled you flush against him and you could feel just how hard he was.

“Fuck, what are you doing to me.” He whispered between kisses. You laughed lightly as you brought your hands into his hair, tugging slightly. He backed you up against the wall and pinned you there, knocking your legs apart as he put his own leg between them. You could feel the jeans on his thigh as he brushed against you. You were so incredibly wet for him and you knew he could feel it. “Shit, no underwear?” He mumbled as he bit your bottom lip. You moaned and shook your head.

“Fuck.” He groaned as he brought his hand up and moved the dressing gown off your shoulder slightly. He started pressing kisses against your shoulder, moving his lips along your collarbones and he sucked slightly. Tongue flicking out to sooth the hickey he knew would appear soon. He hummed against your neck as he moved up, sucking your sweet spot next, causing you to moan out. You’d missed his touch; he knew exactly what he was doing.

One of his hands traveled to the back of your thigh as he reconnected your lips pulling away for a moment with an instruction to jump and so you did. He caught you easily and made his way towards the bedroom, lips still connected as you went. You broke the kiss to press kisses along his neck as he easily carried you into the bedroom. He set you down once you’d got there, he undid the dressing gown and moved it off your shoulders gently as he watched it fall to the floor.

“Shit, you’re gorgeous.” He said as he took you in. He’d seen you in this nightgown multiple times, but he always looked at you like it was the first time he’d seen you in it. “Fuck, this drives me crazy.” He said as he grasped the hem, slightly lifting it up your thighs, he moved the two of you onto the bed. “Turn over for me baby.” He whispered into your ear and trailed a hot string of kisses down your neck. You did as you were told, turning over, front now pressed into the mattress.

He moved behind you and slotted himself between your legs, he lent over you and snaked an arm around your waist. He pulled you up so you were both on your knees, back flush against his chest as he held you up against him. “Sure you want to do this love?” He asked into your ear and it sent shivers down your spine. If you’d have said that you wanted to stop, he would, no questions asked. Consent was hugely important to Tom.

“Yes, Tom, I want this, I want you.” He kissed your temple as he hummed. He brought his other arm around your body and grabbed the hem of your nightgown, bunching it into his fist as he held it and you up against him. You were breathing hard now, anticipating his next move. He snaked his free hand down your body, fingers splayed out as he traveled. It was slow and intimate and it made your heart hammer in your chest and the wetness between your legs had grown. “Tom.” You whined as he slowly made his way down your stomach. He kissed your neck as he dragged his fingers down your heat, collecting the wetness.

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.” He groaned against your neck. You nodded in response, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond verbally, too wrapped up in where his fingers were. He brought his fingers back to your clit and rubbed your aching bud. You moaned at the contact, fire spreading through your entire system and if it wasn’t for his arms around your waist, your legs would have given out and you’d have fallen flat onto the mattress. His arm tightened around you as he held you up, not relenting for a second with his fingers as he held you against him.

Your head rolled back onto his shoulder as he whispered into your ear, you were a moaning mess and the only coherent word you could moan was his name.

“I’ve got you.”

“That’s it baby, moan for me.”

“That’s right princess, tell me who’s making you feel good.”

“Can’t wait to get my cock inside that warm pussy.”

“Fuck you’re so wet.”

It was all so intimate and you swear in that moment you couldn’t think of a single other thing that wasn’t Tom and what he was doing to you in this moment. Your moans had become more irregular and you could feel that familiar coil tightening in the pit of your stomach. Tom had turned his attention to your neck, that he now had better access to with your head being thrown back against his shoulder and he sucked on your sweet spot, licking over the mark that had formed. He moved his head back to your ear so he could whisper into it as you continued to moan out his name.

“Close princess?” You just nodded, you couldn’t think straight, the pleasure he was providing had seemingly switched your brain off, all you could think about were his fingers that were furiously rubbing your clit, his tongue on the shell of your ear and Tom. “Come for me baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

That was all it took, your eyes screwed shut as Tom went back to your sweet spot, sucking more harshly, but still with that intimate gentleness. The coil in the pit of your stomach snapped and you felt the pleasure wash over you like a tidal wave. You almost screamed his name as you came and he rubbed your clit through your high. You were panting hard against his chest as you came down from your glorious high, no man had ever managed to please you the way he did. His movements ceased as he brought his hand up and licked his fingers.

You were sweating and panting against him and he brought his hand up to move some hair out of your face as he kissed your neck gently. You managed to steady your breathing after a few minutes and you had all your weight lent against him, the orgasm was intense and took all your strength and you smiled lazily as you turned your head to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you Tommy.”

“That was fucking hot.” He growled as he took your bottom lip between his teeth. You hummed in agreement. “You okay?” He asked after a moment.

“Yeah, all recovered.” You said as you kissed his cheek again, his chin was propped against your shoulder as he held you against him. He removed your nightgown after a moment and moved you to lay on your back. He slowly undressed himself and you watched in awe as you took in his muscular chest, arms. Fuck everything about Tom was hot and you often wondered how you’d gotten so lucky. He led down in between your legs and propped himself up on his elbows. He pressed a kiss to your nose.

“You still okay? Still want to do this?” He whispered. Again, there was that consent, you loved him so much, he was a real gentleman, always. No matter what sort of sex you were having, rough or soft. It didn’t matter if he’d just fingered you or given you oral and you’d given consent for that he always needed consent before he moved onto anything new and you gladly gave it to him every single time.

“Yes, Tom, nothings changed in the last five minutes.” You giggled.

“Needed to make sure darling.” He lent down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He guided himself into you and you both sighed at the contact. You stayed like that for a moment as you adjusted, and you took that moment to take him in. He was looking into your eyes and you almost got lost in his brown ones, the stare was so loving and so intimate that your stomach did somersaults, and your heart soared. You moved your fingers into his hair, and it was so incredibly soft it amazed you. He grinned at you as he silently asked for permission to move and you nodded.

“Fuck.” He groaned as he brought his face down to your neck. He started to move, and the pace was slow, intimate and it had you moaning in seconds. Your heart rate had picked up again as you met his thrusts and he groaned into your ear. “Missed you so much. Missed this tight pussy.” He said as he gave a particularly hard thrust that had you moaning his name. He pulled back to look at you again as his thrusts grew faster, more desperate, he was chasing his high now.

“Fucking gonna come so hard.” He moaned as he connected your lips. You could feel it again, that familiar coil and it had you tightening around Tom’s length and that made him moan louder. You loved that about him, he was never shy to letting you know just how good you felt. “Getting close again?”

“Yeah, fuck, Tom.” You moaned out. His thrusts were getting a little sloppier now a tell tale sign he was getting close too. “Touch yourself, darling. Fuck, you feel so tight around me.” He moaned and you snaked your hand between your bodies and rubbed your throbbing clit, still slightly sensitive from your last orgasm. You felt your heat clenching more around him and that did it for Tom, his thrusts halted for a second as he emptied himself into you with a loud moan of your name. This, in turn, sent you tumbling over the edge as the second orgasm of the night hit you. You did scream his name this time as he rode you through both of your highs.

He collapsed on top of you and you were both a sweating and panting mess. He kissed your shoulder a few times as you steadied your breathing and he whispered sweet nothings into the air. After a few minutes he pulled himself out of you and cleaned you up. You, of course had to nip to the bathroom and when you returned, he was in bed again, back resting against the headboard, duvet covering his waist as he watched you approach. He instantly pulled the duvet back to invite you in. You climbed in next to him and he guided you onto your side as he wrapped one arm around your waist and the other under your neck, pulling you flush against him.

“Hi.” He mumbled into your shoulder.

“Hi.” You whispered into the mostly silent air.

“I missed you, so happy to be home.” He said as he kissed your shoulder blade.

“I’m glad you’re home.” You said as you kissed his forearm in return.

You talked about all sorts as you stayed wrapped up in his arms. After a while you felt his hand travel lower.

“Think you can go again darling?” He whispered into your ear.

“I know I can go again.” You said as he kissed your neck and moved his hand lower still.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut

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fridayfirefly · 4 years ago

Text

Seeing Ghosts

Read Seeing Ghosts on AO3

Masterlist

For Maribat March Day 12 - Second Chance

For as long as she could remember, Marinette could see ghosts. It wasn't always the ghosts of strangers, though. Her ghost encounters started small. When Marinette was four years old, her parents told her that the family cat, Tikki, had left to live in the countryside. Marinette didn't understand, because Tikki still lived with them. Tikki still meowed for pets, still purred when Marinette pet her, still played with her favorite toy, the laser pointer that Marinette got for her last birthday. It wasn't until two weeks later, that Tom and Sabine sat Marinette down and explained to her that Tikki had died, that she needed to stop pretending that she was still there. Marinette was confused until she saw the way Tikki's paws batted right through her toys, the way she never ate the scraps that Marinette dropped on the floor. Marinette knew two things for sure: Tikki was dead and Marinette could still see her ghost.

For years and years, Tikki was the only ghost that Marinette saw. Then Marinette turned fourteen and Marinette could suddenly see.

They haunted the corners of her eyes, lurking in her periphery. They were just shadows, phantoms until Marinette focused her eyes, and then she could see them clear as day. Ghosts were real and Marinette could see them. Ghosts were real and they were everywhere, an inescapable reality for Marinette.

Quickly, the ghosts learned that Marinette could see them. They followed her around, lingering at the edge of her sight. She could hear them too, little whispers about the baker's daughter, the only person who could see them. However, none of the ghosts were bold enough to approach her. That was the status quo, until one day when Marinette came home from school one day to a ghost lurking in her room.

Marinette gasped as she saw the ghost sitting in the chair at her desk, staring at her with knowing blue eyes. He was her age, which made his brutal injuries all the more horrific to look at. His skull was caved in. His chest was mangled. His skin was shredded and burned. He had been beaten to death, tortured in his final moments.

"I've been told that you can see ghosts," the boy remarked, ignoring Marinette's shock entirely. He spoke in English instead of French, luckily Marinette's class had been learning both languages, so she was able to understand.

Marinette nodded, her throat suddenly unable to get a word out.

"You can hear ghosts, too. Can you bring them back to life?"

Marinette shook her head, clearing her throat as she began to speak in English, "I've never tried, but I don't think so."

"Could you try? For me?" pleaded the boy, the desperation in his expression breaking Marinette's heart.

"I don't even know you," said Marinette, trying to find a way to gently let the boy down. Seeing ghosts was one thing; bringing them back to life was another thing entirely.

"I'm Jason Todd." Jason stuck out his hand and Marinette tentatively shook it.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

It wasn't until Marinette pulled her hand back that she realized that his hand - and now her's - was covered in blood. With a shriek of surprise, Marinette stumbled backward away from Jason. "What did you do?"

"What did I do? What did you do?"

"This has never happened before. Somehow my touch turned you corporeal enough for the blood on your hand to transfer to mine."

Jason glanced down at his hands. "Your fingers left prints in the blood. I've spent hours trying to wash the blood away for months, and you managed to do it by accident."

Marinette stared at her hands, the realization sinking in. Jason Todd was dead and his blood was on her hands. In the blink of an eye, Marinette was running to the bathroom to throw up. She thought she would be able to handle looking at the injuries of the dead, but Jason's wounds suddenly felt personal. Someone beat him to death, beat him until his bones broke and his skull caved him. Marinette heaved into the toilet, unable to cope with the violence of Jason's death.

When Marinette finally lifted her head, she saw Jason lingering at the door, looking guilty. "I'm sorry. I know that this is pretty graphic to look at." Jason gestured towards himself.

Marinette shook her head. "You don't have to apologize." After rinsing her mouth out until the taste of vomit was gone, Marinette turned to Jason. "Come here."

Jason approached her at the sink. With the water still running, Marinette took his hands and held them underneath the water. They both watched as the water turned red, then pink, then ran clear as all of the blood washed off Jason's hands. "Thank you," Jason whispered.

Marinette took a deep breath. "I can't make any promises, but I will do my best to bring you back."

Bringing the ghost of a human boy back to life seemed like an impossible task, so Marinette started small: with Tikki the ghost cat. It took two weeks of experimentation before Marinette realized that with enough meditation she could funnel some of her energy into Tikki's ghost. With Jason to help her take notes, Marinette began to figure out the ins-and-outs of resurrection.

The most difficult part was figuring out exactly how much energy Marinette could expend before it took a toll on her physical health. The very first time she gave Tikki energy, Marinette woke up the next morning with bruises littering her body. Tom and Sabine took Marinette to the doctor's where she was diagnosed with anemia and prescribed iron supplements. Jason was so concerned about Marinette's well-being that he refused to let her give any more energy away before she had returned to her full health.

A few weeks after the initial mishap Marinette got back on track. Every morning she would push just a little bit of energy into Tikki. Little by little, Tikki turned from specter to physical being. Then, one morning, as Marinette pushed energy into Tikki, she felt her energy hit a wall. At the same time, Marinette felt Tikki's fur under her hand for the first time in ten years.

"You brought her back!" Jason exclaimed.

Marinette let out a whoop of joy, scaring Tikki, who jumped out of Marinette's lap with a startled meow. Marinette grabbed Tikki back up, able to properly hug her beloved pet for the first time in ten years. "I've got to go show Tikki to my parents. I'm going to tell them that I found her outside."

"You'll need to give her a new name," said Jason. "Might I suggest Alfred."

Tom and Sabine were surprised, which was to be expected. After all, it wasn't every day that their daughter found a doppelgänger of their dead cat in the alley behind the bakery. However, they were quick to rationalize the event, shrugging it off as a strange coincidence. Alfred became a beloved new member of the family.

After her success with Alfred neé Tikki, Marinette turned her attention to Jason. Their very first attempt took place in Marinette's bedroom. Marinette and Jason sat down cross-legged on the floor. Marinette placed her hands on top of Jason's and concentrated. She felt the life force within herself and pressed it forward, through her hands and into his.

"I can feel it," whispered Jason, "I've never felt anything like it before. It's so warm."

The awe in Jason's voice made Marinette feel warm inside as well. "I'm going to start with just a little bit of energy. I don't know how transferring energy to a human will differ from transferring energy to a cat, and I don't want to burn myself out on the very first transfer."

"Do this at whatever pace you need. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Marinette smiled with his reassurance. She took a deep breath, and let the energy flow out of her. When she finally finished, cutting off the flow, she looked back up at Jason and gasped. Jason's broken finger, which had bothered him for weeks, had straightened out. The cut on his collarbone had closed shut. The bruise on his cheekbone had faded. His wounds were already starting to heal.

Quickly, Marinette and Jason fell into a routine. Every day after school they would sit down in the back corner of the bakery and Marinette (under the guise of doing her homework) would push more of her life energy into him. It was a slow process. Though Marinette often wished to give Jason just a little more energy every day, to speed up the process, she was constantly aware of the fact that Jason would fuss over her and stop the transfer of energy entirely if he saw any sign of pain or exhaustion on her.

In the months that Marinette had known Jason, he had grown protective over her. Marinette spent most of her time with Jason. He slept in her room on the little couch in the corner, followed her to school, and wore the clothes that she designed for her. Jason changing his clothes was an incredibly embarrassing affair, as the only way for him to be corporeal enough to touch the clothes was for Marinette to be touching him while he did it, leading to averted eyes and blushing on the part of both Marinette and Jason (but it was worth it for Marinette, to saw Jason's relieved smile when he realized that he never had to see the blood-stained clothes that he died in again).

In total, it took eight months from the day that Marinette met Jason to the day that Marinette brought Jason back to life. It started as an uneventful morning. Marinette woke up to her alarm, grumbling as she got ready about how it was inhumane to make teenagers wake up so early. She made herself a coffee while chatting to Jason. They walked to school together, Marinette dodging through the crowded sidewalk while Jason moved straight through people with ease. Marinette got to her desk at school and took a seat next to Alya. Luckily the seat behind Marinette was empty, so Jason sat there when he followed Marinette to school.

Marinette had asked Jason before if it bothered him that he was unable to participate with the rest of the class since they could neither see nor hear him. Jason claimed that he didn't mind. Despite that, if Jason ever whispered comments or questions about the lesson into Marinette's ear, she always made sure to ask the teacher, even if she already knew the answer.

Sitting in on lessons had the additional benefit of teaching Jason French. Marinette did her best to teach him the basics, but immersion was the best teacher - after eight months of hearing and speaking only French, Jason was fluent in the language. Marinette often praised him for his quick learning, which was how she learned that Jason was prone to blushing when he was complimented. Jason always grumbled when Marinette pointed it out, but Marinette found it adorable.

Once school was over on that fateful day, Marinette and Jason walked home together. Marinette set her backpack down at her usual table, sat down, and got to work. It had become an easy routine: put in her headphones and play some calming music, find a quiet place within her brain, and focus on the feeling of energy welling up inside of her. Then take Jason's hands, concentrate on that energy, and push it through her arms and into him. Controlling the direction of the energy was easy - it was controlling the rate that was the difficult part. It moved slowly at first, then all at once it flowed faster than Marinette can control, and it was a race to slow it down before it could all drain out of her.

That day, however, just as the energy started to speed up, the flow of energy abruptly cut off before Marinette even had the chance to react.

"Why did it stop?" asked Jason, looking confused.

The day had been so long coming that Marinette could hardly believe what had happened. "I have nothing left to give you. You're alive again, Jason."

Jason stared at her, wide-eyed. "Are you sure?"

"I'll go test it." Marinette jumped out of her seat and raced towards the front of the bakery, heading for Tom, who was behind the counter. "Papa, can I get a plate of macaroons for me and my friend?"

Tom glanced over at Jason. "Who is he? I don't think I've ever seen him here before."

"He's a foreign exchange student," Marinette lied easily. "His name is Jason."

"Here's a plate for you and Jason." Tom handed her a plate, piled high with macaroons and other sweets.

"I might take Jason and show him around Paris, once we finish our homework. Is that alright?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Just make sure you're home before dinner."

"Of course," chirped Marinette. She made her way back to her table with a bounce in her step. "My papa could see you. You're real."

In that moment, Jason looked lost. He glanced down at his hands, flesh and blood once more. "What do I do now?"

"You're alive again. You can do whatever you want."

Jason took a deep breath. "I've been gone from this world for so long. I want to go home."

Marinette tried not to let the fact that her heart was breaking show on her face. "I have enough birthday money saved up to buy you a plane ticket. You might have trouble getting on a plane without any identification, but I'm sure we can come up with a solution."

For a moment, Jason looked upset. Then, Marinette saw on his face as a realization dawned on him. "I didn't mean alone. Marinette, I want you to come with me."

There was no sugar-coating it: Marinette's parents were going to kill her. The plane was half-way across the Atlantic Ocean and Marinette's phone was turned off. There was no way to check, but she was certain that her parents were already sending her frantic texts. By the time the plane landed in Gotham, Tom and Sabine would surely have already called the police.

Marinette could only hope that her and Jason's fake IDs would hold up against the Gotham Airport security officers. While seventeen-year-old Jason could easily pass for nineteen, the age listed on the fake ID for Jasper Townsend, Marinette was worried that she looked young enough to cause suspicion. The age on Marie Davis's ID needed to be eighteen in order to get Marinette onto the plane, so whether she liked it or not she had to look eighteen. Resigned to her lies, Marinette put on a heavy face of makeup and wore three-inch heels on the international flight. It was a little funny, in an ironic way, that her heels had one inch for each year she needed to make up for.

Marinette was still confused about how Jason managed to get them fake IDs in the first place. Jason just shrugged and said that he knew a guy who owed him a favor. It was a side of Jason that Marinette hadn't ever seen before, a side of him that she was deeply curious about.

They had gotten on the plane just as the sun was setting. Marinette had sent her parents one last text message, telling them that she might be a little late. It was the understatement of the century. Marinette had never lied to her parents like that before. All of her past lies had been little things - lying about the number of macaroons she ate, or how late she stayed up the night before - but never a lie about her personal safety. The guilt was killing Marinette. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Jason placed his hand (flesh and blood) on Marinette's shoulder. "I'm sorry that I'm making you do this."

"I'm not sorry. I would never make you do it alone."

Marinette could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of Jason as their plane landed in Gotham. "I'm assuming you know where we're going next. Should we rent a car?" she asked once they cleared security (miraculously, no one looked too closely at Marinette's feeble attempt at a disguise. Marinette was glad to switch out her heels for flats and wash off the makeup in the airport bathroom).

Jason shook his head. "We don't need to rent one. He always keeps a car at the airport just in case someone's flying in."

Marinette wasn't sure who he was supposed to be, but Jason had been reticent to share any information about his past, and Marinette wasn't going to pressure him. Jason had been beaten to death, after all. There was a lot of trauma in his past and Marinette wasn't going to force him to share it with her until he was ready.

Jason led her through to the VIP parking lot to a luxury black sedan. He reached underneath the car, feeling at the underside until he pulled out a key. "Bruce keeps a key taped to the underside."

"That seems... irresponsible." Marinette was delicate with her words. Jason had been tense since the plane landed, like a loaded gun. She didn't want to bring up anything that might set him off.

"He also has a tracker planted in the car," Jason remarked offhandedly.

Marinette rolled her eyes at that remark, unable to keep walking on eggshells around the topic of Jason's family. "Irresponsible and paranoid. That's an interesting combination."

Jason laughed. "Just wait until you meet Bruce in person. I promise you, none of what I could tell you about him would ever live up to the real deal."

They got into the car, Jason in the driver's seat and Marinette in the passenger's. Jason's driving was a little rusty at first (which was understandable, given that he hadn't driven in nearly a year), but by the time he got on the highway, it was like he never left the driver's seat.

"Do you think that your family will believe you when you tell them that I brought you back to life?" asked Marinette, her voice quiet. The closer she and Jason got to Jason's house, the more questions Marinette had. It had taken her weeks to rationalize the fact that she could see ghosts, and she was the one seeing them. She couldn't imagine how Jason's family would react.

"Bruce was the one who found my body. There wasn't any faking that. I think he'll believe you."

"We've never talked about what happened to you. I- Is it safe for you to go home?"

Jason nodded, eyes on the road as he pulled off the highway onto a winding road. "Bruce did everything he could to save me, but he was too late. I was there for the funeral. I watched him mourn. I think... I think the reason I never passed on was because he never got over my death, never stopped feeling guilty. I wanted to pass on. I wanted to tell Bruce that I didn't blame him. I went and found you so that you could pass on the message for me. But then, when you could touch me, when you took the time to wash the blood off of my hands, I realized that I might be able to tell Bruce myself. I realized that I could have a second chance. I realized how badly I wanted a second chance, because a second chance at life meant that I had a chance with you."

Marinette blushed, looking over at Jason. "You know that doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't care if you were dead or alive."

With a snort of amusement, Jason said, "You might want to rephrase that."

Marinette rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. I liked you before you were corporeal. Human or ghost, you're my friend, Jason, and that's never going to change."

"I know that, but I like being alive better. I like being able to hold your hand for real."

Before Marinette could say anything in reply, the car turned. Marinette was too shocked to speak when she saw the size of the house at the end of the driveway. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Marinette."

Marinette got out of the car first, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt and running her fingers through her hair. She hoped that she looked presentable, even if no one would be looking at her once they saw the resurrected Jason. "Are you coming?"

Jason nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Yeah. I'm ready." Jason got out of the car and slipped his hand (flesh and blood) into Marinette's, and even though questions and doubts were swirling through Marinette's head in a whirlwind of anxiety, she knew that as long as she could hold Jason's hand, everything would be okay.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #jasonette #Jason Todd #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #MaribatMarch2021 #ghost jason todd #medium marinette dupain-cheng #ghosts au #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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jamaisjoons · 5 years ago

Text

half a heart ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you and namjoon have always been the best of friends; who just happen to be in love and are refusing to do anything about it. 〞best friends to lovers. childhood friends to lovers. idiots to lovers.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: namjoon x reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 19.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: empHASIS ON THE IDIOTS TO LOVERS, pining, god there’s so much pining, namjoon is the sweetest man and this fic will ruin all other men for you, slight jealousy, slight possessive!namjoon, soft dom!namjoon, big cock!namjoon, sub!reader, biting, marking, grinding, dry humping, dirty talk, nipple play, nipple sucking, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, riding, soft sex, i am in love with kim namjoon, some deep dicking because its not a sol fic for joon without this, creampie, slight cumplay

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: there’s honestly so much fluff in this and that is a testament to how much i love Kim namjoon papa bless,

⏤ thank you to my sweet beans @peekaboongi and @shadowsremedy for beta reading this for me ♡

⇥ part of the mixtape series

Decidedly, there have been many days in your life. Some happy, some sad. Some you remember better than others while others fade away into the back of your mind. Some are ingrained so deep in your mind that when you close your eyes, you can see every detail as if it’s currently happening. None, however, do you remember more clearly than the day you met Namjoon. It had been almost two decades ago; when you were five, and he was six. You remember being nervous - your parents had just moved to Seoul - and unlike your small port town of Yeosu, you had no friends, nor did you know anyone.

Seoul had originally felt like an adventure, but actually moving there had been a lonely experience. Tall skyscrapers dwarfed your form, and life moved as fast as its people - unlike your sleepy hometown. Thus, when your mother had brought you to the park, you’d clung to her skirt - too afraid to venture out and speak to anyone. Closing your eyes, you can still see the faded metal of the monkey bars, hear the tinkering laughter of children running around and smell the sweet scent of the Bungeoppang stall that was nearby.

It had all been incredibly overwhelming back then, and you’d only hidden further behind your mother’s legs. Until - you’d spotted a boy, as lonely as you. A fond smile curls on your face as you remember Namjoon’s little frame. With chubby cheeks, curious eyes, and dressed in little shorts and a bright red t-shirt, he’d sparked your own curiosity. Unlike the other children, he wasn’t running around, or climbing the slide, or even hanging from the monkey bars. Rather, he sat crouched on the floor, intrigued brown eyes staring intently at the bushes as he stuck his hand into the shrubbery.

Unable to stop yourself, and completely enthralled by his curiosity, you’d approached him hesitantly. The moment he had felt your presence behind you, he’d hushed you, his face twisted in concentration. His harsh shush had almost sent you running - scared that he’d yell at you for coming close to him - but instead, you’d stayed rooted to the spot - too engrossed in his actions. All of a sudden, he’d yelped in triumph and pulled out his hands.

Immediately, he’d turned to you and with the brightest smile - eyes full of wonder and the apples of his cheeks bunched together - he’d proudly shown you the little green frog he’d caught. And that one action - that one smile - had sealed it between the two of you. Ever since then, Namjoon had been your best friend. Woefully, to your utter despair, it turned out that his family lived a good forty-five minutes from you. But that hadn’t stopped the two of you - no. Still, every day, the two of you would meet up at the park and go on little adventures - Namjoon’s pudgy hand holding onto yours.

Nostalgia cascades through you as you continue mulling over your relationship with Namjoon. You’ve lived twenty-four years, and throughout the vast majority of it - Kim Namjoon has been your only constant. Even as you grew up, the distance had meant nothing to you; you’d always made time for each other. Your childhood had been filled with wild adventures and borderline ridiculous experiences: Namjoon dragging you out the comfort of your home so that the two of you could do whatever stupid thing his enigmatic mind could think up. Consequently, that very same enigmatic mind is the exact reason for your current situation.

It’s the middle of the night - the air cool against your skin, even with your large puffer jacket to keep you warm. Currently, you find yourself on the rooftop of your building and as usual, like most of your memories, Namjoon is beside you. Just a few minutes ago, he had burst into your bedroom. Carelessly, he’d thrown you your jacket before dragging you onto the roof of the building. Of course, you’d tried to protest, but you’d never been able to deny Namjoon. Not when he looked at you with those sweet, warm coffee eyes of his.

Thus, you’d let him - albeit reluctantly - pull you to the top of your apartment building.

Sitting on the bare, cold tile - you look at him expectantly. Mild annoyance twists your features; though, that’s more due to the chill of the wind, and your grogginess, than anything else. It’s nearly the end of summer: the foliage of the trees starting to fade from vibrant greens to tamer shades of bronze and gold. On the horizon, you can see the stark, vivid neon lights of Seoul’s skyline - the city still buzzing with life. However, in your smaller neighbourhood - away from the main bustle of the town, it’s quieter - darker.

The thick tarp of night blankets the sky: painting it midnight blue, and starks twinkle within its hold: scintillating like the clearest diamonds. Despite the ambient chill, you find yourself relaxing: your shoulders deflating imperceptibly. Knees pulled to your chest, you wrap your arms around your knees and stare at the sky. For as long as you’d know, you’d loved the night sky - its dark embrace nothing short of comforting. More than that, you loved the stars - you loved coming out at night and just drinking in their radiance; their distant coldness soothing your soul.

You’d always thought there was a certain loneliness to them. They look beautiful: glinting magnificently beside each other while they hover in the upper stratosphere. But you know better - each and every one of them are millions of light-years apart from the next - each more sequestered than the one before. Really, you know they have no sentience - and in fact, most of them are already dead: completely burnt out by the time you can view them. And you know they can’t feel their solitude: they’re nothing but burning clusters of gases and atoms - combusting in a breathtaking display of light. Nevertheless, it’s still something you take an odd comfort in.

“Why did you bring me out here, Joon?” you finally ask, turning back to your best friend. You watch him grin brightly at you, the deep wells of his dimples indenting in his full cheeks, but you know Namjoon. In fact, you know him better than you know yourself. Thus, you see the slight hesitant insecurity swirling in his usually soft, brown eyes.

“You had a bad day- and it’s night time,” Namjoon replies, his voice a little hushed. With a deep sigh, you glare at him. It’s almost three in the morning, you’re tired and a little cranky. Of course, it’s not like he woke you up or anything - he’d seen that your bedroom light was still on and that you were sadly moping in bed, curled under the covers as you scrolled through social media. Mainly because he was right, you did have a bad day. Work had been exhausting, someone from your team had misplaced some important figures and your boss had yelled at you for it in front of everyone; completely embarrassing you, even though it wasn’t your fault.

Exhaling deeply, fatigue evident in your sigh, “Joon- can we not do this now? Whatever you want to do, let’s just do it some other time. I’m tired, I’m cold and I just want to go back to bed,” you breathe out. Immediately, Namjoon shuffles closer to you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he tugs you into his chest.

Petulantly, you keep your shoulders stiff - fighting his pull. However, when his calming scent: fresh cotton and soft floral notes - the mix of his fabric softener and lotion, wafts across your senses, you reflexively find yourself turning putty in his hold. Relaxing in his embrace, you let his strong arms envelop you, taking comfort in your best friend’s cradle. Instinctively, Namjoon places his chin onto your head, tucking you further into him.

Knowing you’re fighting a losing battle, “Joon,” you mumble wearily.

“Just give me a couple of moments okay? I promise you’ll love this. Let me explain - and if you still want to go to bed, we can, alright?” comes his soothing words. The dulcet tones of his voice fill your eardrums, his chest rumbling lowly under your back. When you don’t say anything, Namjoon continues, “You had a bad day, but it’s a clear night tonight. You love watching the stars.” There’s no real emotion in his voice - his mouth uttering the statements plainly. Not that it really needs any emotion - they’re all basic facts.

Seeing where he’s going with this, you sink further into his embrace. Trust your best friend to drag you out on a cool summer night, just to stargaze, because you had a bad day. You love him. You really do. Tiredness brushed aside, you wriggle in his hold slightly and tilt your head, so you can look up at him. Namjoon shifts, putting a little distance between the two of you as he looks down at you. His face is incredibly close, his breath fanning your lower chin: so sweet you can taste him on your lips.

“Are we just out here to watch the stars?” you ask, a light teasing inclination lacing your voice.

Namjoon hums lowly, before cocking his head to the sky. Arms tightening around you, his voice turns low - and deep - the shallow timbre of his voice easing your soul. “As long as I’ve known you, you have been in love with the night sky - and the stars. Especially the constellations, and their myths, and their stories…” Namjoon begins, his warm gaze trailing over the vast cosmos above you. Then, he pauses before turning back to you. His eyes are alight with tenderness and a slight streak of knowing mischief, “but you’ve never actually been able to point out any of them,” he continues with a low chuckle.

Hearing his words, you scowl slightly before playfully smacking his soft belly. Never being able to actually make out a genuine constellation - other than Orion, because really, that one was easy - had always frustrated you to no end. You’d tried - really, you’d tried - but every time you’d look at the stars, you’d get lost in its overwhelming expanse, and consequently, those bright clusters would blur together - like a pile of glitter dust.

“Did we come out here just so you could tease me?” you butt in, pout evident in your voice. Namjoon exhales heavily in amusement, before tapping his chin against your forehead.

“No- that’s just an added bonus,” Namjoon laughs. Scowl deepening, you stick your tongue out at him. Large hands skim down your body before twisting around your waist and pulling you further into his body, “I learned them for you,” he suddenly breathes out.

Pausing, your features twist into an expression of confusion, “huh? Learned what?” you question.

Namjoon’s fingers flex above your stomach, a sign of his nervousness. From your head resting below his chin, you feel, and hear, him swallow thickly. “I learned them - the constellations. I learned about their positions and how to locate them. Just so you can tell me about them,” he confesses.

Floored by his admission, you instantly jerk off of him. Turning around, you stare at him with wide eyes, your gaze trailing over his face as you take him in. Gazing into his soft mocha eyes, you can’t help but find yourself sinking into their depths. Two decades. You’ve known Namjoon over two decades, and yet - somehow his eyes are the same. You remember them clearly from when he was younger, the pools of liquid chocolate shining just as they did back then. If you were being cheesy, you’d liken them to the stars you love so much: the brown irises twinkling as if those coffee depths held the stars themselves.

Except - they’re not the same. Unlike the cold, distant light of the stars, Namjoon’s eyes are dynamically bright, wonderfully expressive, and so full of tender love and warm affection. Sometimes, they sparkle with curiosity - and other times, they glint with an enigmatic knowingness: as if he knew all the secrets of the world. Right now, there’s nothing but kindness, and earnestness in his eyes, mixed with a little hesitance, and just the sight of it has your heart clenching, overwhelming emotion welling up inside you. Throat tight, and mouth suddenly dry, your face crumples as you take in the sight of your best friend.

His muscles are completely relaxed as he sits on the concrete tile of the rooftop - strong arms now braced on the ground as he leans back. Silhouetted by the dark blanket that is the night sky, he somehow looks bigger, and with his dark hair falling into his eyes, and an inkling of nervousness painted in his tender eyes, your chest tightens. Swallowing thickly, you shuffle closer before laying your head on him.

Automatically, as if the movement were ingrained in his muscles, his arms wrap around you, and gently, he pulls you backwards - until you’re both laying down. One of his hands moved to rest under his head - cushioning his skull - while the other lazily curls around you: the gesture second nature to him. With your head on his chest, you naturally entwine your fingers with his, before laying it on your stomach. Staring up at the sky, you point at a random constellation.

“Which one is that?” you ask, pointing to a random group of twinkling orbs. You thinkit’s a constellation - but really, it could just be an obscure cluster of stars.

Namjoon laughs, his chest reverberating endearing under your head. “You know, it’s kinda hard to know which one you’re pointing to when you just point at a random spot,” he teases. With a pout, you let out a slight huff, making him laugh again.

“How about this - I’ll point them out, and you can tell me about them?” Namjoon asks. Nodding eagerly, your entire body buzzes with excitement.

“That one’s Hercules,” Namjoon says - pointing to the sky before tracing a series of complicated geometric shapes in the air.

Baulking, “no! Joonie- oh my god, pick a different one. Hercules is so boring- everyone knows his story,” you whine. At your words, Namjoon bursts into laughter - the slightly high-pitched sound causing your face to soften. Focusing on the sound, you let the light laughter wash over you, the sound putting you at ease.

“Alright, alright. That one is Cassiopeia. Tell me about her,” Namjoon says - moving his hand down and tracing a zigzag over some brightly coloured stars.

Eyes lighting up, “Oh she’s cool! Well- not really. She was a queen and she claimed her daughter, Andromeda, was more beautiful than the Nereids. As a result, Poseidon-” you begin, before going off on a tangent. Throughout the entire story, Namjoon pays you the utmost attention - listening attentively as you animatedly regurgitate one of the countless myths you’ve got memorised.

When you're done, he points out another one - Draco this time - and with a soft pout, you explain that Draco was part of Hercules’ twelve labours. However, rather than making him change, you begin retelling the myth. Through it all, Namjoon listens quietly, and eventually, you grow tired, your voice turning wearier and wearier as you begin mumbling.

You’ve only just finished recounting the supposed myth of Corona Borealis - commonly known as the Northern Crown, and how its story is tied to the myth of Theseus and the minotaur. When your voice trails off and quiet fills the atmosphere once again. Namjoon's hand is still entwined in yours, and lazily, you play with his fingertips - simply watching the night sky and how the stars slowly pass over you. Perfectly content with the stillness around you, you’re happy to sit and bask in the comfort your best friend offers you: his arm casually over your body and his steady heartbeat under your head.

Then, all of a sudden, “have you ever loved someone?” he asks. Freezing under him, you tilt your head to look at the bottom of his jaw. Briefly, you wonder what spurred on the question - it’s completely out of the blue. “Sorry, it’s just- most of those myths had some sort of romance, and like, I was just wondering. You can ignore me,” Namjoon mumbles under his breath.

Sucking in a sharp breath, “I mean- I love you,” you choke out. Namjoon sighs, his fingers tightening around yours before you feel him shake his head.

“No- I mean like, have you ever been in love?” he asks, and from your position on his chest, with your head tilted up, you vaguely see the way his eyebrows knit in puzzlement. Pausing briefly, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and chew on it. That is what you’d meant. You have no delusions about you - you’re in love with your best friend. You’re not really sure when it had happened, but somewhere between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, you’d lost your heart to your best friend - and you’d never asked for it back. Nor did you ever really want it back.

Briefly, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings now. “I-” I have those feelings for you. It would be so easy - to just spill the words that have bubbled up at the back of your throat. However, you can’t bring yourself to do it. So, instead, “I guess,” you softly finish.

You don’t have to confess your feelings.

At least, not yet.

Soon, autumn rolls around the corner, and mid-October, you and your friends decide to take a much-needed vacation from both universities: Jungkook in his final year, Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin all in their masters, and from work: you, Seokjin, Yoongi and Taehyung needing to recuperate from the stress of office life. Thus, your entire group decided to pool as much money together as you could, and take a spontaneous trip. Though, with half your friendship group still being broke university students, your holiday spots were sorely limited.

Nevertheless, deciding a weekend trip was the easiest - and probably the cheapest. You and your friends find yourself in a cabin nestled in the woods near Seoraksan National Park. It’s a quaint location - privately owned by an old couple who’d bought it in their prime - surrounded by trees and a little neighbouring stream. However, the lot of you had yet to explore any of the trails. Especially considering its late evening - all of you only arriving an hour ago.

“Can someone come and help me for a moment?” Seokjin calls, his voice echoing from the kitchen.

From your seat on the sofa, nestled comfortably between Namjoon’s thighs as you rest against his chest, you look around the room. Jungkook and Taehyung are in the middle of what seems to be an intense game of Jenga, Hoseok and Jimin cheering them from the sidelines. On the sofa opposite the one you and Namjoon are occupying, Yoongi is practically falling asleep - and you know he needs the rest: having pulled a double shift at the radio station he works at. Noting the way you shift, Namjoon lets out a whine of protest, his bulging biceps tightening around you as he tries to keep you in his arms.

Laughingly, “Joonie- you need to let me go. I’m gonna go help Jin,” you say as you try wriggling out of his grasps.

Namjoon only lets out a grunt of protest, “I literally stopped reading because you practically crawled into my lap, and this is the thanks I get?” he grumbles in mock petulance. Exasperated sighs escaping your lips, you untangle yourself from his embrace - Namjoon finally letting go of you, albeit reluctantly. “You owe me for this,” he groans as he stares up at you. Rolling your eyes, you bend over to the book he’d dropped on the ground when you’d practically smothered him with your body, and playfully throw it onto his stomach.

“Well, go back to reading then, you big baby,” you laugh. Then, not waiting for his response, you skip towards the kitchen in order to help Seokjin.

Mid-dinner preparation, and from your position besides Seokjin, you see Namjoon skulk into the kitchen. He’s got his hands buried into the large pockets of his grey hoodie, a small pout on his face. Ignoring his presence, you turn back to Seokjin, nodding with laughter as he continues animatedly talking about an incident at his office.

“And then, he literally takes his fish soup - which smells off by the way - and eats it like nothing's wrong. Literally, sitting with his shoes off and feet up on another chair! Completely ignoring the fact that the entire break room smells like a fish market and as if Yeojin wasn’t just watching him with her jaw open,” Seokjin finishes.

Letting out a loud guffaw, “no! He didn’t, oh my god. What did Yeojin do after that?” you ask, as your laughing body leans into Seokjin.

Taking a seat by the kitchen island, Namjoon’s eyes wander over you and Seokjin - his eyelids narrowing slightly at how close the two of you are standing. Seokjin is leaning slightly into you as he stirs the pot, your own body braced against his in a fit of giggles. Stomach dropping to the pits of his abdomen, and with a slightly soured expression, “what are you laughing about?” Namjoon asks as he approaches you.

“Oh, Jinnie was just telling me about these two people in his office. They keep fighting and Yeojin pissed Minki off, so he decided to eat fish soup in the office - knowing she hates the smell,” you reply simply, letting out a little laugh as you remember the story. Namjoon frowns when he watches you smile easily at Seokjin, your eyes alight with carefree happiness.

Pout deepening, he slips his arms under yours before wrapping them around your waist and pulling you into his chest. Angling your head up, you look at him curiously before laughing, “you okay, Joonie?” you ask. Despite your question, however, you smile brightly and instinctively sink into his embrace. From beside you, Seokjin looks at the two of you in exasperation, and after giving Namjoon a pointed, knowing look, turns back to his own task.

Really, Seokjin muses to himself, Namjoon could not be any more obvious with his feelings - or possessiveness. In fact, neither could you - the two of you practically glued at the hips. For as long as he’s known you both, the two of you have been like this - and yet, you’re still somewhat oblivious to the other’s feelings. After another shake of his head, he sighs in exasperation again before continuing to stir the pot.

Namjoon hums, placing his chin onto your head, “hmm. Uhh... yeah, just wondering if I can help?” He slowly asks.

Snorting, “absolutely not. You’re too much of a hazard risk here. Just go sit with everyone else,” you reply. Swiftly, you place the knife down and wriggle in his arms: unwinding from his grasp. Then, bracing your hands on his strong chest, you begin pushing him out of the kitchen.

“What- no, I can help,” Namjoon protests the entire time you push him. However, you refuse to be deterred.

“Nope! The last time you did that, you burnt your hands trying to drain some noodles. I love you Joon, but you don’t have a lot of common sense in the kitchen. Just go read your book. Seokjin and I are almost done anyway,” you say as you finally shoo him away. Your best friend lets out a little huff, but does as you ask. You watch as he sulks off, dropping to the couch huffily before he crosses his arms and pouts quietly. Shaking your head, you turn back into the kitchen - ready to finish up.

As you’d said - in another ten minutes, you and Seokjin are done. You help Seokjin carry the piles of dishes into the living room - deciding to sit around the coffee table and eat. When you place the last dish, you turn around to your best friend - only to see that he’s still pouting. With his strong eyebrows furrowed, his cheeks slightly puffed out and plush lips pursed, he’s the most adorable expression of frustrated petulance you’ve ever seen.

Grabbing one of the pieces of fried chicken, you plop yourself down beside Namjoon. Sullenly, Namjoon turns away from you - even as you hold out the chicken as a peace offering. Watching his reaction, you bite your lip and place the piece of chicken back down onto the table. From beside you, Jungkook looks at the two of you curiously, a piece of tempura prawn already halfway into his mouth.

“What’s wrong with Joon-hyung?” Jungkook questions, pointing his chopstick at your best friend.

“He’s mad ____ kicked him out the kitchen,” Seokjin replies simply before slurping his noodles.

Ignoring them, you place your hands on either side of Namjoon’s cheeks and squeeze them together, you turn his face towards you. “Joonbug, I’m sorry,” you say as you look at him with large eyes and an exaggerated pout. The corners of Namjoon’s lips twitch, causing you to let out a cheer of triumph. “I saw that! You can’t be mad at me anymore,” you practically shriek.

“That’s not fair! You know you look ridiculous when you pull that face, how am I supposed to stay mad at you,” Namjoon bemoans.

However, you’re already shaking your head and loudly smacking your lips, “nope,” you reply - harshly popping the ‘p’. “Too late. You love me,” you continue.

Eyes softening, Namjoon nudges you with his shoulder before reaching for a piece of chicken, “Nah- I’ve just known you for so long, I can’t get rid of you,” he retorts.

“Oh please, we all know you love me,” you snort back. And then, without thinking, you reach over and smack a wet kiss against Namjoon’s cheek. Playfully, he pulls a face before rubbing at the wet spot on his cheek and wiping it on your shirt excessively.

Before you can reply, “Oi! Can we just eat without you two being gross for once?” Jimin cuts in - throwing a cushion at the two of you.

“Yeah dudes, some of us are trying to eat,” Taehyung chimes in.

Namjoon and you still all of a sudden, completely taken aback by Taehyung and Jimin’s words. Matching identical expressions of surprise plastered onto your face, you both sputter at the same time, “what’s the supposed to mean?” Hearing the synchronous, twin cries out outrage, you both blink owlishly before turning to each other.

Scoffing playfully, “That’s what we mean,” Yoongi chimes in.

Hours later, you and Namjoon sit up in bed. With the room swallowed by darkness - the room is merely lit up by the soft ambient lights of the bedside tables and the soft streams of moonlight peeking through from under the heavy cotton curtains. Buried under the covers, with the sheets tucked under your lap, you practically lay on Namjoon’s chest: relishing in the way his chest rumbles under your head. When Namjoon lets out a sudden high pitched noise, you can’t help but let out a peal of raucous laughter.

“Oh my god, J-Joon that was s-so bad,” you choke out, wiping the tears from your eyes.

Playfully pinching your side, Namjoon pouts, “hey! Personally, I thought it was a very good elephant noise,” he replies haughtily.

Raising your eyebrow, “in what world is that an elephant noise? It sounded like you were blowing a very bad raspberry,” you reply indignantly.

“Oh like you could do better?” Namjoon drawls snarkily. Jaw dropping to your chest, you look up at him in mock ire.

Then, eyelids narrowing playfully, you crook your elbow over your mouth. “Oh, watch me,” you reply - easily accepting his challenge. However, just before you can blow into the skin of your elbow - there’s a knock at the door.

Rather than waiting for the two of you to answer, Yoongi is already opening the door. The two of you wince, your eyes squinting as the stark white lights of the corridor break into the soft golden ambience of your bedroom. “Do you both ever sleep?” Yoongi mumbles as he shuffles into the room.

“Coming from you that’s pretty rich, Yoon,” you reply back, a playful grin on your face. Yoongi tuts, however, before he can say anything, he simply stops and takes in the sight of you. With your head laid on Namjoon’s chest, his body propped against the headboard, and the sheets comfortably draped around your bodies, you look the epitome of an old married couple; and he’ll never understand how the two of you aren’t together yet. Friends don’t act the way the two of you do - and even best friends aren’t as close as you both are. In fact, he knows if he were to take the covers off you both - neither of you would be wearing pyjama bottoms.

Choosing to ignore your comment, and how ridiculously at ease the two of you are together, “Yeah, whatever. It’s almost sunrise and we were thinking of going up the hill just outside Seoraksan Park and watching it, if you wanna join us,” Yoongi says as he scratches his ear.

“Wait- what? Sunrise? Already?” you ask, as you sit up in bed. Namjoon follows your movement, sitting up straighter as you both glance at the clock on the table next to your bed.

“Fuck, have we really been awake the entire night? How? What have we even been doing” Namjoon asks, turning to you with the most adorable look of perturbation you’ve ever seen. Not having an answer to his question, you simply shrug your shoulders. Staying up early into the morning was a common occurrence where Namjoon and you were concerned. Somedays, you don’t even remember what you’d talked about or what you’d done - you only knew that you’d spent the entirety of the night with him by your side.

“How the fuck do you not know the time? Or what you’ve been doing- you know what, it doesn’t matter,” Yoongi begins ranting only to stop. Taking a deep breath, he sighs, “Are you guys coming?” he breathes out.

Looking at Namjoon, you quirk your eyebrow at him. Yoongi watches as the two of you simply watch each other - and neither of you says anything, yet he knows somehow you’re both still having an internal conversation. Then, in a borderline creepy manner, you both turn at the same time and nod.

“Yeah, just give us a moment to get dressed,” Namjoon says as he pushes the sheets off of your both. Yoongi frowns, diverting his eyes immediately - because just as he’d predicted, both of you are dressed in just t-shirts and your underwear.

Exasperated sigh falling from his lips, and with a shake of his head, “Just meet us by the door,” Yoongi calls out as he exits your room.

Namjoon turns around to you, and with a quirk of his eyebrow, “What do you think is up with him?” he asks.

Shrugging, “honestly? No idea,” you reply.

Pulling your jacket closer around you, you shiver at the early morning chill: goosebumps prickling over your flesh as the crisp squall kisses your skin. Shrouded in darkness, the night sky looms over your group of friends as you carefully walk over the cobbled stone pathway. Large, slippery slates of stone litter the area: the boulders covered in a light sheen of river water from the stream nearby and leafy mosses poking through the narrow cracks between them. Considering this route isn’t exactly public - the grounds belong to the sweet couple who owned the lodge - the pathway isn’t as maintained as it could be - and all of you hold onto each other, keeping the other steady.

Namjoon’s hand firmly grips yours as he carefully steps over the rocks, and you know he’s using you as more of a support than you are using him, but you can’t help it. For as long as you’ve known him, Namjoon has been inherently clumsy; and constantly, you worry about his safety. Especially on excursions like this - the only light illuminating your path coming from the harsh flashlights of your phones. Nonetheless, your eyes glance to where your hands are linked, your heart fluttering at the sight.

His hand is large: dwarfing your smaller one, and warmth seeps from his skin towards yours: a smaller blessing considering the nippy air of the early morning. When he’s firmly stable on the boulder, he turns to you from over his shoulder. Even with the practically nonexistent lighting, you can still make out his face as he regards you with the brightest - somewhat sleepy - grin. The sight of him: lips pulled thin in a smile and dimples indented, paired with the way his frame is silhouetted in the shades of fall, has your heart clenching. Tightening your hold on Namjoon’s hand, you allow his strong frame to anchor you as you take another step forward - most of the other boys already ahead of you. Not that either of you mind, you and Namjoon tended to go off into your own world on walks like this anyway.

Eventually, the pathway morphs from slippery rocks to soft terrain. Reaching the entrance to the forest trail that apparently - according to the old couple - leads to a beautiful hilltop viewpoint, the eight of you gather around. Dawn’s twilight paints the sky - honeyed shades of topaz, rose and lilacs splattering across the night. The soft light finally illuminates the pathway, allowing you to see more clearly. Autumn is thick around you - the foliage emblazoned in colours of scarlet, amber and gold. Though, occasionally, trees with vibrant viridian and olivine foliage peek through the warm shades of fall. The ground is covered in dead leaves - the fallow litterfall cushioning the terrain, and crackling under your footsteps.

Beginning your descent down the winding trail - everyone breaks off into small groups: the pathway only wide enough to fit two people at a time. As usual, you and Namjoon find yourself at the rear end: your best friend stopping every now and then to snap a picture of the scenic landscapes around him. You love your best friend, you really do, but as he stops to inspect a rustling bush, you can’t help but sigh. Turning over your shoulder, your eyes widen as you realise that the boys have walked off further than you’d anticipated - however - before you can say something, Namjoon is already grabbing your hand once again.

“Did you see that?” Namjoon asks, a look of awed wonder etched onto his face. Eyebrows furrowing, you turn to where he’s pointing. Once again, the brush rustles, and when a chipmunk pops out, you take a surprised step back. It’s beady eyes take in you and Namjoon for a moment, and then it retreats back into the brush. “Wait- oh my god… There’s a hidden pathway! We should follow it,” Namjoon says ecstatically, his entire body vibrating with excitement. You’ve both been up the entire night, and with your walk, you find yourself growing tired. You know he is too. Yet, despite the sleepiness clouding both your bodies, his warm chocolate eyes practically sparkle; his entire aura buzzing with eagerness.

Biting your lip, you try to suppress your smile - though, you're sure your own look of excitement mirrors his. Desperately, you want to grab his hand and chase after the chipmunk - reminiscent of the days you’d do the same when you were children. However, you’re older now, and your friends have already walked off - and you really don’t want to get lost in a forest. Well you do, especially if it’s with Namjoon. But still, you need to be somewhat responsible. So, “Joonbug-” you try to reason, because really if you didn’t, no one would.

A knowing look on his face, “Moonbeam,” replies, his pet name for you dripping affectionately from his thick lips, “come on, it’ll be an adventure. There’s a little pathway here,” Namjoon says, as he reaches his hand out to you, the other pushing the bush out of the way. Instantly, you cave - because really, how could you say no to him - especially when you really don’t want to say no.

Placing your hand into his, “Alright, but if we get lost and Seokjin yells at us, I’m blaming you,” you reply cheekily. Instinctively, Namjoon’s fingers lace through yours as he tugs you towards the concealed pathway.

“I’ll just tell him you enabled me to do it,” Namjoon snaps back, a playful tone laced into his words. Then, without another word, he’s pulling you into the narrow pathway. Rapidly, he begins tearing through the trail, following the winding, narrow pathway as best as he can.

Your best friend is tall, and his legs are long - making his strides particularly lengthy - and you know anyone else would fall behind pretty quickly.

But not you.

No. You’ve grown up with Namjoon. You’re used to him grabbing your hand and running, used to chasing after him; and you’re used to keeping up with him easily. So, even with his long strides, and how quickly his feet slap the ground - you manage to follow him easily, your own toes just behind his heels. Colours of crimson, gold and honey blur past you, the crunching of leaves and the sound of your stomping feet mixing in a thunderous cacophony of sounds that fill the air.

However, you barely notice any of it. Rather, you’re far too fixated on your best friend. His hand is laced firmly in yours the entire time you chase after him - his long legs practically sprinting down the trail and after the chipmunk. Childlike glee exudes off of him in thick waves, and with the way his body bounces, his hair flopping as he runs, you can’t help the way your eyes soften. His large frame tears through the thicket of woods, the trunks whizzing past you while your own legs sprint as fast as they can.

Lost in Namjoon, you don’t notice him suddenly skid to a halt - at least, not until you’re crashing into his back. Steadfast, Namjoon braces himself - the two of you stumbling for a moment. Just in the nick of time, however, you both steady yourself: preventing you from falling over. Features scrunching in confusion, you look up at the back of his head in question.

“Joon, what-” you ask, only to halt when you peer over his large body.

Somehow, the hidden trail has led you both to a different viewpoint than the one the couple had told you about. Standing near the edge of the hilltop, you find yourself completely breathless at the view that greets your eyes.

At the top of one of Seokraksan’s many mountainous points, you can see miles off into the distance. Twilight slowly slips past, the sky indolently brightening with each passing moment. Dark shades of Prussian blue, indigo and plum soften into milder hues of lavender and azure; streaks of bronze and coral cutting through the sky. Stepping beside Namjoon, you both watch - in utter stillness, and awe - as the sun slowly rises over the skyline.

Thick beams of Aurelian gold peek over the horizon; illuminating the entirety of the ground with its rich sunkissed glow. Synchronously, both yours and Namjoon’s breath hitches. As the sun rises, the entirety of Seoraksan National park is lit up in the dazzling hues of daybreak. Autumnal trees of vibrant shades shimmer under its gleaming rays; the water from the narrow river that cuts through the park glistening in deep shades of cerulean and sapphire.

Turning to Namjoon, you can’t help but stop. Instantly, your breath catches in your throat and you find yourself at a loss for words. With the sun still rising in the sky, his entire body is silhouetted in a golden halo: the rays of light dancing enticingly around him. The autumn wind is light in the air, his hair gently billowing in the wind as sunlight filters through it.

And then he turns around.

Automatically, you suck in a sharp breath. With his face towards you, encased in the golden hues of daylight, you can’t help the overwhelming swell of emotions that crush you. Reflected in his warm eyes, are the golden rays of sunlight; causing the deep pools of coffee to twinkle with a certain mix of lightness and peace. The corners of his mouth are loosely pulled upwards, an easy smile painted on his lips. He stands with his hands loosely in the pockets of his oversized denim jacket, his shoulders completely lax as he soaks in the breathtaking scenery.

Swallowing thickly, you try to swallow the lump in your throat - but you can’t. Nor can you settle the beat of your heart: the muscle thunderously palpitating between your ribs. You don’t know what compels you to do it - but suddenly, you’re taking a step forward. And then another. And another. Until you’re right in front of him.

Namjoon watches you quietly - a light streak of curiousness evident in his eyes. However, that inkling of interest is overshadowed by the overwhelming emotion that you simply cannot decipher.

Nonetheless, the moment you’re only a hair’s breadth apart, you find yourself winding your arms around his waist. Instinctively, Namjoon’s hands drop from his pockets, his hands curling around your and encasing you in his hold. Then, before you can even think about it, or consider stopping yourself, you’re leaning on your tiptoes and pressing a light kiss to his lips.

For a fraction of a second, Namjoon’s eyes widen - his brain on the fritz as he feels your soft lips tenderly brush against his. The moment your lips touch, you feel a spark of electricity jolt through your body; your entire being coming to life as you buzz with excitement. Its sudden spark has you crashing back to reality, your senses finally coming back to you. As quick as it comes, however, and before he can react, you’re already swiftly pulling away.

The two of you stare at each in surprise, neither of you saying anything. You can still taste him on your lips, the soft petals tingling from when your mouth had tenderly caressed his. Licking your lips, dread floods through you as you wait for him to say something. However, he doesn’t. Instead, he stands completely rigid - his eyes glazed over and lips slightly parted.

When the silence grows terse, “I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” you quickly blurt out. Your words have Namjoon crashing back to reality, and he draws to his full height - an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I mean- I’m just tired, we’ve been up all night and I wasn’t thinking straight-” you try to explain. It’s a lie. You know it is - but hopefully, it’s a lie he believes. You had wanted to kiss Namjoon - desperately - because sheathed in the early morning light, you don’t think he’s ever looked more beautiful. Nonetheless - you’d rather not lose your best friend.

“Oh,” Namjoon breathes out, his plump lips forming a perfect ‘o’.

The fierce urge to pull him in for another kiss tears through you, but this time, you manage to suppress it.

“Oh,” Namjoon repeats, almost as if he’s trying to process your words. There’s something hidden behind the way the sound drops from his lips - but before you can dwell on it, he’s already speaking.

“That’s okay, we’re both tired,” Namjoon nods, a light, nervous chuckle escaping his lips. “It’s okay, it means nothing… right?” he finishes. Although, you can’t help but wonder about the uncertainty in his final word.

Nonetheless, “Y-yeah, you’re right,” you mumble out, trying to stifle the way your throat constricts. Anguish cascades through you, your chest turning numb. However, it’s for the best. As much as you love Namjoon, losing him would completely devastate you. Gulping heavily, you lick your lips, “we’re okay… right?” you ask, your voice straining slightly as you attempt to choke out the words.

Namjoon smiles brightly - though, you can’t help but notice how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “When are we not okay? It’s you and me, ____. Joonbug and Moonbeam, remember?” he replies easily, his eyes squinted shut into crescented slits.

“Yeah… Joonbug and Moonbeam,” you repeat; a smile curling onto your own face. Even as your heart aches to be more. Then, the two of you go back to staring at the sunrise.

For the rest of the trip, you and Namjoon don’t act any differently. In fact, both of you pretend as if you hadn’t kissed by the sunrise: that you didn’t know how the other tasted after a sleepless night filled with nothing but each other.

Yet, neither of you can deny that something about your relationship has changed. Though, as dread settles in your stomach, you can’t figure out whether it’s a good or bad change.

Four months after your kiss, you find yourself on the sofa with Namjoon. Not much has changed about your relationship with him; in fact, there are only two things that have changed. One is the fact that your feelings for your best friend have grown exponentially, and more often than not, you find yourself lost in him: desperately wishing to feel his lips on yours or to confess the weight of the emotions you feel for him: the words at the tip of your tongue.

Nevertheless, you don’t. You can’t. Not after the way he’d reacted to your first kiss in the first place. Though, there are times you wish he’d reacted differently - wish that your relationship was more than it is. Like right now.

You and Namjoon are currently on the sofa, his head resting on your chest and arms loosely thrown around your waist as you hold him; the two of you watching Shark Tale together. Why he’d suddenly wanted to watch Shark Tale, you have no idea. Nonetheless, there’s very little you can deny your best friend - so when he’d wanted to watch the film, you’d easily given in.

Namjoon’s gaze is glued to the screen, his eyes focused as he lazily watches the TV screen. Your focus, however, is fixated wholly onto him. With the way he’s laid on you, his body practically smothering yours, you can feel the way his chest rises and falls above yours, and the faint thudding of his heartbeat. Instinctively, your hands find themselves in his hair - loosely twirling the thick, silken locks between your fingertips.

It’s at moments like these, that you wish you were more: wish that you could call out his name softly and press your lips to him. But you can’t; because the second reason your relationship with Namjoon has changed, is that he’s now dating someone. And you mean dating - because he has yet to introduce her to you as his girlfriend - and until he does, you refuse to call her that. Mainly because it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

More than halfway through the film, and during the scene where Angie finally confesses her love to Oscar - really, you have to scoff - there’s an aggressive rapping at your front door. Before the two of you can even move, the door twists and slams open, revealing Oh Jihee. Why Namjoon had told her where the spare key to your apartment was hidden, you have no idea.

Indolently, Namjoon turns to the door, however, before he can even open his mouth to say anything, she’s already speaking. “What is happening here?” she asks, her eyes suspiciously roving over the two of you.

“Oh, ____ and I were just watching Shark Tale. Why are you here?” Namjoon asks as he slowly pulls away from you. The moment he’s off of you, the weight on top of your chest growing light, your stomach sinks in dejection.

Raising her eyebrow, she places her hands on her hips, “Because we had a date. That you’ve clearly forgotten about,” Jihee replies snarkily, throwing a scathing look towards you. You simply cock your eyebrow and scoff - it’s not your fault Namjoon forgot about his alleged date. Though, you can’t help the streak of happiness that flitters through you: he’d unknowingly chosen to spend time with you and not Jihee.

Namjoon pulls himself off of the couch and walks over to her. Then, pulling her into his arms, he presses a soft kiss against her temple. The tender gesture has you looking away, your features falling as despair settles deep within the pits of your abdomen. “Oh. Was that today? I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind. Let me go shower and get dressed quickly,” Namjoon softly apologises. Jihee’s eyes soften, and with an exasperated sigh, she nods.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she replies before kissing the corner of his mouth. Then, she beckons him away - leaving the two of you alone. As soon as he disappears into his bedroom, Jihee turns to you, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“What’s your problem?” she hisses. Cocking your eyebrow, you slip off of the couch and begin clearing the snacks from the coffee table.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you reply back coolly.

“Yes, you do. Why do you both always act like you’re a couple, when you’re not? I don’t like how comfortable you are touching my boyfriend,” Jihee seethes back. Your stomach sinks at the term, but you suppress your own sadness. It’s not like it mattered anyway - Namjoon was free to date whoever he wanted. He was your best friend. Just your best friend. Something you reiterate to her.

“We’ve been friends since we were children - it’s just how we’ve always been,” you shrug back simply.

“Yeah, well I’d like you to stop, I don’t like it. In fact, I don’t like your relationship with him at all,” she responds, her lips pursing into a sour expression.

Snorting lightly, “yeah, well, I don’t really care. He’s my best friend, he’s not going to stop being my best friend because you don’t like our relationship. And if you have a problem with it - you can take it to Namjoon. But you and I both know he won’t like that, which is why you’re saying this to me when he’s not here,” you retort easily.

Jihee splutters for a moment, “that’s not why I’m doing it,” she protests weakly. Though, neither of you believe that for a single moment, “besides- what do you know about what he likes. I’m his girlfriend,” she snaps.

A look of incredulity paints your face at that, and with a disbelieving chuckle, “you did not just imply that you know more about him than me, just because you’re in a relationship with him,” you say.

“And what if I did? We’re together, he would have told me more. Things he can’t tellyou,” Jihee replies - although, from her own uncertain tone, you both know she’s just grasping at straws. You’ve known Namjoon for two decades - that’s a long time. The onlyperson who knows more about him than you, is his own mother. And even then, you know probably just as much as she does.

“That’s a joke right. You literally cannot be serious. You know nothing about him. Nothing,” you spit back, your anger finally getting to you. Of course, your words are said in the heat of the moment, but you mean them - because they’re true. She knows next to nothing about him - especially since you know she forces her own opinions and personality onto him. Another reason you do not like her.

“I know things!” Jihee seethes back. Her voice is slightly shrill, and loud enough that you send a quick glance at the two spare rooms. Namjoon is in the shower - so hopefully- he won’t be able to hear this argument. Hoseok’s room is shut, and you can hear the soft tempo of his music coming from behind - so you’re not too worried about him listening in either.

Turning back to Jihee, you fold your hands across your chest and regard her cooly. “What’s his favourite breakfast?” you ask, all of a sudden.

“W-what?” Jihee stutters, a look of confusion colouring her features.

“You heard me, if you know so much about him, what’s his favourite breakfast?” you repeat.

“That’s easy. Poached eggs and toast - we go to brunch all the time, you know,” she replies haughtily.

“No. It’s any sugary cereal. In particular, he likes Lucky Marshmallows with extramarshmallows. Sometimes he literally saves all the marshmallows for last just so he can eat an entire bowl of them,” you reply easily.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Jihee tries to cut in but you shake your head.

“For your one month anniversary,” you begin, internally cringing - really, they’ve only been together three months, so why she had wanted to celebrate a month, you do not understand, “you booked a seafood restaurant,” you continue.

“He likes seafood!” Jihee cuts in.

“Not as food, he likes them as pets - or to collect them - but he doesn’t like eating them. You constantly want to join him on his walks - but sometimes he needs to be alone,” you begin. You don’t know why you do it, but all of a sudden, you find yourself laying into her.

Sucking in a deep breath, you continue, “I know you met him at an art exhibition, and Iknow that he loves music, and art and philosophy and I know you share those together. But those aren’t the only aspects of his personality.” Briefly, you pause, your eyes slightly tearing up. However, rather than letting it get to you, you blink them away.

“Namjoon- he’s a huge dork. He’s more than those selective interests that you’ve singled out. He grows bonsai in his spare time and names all of them and speaks to them. He easily gets distracted by different animals - like frogs, or squirrels or chipmunks - and he always needs to stop and try to pick them up. He eats spoonfuls of sugar when he thinks no one is around. He loves cute things and buys more Kaws and Ryan or Brown plushies than a grown man needs. He can be whiny, and petty, and sometimes borderline childish but it’s who he is.”

Again, you stop, your chest heaving in the slightest from your sudden rant. You have no idea what overcame you, but the moment you’d started speaking, it had felt like a dam had burst. Jihee simply stands stock still, looking at you in disbelief. Letting out a deep breath, you run your fingers through your hair. “That is who he will always be and you cannot change who he is - or pick and choose aspects that you like. If you honestly want to be with him, if you have any feelings for him - you will understand that he is perfect the way he is. You should love him for who he is,” you finally finish. Desperately, you want to throw the words ‘Like I do’ but you can’t. Instead, you left them unsaid.

With your little spiel well and truly done, silence falls over the room. Jihee regards you coldly, her eyes glazed with passiveness, and her face an expression of stoic calmness. But then, she grits her teeth, and with a low voice, “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. Because he’s dating me not you,” she hisses out. Her words are low, barely above a whisper, and yet the heavy scorn tears through you. Her words cut you like a knife, leaving your chest numb and your heart aching with hurt.

Unable to say anything, you simply bite your lips. Fists clenched to the side of your body, your knuckles turn white and you simply stare at each other. Repeatedly, you open your mouth to argue - to say something - but you know she’s right. It doesn’t matter if you know Namjoon, or that you’ve been his best friend for over two years. All that matters is that he still chose her - that she’s his girlfriend.

Nonetheless, before you can say anything, Namjoon pops out of his bedroom - hair slightly damp and dressed for the day. Smiling gently at Jihee, he walks over to her before beckoning her towards the door. Jihee returns his smile, her eyes briefly flashing with smugness as she looks at you. Throat tight, you attempt to turn away. However, just as you do, Namjoon smiles tightly at you.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he says, before guiding Jihee out of the apartment - leaving you alone.

That night, you sit on the couch - a fluffy blanket thrown over your lap - and Hoseok beside you, as you both idly flick through your phones. The two of you sit in complete silence, Hoseok laughing quietly and showing you a funny picture on his timeline, before turning back to his own phone. Time moves past slowly, and every now and then, your gaze flicks to the entrance of your flat, and you silently wonder when Namjoon will come home. Or if he was even coming home tonight.

Nonetheless, you don’t have to wait any longer - because, all of a sudden, the doorknob is twisting and Namjoon walks through. Eyebrows scrunching in befuddlement, you watch as he drags his feet into your apartment. Shrugging off his jacket, he stays quiet, his shoulders slumped as he kicks off his shoes.

“Joon? You okay?” you ask, worry evident in your voice as you sit up. Namjoon only hums casually, but other than that he doesn’t say anything. Dread flits through you, your stomach dropping at his lacklustre posture.

Then, “I’m going to go to bed, yeah?” he says, before shuffling into his room. His door slams shut softly, and you feel your heart sink into your chest. You simply can’t shake off the feeling that your argument with Jihee has something to do with Namjoon’s upset. Once he’s safely behind his closed door, you blink owlishly and turn to Hoseok, the two of you looking at each other in worry.

Gaze flicking to his shut bedroom door, “Do you think something happened?” you whisper lowly as you bite your lip in nervousness.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s about your fight with Jihee,” Hoseok casually replies with a shrug. Taken aback, you look at him in a mix of trepidation and confusion. His words had only confirmed your suspicion that it was something to do with your earlier argument.

“Do you think he heard?”

Hoseok sighs at your question. “Honestly, if I heard it over my music, he definitely heard it in the shower. But- I can’t say for sure. You’re going to have to ask him yourself,” he replies - almost diplomatically.

“If he heard then I don’t think he’s going to want to speak to me right now,” you point out. However, your words only cause Hoseok to scoff.

“Please, the day Joon doesn’t want to talk to you, is the day hell literally freezes over. When have either of you ever had an argument that has lasted more than a couple of hours?” Hoseok questions, his perfectly sculpted eyebrow rising slightly.

You open your mouth to respond, before pausing. Eyebrows furrowed, you struggle to try and remember a time the two of you hadn’t spoken for longer than a few hours. You and Namjoon fight, of course you do, however, they’ve never really been serious - and you’ve always made up eventually. The two of you just couldn’t bear to be apart. Seeing the dawning look of realisation on your face, Hoseok lets out a soft chuckle.

“Exactly. Just go speak to him - I’m sure you’re overthinking it anyway,” Hoseok encourages. Smiling gently at him, you nod and throw the blanket off of you.

Padding over to Namjoon’s room, you knock on the door tentatively. From behind the wooden frame, Namjoon grunts, and taking it as a sign of entry, you walk into his bedroom. The moment you see him, you bite your lip, your heart clinching in anguish. He’s sat up in bed, dressed in his pyjamas, and casually scrolling through his phone. His speakers blear music softly, faint acoustic beats thrumming through the quiet bedroom. Stepping further into his room, you call out to him softly.

“Namjoon… is everything okay?” you ask, shuffling nervously in place.

With a sigh, “Jihee and I decided it was best to stop seeing each other,” Namjoon replies. Blood running cold, you look at him in a mixture of shock and barely concealed hope. However, swiftly, you suppress them - you need to be there for your best friend right now.

Tentatively, “You broke up? Why?” you ask.

“We weren’t really together to break up, we were just dating,” Namjoon replies. Then, eyeing your apprehensive state in amusement, “you can join me you know,” Namjoon says as he pats the spot next to him.

Breathing out in relief, you quickly cross his room and join him on the bed. You shuffle in next to him, Namjoon automatically throwing the covers over you. Once you’re settled down, you curl your hands in your lap and turn to look at him. “Do you want to talk about it? You never answered why you broke up,” you point out, your voice low.

Namjoon hums before lolling his head back to rest against the wall. He stares at the ceiling as if it were the most interesting thing for a couple of moments. Then, “I heard your argument with her,” he confesses.

A sad smile curls on your face, and with downcast eyes, you stare at your hands. “I feared as much. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep or anything… I just- she didn’t seem right for you, I guess,” you admit. Because I’m the right one for you. The words echo in your mind, but again, you push them far back into your head. You do not need to dwell on that right now.

“Hmm. Well, you’re right. There was too much about us that clashed… which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But at the same time, I didn’t feel comfortable being myself around her either,” he says. “I’m not upset at you or anything by the way. If anything, I’m grateful. If you hadn’t said what you had, I probably wouldn’t have realised how unhappy I was with her,” Namjoon admits with a tender smile.

“I still feel bad…” you begin.

However, Namjoon cuts you off. “I didn’t have feelings for her. She’d seen me at the museum a couple of times and asked me out. I didn’t really notice until she came up to me,” he chuckles lightly. Your eyes soften at that. Namjoon is beautiful, and if anyone were to ask you, you’d tell them that he was the ideal man. With his soft, devastatingly handsome looks, and his tender heart and enigmatic brain, Namjoon is yourideal man. But he’d never really appreciated his own charm - he never really understood why women were so attracted to him. More than anything, he barely even recognised when women flirted with him. It was endearing, really.

“Why did you say yes, then?” you ask curiously.

Namjoon pauses at that. He looks at you from the corner of his eyes before turning back to the ceiling. He’d never admit it out loud, but the reason he’d said yes was because of your kiss, all those months ago. The moment he’d felt your lips on his, he’d been electrified and dazed - and for the first time in a while - his brain had completely shut down and he hadn’t been able to act. But by the time he’d processed it, ready to press his lips harder into yours and really taste you, you were already pulling away and apologising.

The very second your mouth had brushed his, Namjoon knew you were the one for him. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could feel the tingle over his lips, and your warm breath wafting over his chin. Contrary to your beliefs, Namjoon did, in fact, notice the attention girls paid him. He just didn’t care. Mainly because his heart already belonged to you. Admittedly, falling in love with your best friend was the world’s most cliche move - but he just couldn’t help it. No one compared to you.

So when you’d pulled away like that, he couldn’t help the way his heart had yearned for you, and he knew he had to at least try to move on. Which is where Jihee had come in. Nevertheless, no matter how much Jihee loved art, or philosophy, it didn’t matter - because she wasn’t you. She’s not you and he never really could stop comparing the two of you to each other. It wasn’t fair on either of you - particularly because he knew he’d never love anyone the way he loves you. And your argument with Jihee had only cemented that.

When he’d overheard your exchange, he’d been shocked. Of course, he knew that you’d known a lot about him, but having you admit so clearly and so boldly that she should love him for him - for every aspect that made him: the good and the bad. Well, it only had him falling deeper for you. So, when Jihee had bought up your less than conventional friendship, and how the tactility between the two of you made her uncomfortable - well, he’d known he had to end it with her there.

Not only because she’d been uncomfortable with his friendship with you - really, why had she ever thought he’d give you up for her? You’ve been in his life twenty years, he’d only known her around three months - but she’d also wanted him to stop being so physical with you. Thus, Namjoon had decided it was best for the two of them to part ways. Also because, well, he’s in love with you. But that’s neither here nor there - especially since you don’t feel the same way.

At one point, he thought you had. Nonetheless, after your kiss, he’s not so sure. And he’s not willing to risk your friendship either. You mean far too much to him to risk anything without any certainty that you felt the same way.

“Joon?” you softly call out, dragging him from his own musings. “You never responded,” you continue.

Biting his lips, “Just because,” he responds. No. He could not admit his feelings for you. At the very least, not now.

It’s the middle of August, when you find yourself in Namjoon’s family’s log cabin on Jeju Island. As usual, the family had decided to take their yearly trip to the island, and like every other year, you had been extended an invite by Namjoon’s parents. His family and you are currently gathered around the garden while Namjoon’s dad barbeques some meat. Your best friend stands beside you, the two of you idly chatting with his parents.

“So, ____, are you seeing anyone?” Namjoon’s dad asks all of a sudden. The question surprises you, causing you to choke on the piece of meat you’d just been swallowing. Namjoon’s mom looks pointedly at her husband before lightly patting your back. However, she can’t help but notice the way her son stiffens beside you, his gaze narrowed onto his own plate.

Managing to swallow the piece of meat, you turn to Namjoon’s dad, “No, I’m not Mr. Kim, why?” you ask. Namjoon’s dad simply smiles, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

“I was just wondering. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, after all. I know Namjoon was seeing someone a little while ago, but Yunmi mentioned they broke up,” Namjoon’s dad answers casually. Both you and Namjoon stiffen at that. Momentarily, you look at each other before looking away.

“Dad,” Namjoon begins, but swiftly, you cut him off.

“Ah, well, I’m not. I just… haven’t met the right guy yet, you know?” you reply awkwardly. You have met the right guy, he just doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. At your words, once again the two of you glance at each other before turning away. Your ears burn slightly, and picking up your chopsticks, you place another piece of meat into your mouth. From beside you, Namjoon’s gaze shifts to you briefly, a flicker of yearning flitting through his eyes.

Namjoon’s mother stares at the two of you knowingly, a soft smile gracing her face. Really, for as long as she’s known you, she’s been hoping that you and Namjoon would end up together. Yet, for years now, both her and her husband have watched the two of you dance around each other; your relationship clearly more than platonic, and yet neither of you doing anything about it. However, she knows that somehow, eventually, the two of you would end up together. She knew the day Namjoon had come home - back when he was merely sixteen - complaining about the boy you had a crush on.

“Are you sure? There’s this nice boy I know, I can introduce you to-” Namjoon’s dad begins. Instantly, Namjoon’s head snaps up and he looks at his father in a mix of despair and betrayal. Next to him, you stand rigid, your ears burning with embarrassment.

Sensing your awkwardness, “That’s enough, Hongjoon. I’m sure Namjoon and ____ don’t want to spend their time speaking about relationships. Just grill the meat,” Namjoon’s mother chastises, her husband only sending her a knowing grin in response.

“Very well, very well. Do you want some grilled shrimp, Namjoon?” Hongjoon asks, holding out a skewer of prawns towards his son. Namjoon looks at his father in horror, and quickly, you’re taking the skewer from his dad.

“Mr Kim, Namjoon doesn’t eat seafood, remember? However, I’d be happy to have them. Here, Joon, you can have this beef- I won’t be able to eat the shrimp too,” you easily say, passing over your meat towards him. Yunmi looks at her husband, knowing full well he’d done it purposely, however, Hongjoon just sends her an innocent smile before turning back to his grill. When a giggle resounds through the air, she turns her attention back to the two of you.

“Joon, how do you manage to get the sauce all over you? Honestly. Here,” you chide. Then, picking up a tissue, you gently dab the corner of his mouth. Yunmi watches the way you lean into each other, Namjoon standing completely still as he lets you wipe the sauce from his lips. Her eyes flicking over her son, she can’t help but smile at the way he softly watches you - nothing but tender love and affection present in his eyes.

Really, with how often you both act like a couple, she has no idea how you aren’t together yet. Unable to stop herself, “isn’t that adorable,” she coos. Both of you still, your hand midway in the air while Namjoon looks at his mother in annoyance. “Sorry, sorry. It just reminds me of when you both were younger, and the two of you would play house,” Namjoon’s mother reminisces.

“Mom- why would you bring that up?” Namjoon whines, his usually deep voice slightly higher than usual. You don’t say anything, instead, just biting your lip fondly. You remember those days - when you and Namjoon would run around pretending to be husband and wife, with your stuffed teddy bear playing your son. Briefly, you send him a side glance, your heart constricting within your chest. For the longest time, you’ve imagined your future with Namjoon. Though, you know it will never come to fruition.

“Because, Namjoon, you used to always run around saying that you would eventually marry ____. It’s nice to see that your friendship hasn’t changed though, and you’re still close - even if ____ has to look after you all the time,” Namjoon’s mum says, smiling playfully at her son.

Ignoring her first statement, “Hey! I look after her too, you know,” Namjoon splutters in indignation.

That has you scoffing and playfully rolling your eyes. “Oh please, let’s not forget that I almost had to take you to the ER because you got your fingers stuck in one of those Chinese finger puzzles,” you snort back.

Namjoon’s mother blinks in surprise, and a smirk curling on her face, “did he now? ____, you have to tell me all about it,” Yunmi says. The two of you let out twin - borderline terrifying - giggles, Namjoon simply groaning and throwing his head back.

He’d forgotten how close you and his mother were - and that frequently, you’d gang up against him. Though, watching the two of you easily speak to each other, he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if it came at his own expense.

Jogging down the stairs from your room, you look for Namjoon. The two of you had plans to go on a walk along the beach, however, he had yet to come and find you. Thus, growing tired of waiting for your best friend, you decide to find him yourself. Softly padding to the kitchen, you briefly pause when you realise he’s in there with his mother. She’s currently chopping carrots, Namjoon sitting at the island with a cup of tea in his hands.

“I don’t see why you don’t just do it. Your father and I have said we support you multiple times,” his mother sighs. Your eyebrows furrow slightly, and you find yourself hiding behind the wall. You know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on their conversation, but you simply can’t help yourself. Besides, Namjoon’s mother’s words have you growing curious about their topic of conversation.

“I’ve already told you-” Namjoon tries arguing, but his mother cuts him off mid-sentence,

“Namjoon, you keep denying it, but your father and I have watched the two of you dance around each other for years. You cannot tell me that you are just friends. Friends don’t act the way the two of you do, you know,” Yunmi says pointedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Namjoon asks, his head cocking to the side. Your stomach flips as you realise that they’re talking about the two of you. Shuffling further behind the wall, you press your back towards it as you continue listening in.

“It means that friends don’t hold hands because it feels comfortable, or they don’t wipe sauce from the other’s lips, and they certainly don’t cuddle together while sharing the same bed. Which,” Yunmi begins, emphasising her word when Namjoon opens his mouth to argue, “is not something your father and I have a problem with, by the way. We both like ____, we’ve known her for a long time. We know you’ll look after each other and you’ll be happy together. So why haven’t you done anything about it? We just want you to be happy, Namjoon,” Yunmi finishes.

You bite your lips at her words, your stomach flipping in a mixture of hope and nervousness. Fingers shaking slightly, you hold your breath as you await Namjoon’s response. Then, you hear him sigh and you feel your world crumble around you.

“Yeah, but mom, it’s not like that. We’re not like that. We’re just friends,” Namjoon replies. Harshly, you press your teeth down onto your lip, chewing it so intensely you fear you’ll draw blood. However, it’s the only thing keeping you from letting out a sob. Namjoon’s words replay over and over in your mind. Of course, you always knew he’d felt that way - but having it confirming it so casually, has your heart breaking.

Not wanting to listen in any longer, you silently turn around and rush back up the stairs - being as quiet as you possibly can. Once you’re up the stairs, you enter the room you’re currently sharing with Namjoon before softly shutting the door. Taking a deep breath, you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat - your breath laboured as you try to stop yourself from breaking out into sobs.

Walking further into the room, you take a seat onto the bed before whipping out your phone. In times like these, you’d usually call Namjoon to comfort you - but considering he’s the reason you’re hurt - you know you can’t do that. So, instead, you quickly open your contacts and call the next best thing - Jung Hoseok. Pressing the call button by his contact name, you lift the phone to your ear. With the phone ringing in your eardrum, you quietly will him to pick up, urgently needing someone to speak to.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s sweet voice comes across the phone.

“Hoseok,” you breathe out.

“____? Are you okay? What’s wrong? Where’s Namjoon?” Hoseok asks, alarm evident in his voice as he hears the heavy emotion in yours.

“I’m fine… Somewhat. I just- I needed someone to speak to, and it can’t be Namjoon,” you reply breathily. Realising there’s no reason to panic, Hoseok calms down.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” he asks gently. His sweet voice echoes through your ears, calming you down. Other than Namjoon - Hoseok was really the only one who could soothe you when you’re upset. “Just breathe in deeply, ____. It’ll be fine,” he continues calmly. Nodding, you take in a deep breath, the lump in your throat relaxing a little.

“I just heard Namjoon tell his mother that we’re just friends… and I don’t know what to do anymore. I- I thought I’d be fine just being his friend, but after that kiss, and then Jihee-” you begin, however, Hoseok cuts you off with a yelp.

“Kiss?! What kiss?” he practically shrieks, his shrill voice causing you to wince. Though, despite the situation, you find yourself laughing.

“Ah- I forgot you didn’t know. When we were at Seoraksan, when Joon and I disappeared, we kissed. It wasn’t anything major but-” you begin.

“Nothing major?! Dude, you kissed the guy you’ve been in love with for years. That’s pretty fucking major. What happened? Why aren’t you together?” he quickly fires off, curiosity clear in his voice.

“Can we not do this now? It just happened and then I pulled away and apologised-” you try explaining.

“You apologised? Why would you do that?” Hoseok bursts out.

Sighing in annoyance, “Hoseok! That’s not the problem!” you seethe. Your voice breaks through the phone with a hiss, causing Hoseok to quieten down on the other side.

“Oh- yes. You’re right. But I will be asking for all the details later. Anyway, why did you call? What happened?” he questions once again.

“I just overheard Namjoon telling his mother we’re just friends… and I don’t know if I can be here anymore. I- it’s so hard. Pretending that I don’t want to be more and that I’m not in love with him. I just- I don’t want to be just friends anymore and it sucks,” you reply, your voice heavy with emotion.

“Well, why don’t you just tell him that? Like, I’m pretty sure Joon’s in love with you too, you know?” Hoseok says softly.

Unable to help yourself, you let out a snort. “That’s really rich, Hobi. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Hey, Namjoon! I’ve been in love with you for years now and I want to be more than friends? Even though I just heard him tell his mother-” you begin ranting.

However, you stop when you hear Namjoon's deep voice tear through the bedroom: “You what?”

Blood freezing, your entire body goes rigid. The moment his voice registers in your eardrums, you whip around, your eyes wide as you spot your best friend. “Namjoon,” you breathe out heavily. Despair floods through you, your ears burning as you feel your stomach sink.

“Hoseok, I’ll call you back… I have to go,” you quickly say before hanging up. Then, turning around, you hop off of the bed, “Namjoon, it’s not-” you begin, your mind running a mile a minute as you try to think of something to say. Would you even be able to say anything? To salvage your friendship with him? Or had you just unknowingly ruined it all?

“Did you mean it? Do you love me?” Namjoon asks. Repetitively, like a broken record, the words play over and over in his mind - filling him with a mix of confusion, elation and relief.

“I- Namjoon,” you try, but Namjoon simply shakes his head. In an instant, he crosses the room - until he’s right in front of you. You jerk at the sudden movement, your neck straining as you look up at him.

“Did you mean it? Please, ____, I need to know,” Namjoon exhales deeply. Left reeling by the sheer emotion in his voice, the desperation, the yearning, the tenderness - you can’t help but blink, unable to figure out what any of it means. He looks down at you intensely, his warm brown eyes leaving you captivated.

Breathing heavily, you bite your lip. Then, gathering every ounce of courage you have, you throw caution to the wind. He’d already heard you anyway. “Yes. I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember,” you confess - nothing but sincere earnestness present in your voice.

The minute the words leave your lips, Namjoon’s lips crash down onto yours. For a sliver of a moment, your eyes widen in shock, however, as quickly as it comes, it goes, and soon, your eyes are slipping shut.

Loosely, his hand moves to grip your neck, as you lift your chin higher - so you can press your lips harder into his - while your hands fist into his shirt. His free hand drops to wind around your waist, and in one swift movement, he pulls your body flush against his. Gasping at the motion, Namjoon uses the opportunity to slip his tongue between your teeth, your lips parting further in response. Indolently, his silky appendage swipes across yours, curling around your tongue and gently massaging it.

Electrified by his kiss, you moan into his mouth, your chin lifting higher as you press your lips harder against his. Mouths moving in tandem, you lose yourself into the intoxicating feel of his lips against yours. The soft petals of his mouth are soft, and as pillowy as you remember; albeit a little chapped, but you don’t mind so much. No - because the slight abrasion only adds to the feel of your kiss.

When you feel his tongue flick against yours, your hands uncurl from his shirt - only to wind up his chest, along his throat, towards the nape of his neck. Further and further, you sink into Namjoon: his body pressed flat against yours, his saccharine taste coating your tastebuds, and his warm breath wafting over your face. You can’t help but find yourself drowning into him - his entire presence encasing your senses as you lose yourself deep into his entire being.

Both of you lose track of time, your tongues gliding and sliding against each other, both of you consumed wholly by the other. Lost in your own selves, you feel nothing but each other - want to feel nothing but each other - and soon, the rest of the world fades into the background. There’s a soft ache in your lungs - your chest aching from the lack of oxygen, but you don’t care. No - right now, breathing is the last thing on your mind. In fact, the only thing you can think of is Namjoon, and the intoxicating sensation of his tongue against yours.

Nonetheless, eventually, your lungs begin to burn - the lack of oxygen searing through your chest. When the sweltering ache grows too much to be ignored, the two of you pull away - breathing harshly against each other. Your eyes stay closed as you gasp for air, both your breaths mingling together and circulating the air. Your lips are slightly swollen, and as you flick out your tongue to soothe them, you can’t help but whimper at the aftertaste of his essence on your mouth: the flavour only deepened by his breath fanning your face.

With your eyes closed, you still feel him linger around you - his calming presence washing over you and soothing your earlier hurt. Swallowing thickly, the two of you gradually open your eyes - coming face to face with each other. You’re still only a hairsbreadth away, his mouth ghosting against yours in tender brushes. Gaze meeting his, you search his eyes for something - anything - even just an inkling of the emotions you feel for him. And as usual, Namjoon doesn’t disappoint.

He smiles gently at you, the soft tip of his nose brushing yours as he repetitively presses affectionate kisses to your lips. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that?” he breathes out.

“W-What…? I thought- you told your mother-” you stammer out, confused by the entire situation.

“You’re an idiot you know,” Namjoon chuckles. Instantly, your face falls, ire rising in your chest. But before you can say anything, Namjoon shakes his head and presses his lips to yours, “I’m an idiot too. This entire time, I thought you didn’t feel the same - so I kept telling myself that we were just friends,” Namjoon admits. Then, he pauses, “but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be more either,” he confesses.

Your heart swells with happiness, a bright grin gracing your face. Then, you still. A sliver of confusion enters your eyes, and your features knit in the slightest, “but… that day in Seoraksan… you didn’t reciprocate,” you point out. Namjoon lets out a low, mirthless laugh.

“Is that why you pulled away and apologised?” he asks. When you nod, he just sighs and shakes his head, “I wasn’t expecting it ____, and by the time I realised what was happening, you were already pulling away and apologising. But- I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to pull you closer and kiss you harder. I wanted you that day, more than you’ll know,” he admits. Face crumpling with emotion, realisation dawns over you - the epiphany crashing over you like a pile of bricks.

Laughing, “we’re idiots, aren’t we? Have we been in love this entire time?” you ask, biting your lip to try and swallow down the smile. Namjoon matches your laugh, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through your entire being. You close your eyes and let it wash over you, the sound bringing peace to your very soul.

“Yeah, we have. But- better late than never, right?” Namjoon chuckles.

Nodding eagerly, you let out the laugh that bubbles up in your chest, “I love you,” you confess once again.

Unhesitantly, “I love you too. So fucking much,” Namjoon responds. Then, the hand gripping your neck curls tighter, and he’s dipping his head down again.

Pressing his lips to yours again, you can’t help but sigh. It’s a little different than before - slow, with a lower undercurrent of urgency. Moaning into his kiss, you press yourself harder against him, your fingers carding into the hair as the base of his neck. Gripping the roots of his locks, you attempt to deepen the kiss, Namjoon lightly chuckling into your mouth when you whine in protest. Slowly, Namjoon pulls you backwards, stopping when the backs of his knees hit the bed.

Indolently, his large hands trace along your spine, his palms trailing along your covered flesh. Every single one of his touches sets your skin aflame with desire, heat settling deep within the pits of your abdomen. Taking a step closer, you moan into his mouth when you feel his hardening shaft against the soft of your belly - involuntarily grinding against it. Your movements cause him to let out a strained grunt, and breaking away from your kiss, he groans out your name.

Lust coursing through your bloodstream, you begin peppering kisses along the sharp outline of his jaw - your lips tracing the edge. Responsively, Namjoon’s hands drop to your hips, his hands splaying across your ass before pulling you flush against him. The two of you writhe together - your lower abdomen squirming against the outline of his growing bulge. Fists moving to curl around his shirt, your eyelids flutter as you feel him lightly palm at your ass - his fingers flexing and gripping the supple cheeks.

Your mouth parts open, and you let out a slew of breathy moans - heat pooling deep within your loins as you find yourself growing wetter. Dipping his head down, Namjoon buries his face into the crook of your neck - his pillowy lips tenderly roving over the skin. “J-Joon,” you stutteringly whimper, your eyes rolling back when he playfully nips your skin. Puckering his lips, he presses them to the sensitive spot just below your ear before sucking harshly. Responsively, a low mew resounds from your lips. In the wake of his kisses and light nips, you have no doubt he’s leaving hickeys over your flesh: mauve and rose marks blooming over your skin.

Sighing under him, “I want you,” you mumble quietly.

Namjoon runs his nose down the column of your throat before outlining the shape of your collarbone. When he reaches just below your chin - where your two clavicles meet, he bites down softly - making you whimper out his name. Lazily, he flicks out his tongue, the wet appendage gliding soothingly over your stinging flesh. Then, pulling away, “I want you too,” he mutters back. His cool breath fans against your flushed skin, the wet spot on your flesh evaporating, causing you to shudder.

“Then take me,” you groan back - nothing but want and earnestness in your voice.

The moment the words slip out, Namjoon’s fingers firmly dig into your ass, and then, he’s lifting you up. Yelping at the sudden movement, you quickly brace yourself onto his shoulders, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. You feel him manoeuvre the two of you onto the bed - until you’re both in the middle. Letting you go, he gently puts you onto the bed - and when your knees are firmly against the mattress he lets you go.

The two of you kneel on the bed; your hands tracing up his toned chest - feeling every defined muscle under his shirt - and towards his face. Cupping his chin, you pull him in for another kiss - desperately needing to feel his lips against yours once again. Automatically, Namjoon dips his head down, his mouth chasing yours as both your tongues begin gliding against each other.

Feverishly, your hands begin roaming over each other - hot lust clouding your minds as your kiss grows fervent with desire. Urgently, your hands roam over each other - Namjoon’s large palms pushing under the hem of your dress and over your bare thigh under he reaches the junction between your thighs. Boldly, he presses his hand to your panty-clad folds, and the sudden touch has you breaking your kiss with a surprised cry.

Soft whine spilling from your lip, you grind into his hand, your walls clenching as you feel him softly stroke your folds. The heat between your thighs is uncomfortable, and radiates so strongly that Namjoon can’t help but hiss - the knuckle of his thumb imperceptibly caressing your throbbing clit. Skin flashing with heat, you pull away from him briefly, and before he can even comprehend what’s happening, you’re gripping the hem of your dress and taking it off of you.

The moment your scantily covered body greets his eyes, Namjoon lets out a strained groan - his eyes roaming over your flesh. Your body is not new to him - no, in fact, he’s seen you in various states of undress at different points in your friendship. Nonetheless, it’s different now; your chest heaves as you gasp for air, and your heavily lidded eyes: gaze turbulent with lust. Intense eyes rove over your body, Namjoon practically drinking you in.

Growing wetter under his heavy stare, you feel your inner walls clench - your nipples twisting to hardness under the lace cups of your bra. “Namjoon,” you breathe out heavily. Wantonness thick in your voice, Namjoon quickly sheds off his own clothing - your mouth drying when you see the muscles of his biceps bugle as he removes his t-shirt. Cool air wafts over your heated skin and goosebumps prickle over your flesh, causing you to shudder. However, it only lasts a moment because Namjoon is swiftly pulling you flush against him,

Warm skin melding together, you cry out in pleasure when your hard nipples brush against his chest through the rough material of your bra. The friction sends spikes of lust straight to your core, a gush of wetness seeping through your pussy before soaking into the material of your underwear. Dropping his head to your shoulder, Namjoon runs his soft lips over your flesh; peppering kisses onto your skin. Meanwhile, his hands move back to grasp your ass - caressing and kneading the flesh in his large palms.

Your own shaky hands push between your bodies: trembling digits falling to the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans as you attempt to undo the button. Finally managing to pop the button, you desperately push the rough material of his trousers down his hips. When you struggle to remove them from you, Namjoon pushes you away. Flopping bonelessly onto the bed as you watch him rid himself of his trousers. When he’s left in nothing but his boxers, your mouth practically salivates.

As if magnetically drawn, your eyes instinctively fall to his hips, and you suck in a sharp breath at the sight. The defined ‘v’ of his hips leads to his boxer-clad shorts - his cock pressed to the side of his thigh by his tight underwear. Throat constricting, your eyes widen slightly at the shape of it - even through his underwear, he looks huge: the thick girth pressed against his toned left thigh. As you continue practically leering at him, Namjoon crawls over you. Instinctively, your thighs part, allowing him to crawl between them.

His hands brace on either side of you, the strong muscles of his arms twitch as he bears the entirety of his body weight on them. Arms shooting up, you run them over his naked shoulders before carding into his hair as you tug him further over you. A soft gasp slips from your mouth when his weight presses over you: his defined chest over yours and his hips pressing into yours in the most enticing way. Hands entwined into his hair, you watch the way the ambient light encases him in an amber halo, your eyes softening at the sight.

Straining your neck, you attach your lips to his once again, pouring all the love you feel for him into your kiss. Languidly, Namjoon’s tongue slides over your lips, the motion causing you to sigh. He’s sweet on your tongue; his honeyed essence bathing your tastebuds until he’s all you can feel. This time, your lips move slowly - mouths moving softly in tandem with each other as your tongues slide against the other leisurely.

Namjoon shifts above you - the movement causes his heated erection to brush against the thin, soaked material of your underwear. Reflexively, you buck into him - causing Namjoon to hiss. Shifting above you, Namjoon’s hands trail over your thighs. Then, hooking your legs around his waist, he’s suddenly flipping you over. Yelping in surprise at the abrupt movement, you fall into him; Namjoon’s arm loosely wrapping around your naked waist.

In your new position, he sits with his back against the headboard; your thighs straddling his hips. Namjoon’s warm hand indolently drifts down your waist, until it rests comfortably in the curve of your spine. Shifting into a more comfortable position, you sit on his lap - both of you groaning when your cores press together. Responsively, Namjoon bucks up into you, the action causing you to shudder.

“Namjoon,” you whine, your hips squirming over his.

“What do you want, baby?” Namjoon asks, his neck straining up to brush his lips against yours.

“I want you,” you reply easily. A smile curls on his lips, and playfully, he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. Sucking the soft flesh, he rakes his teeth over the swollen petal, making you sough into his mouth.

Simultaneously, Namjoon’s hands drop to your hips, and gripping them, he pushes your pelvis down - so that your wet, covered folds are flat against his cock. The movement causes you both to cry: you - at the intoxicating feel of his throbbing cock around your weeping sex, and Namjoon - at the wet heat pressing into his hardness.

“F-Fuck, Joon,” you mewl. Hips moving of their own accord, you begin grinding your heated cunt against his hard shaft. The skimpy material of your panties hinders nothing, and easily, you feel his cock - hot and pulsing, through the material of both your underwear. Namjoon’s hands trail to your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he begins moving you over him. Instinctively, the two of you fall into a synchronous rhythm, your hips writhing together in frantic movement as you lose yourself into your pleasure.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking hot… and wet. How are you this wet?” Namjoon groans - the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through the air. Fingers digging harder into your ass, he gyrates harder into you, soft grunts and pants escaping his lips as he feels your wet heat against his cock. “Fuck- that’s it, baby. Grind all over my cock - you feel so good,” Namjoon moans, his head falling back. The soft murmurs of his voice rip through the silent room, the sounds of his own pleasure intermingling with yours.

Your hands fall to his shoulders, and using them as leverage, you begin pushing your hips harder into his. With every brush of his cock between your folds, you can’t help but grow wetter - your toes curling in pleasure. Namjoon watches you practically bounce on his cock - the top swells of your breast rippling with each movement. Unable to help himself, he moves his hands to unclasp your bra. When you feel the elasticated band loosen, the strap falling down your shoulder, you move your hands from his shoulders - divesting the brassier off of you.

Breasts free, and swaying with every one of your movements, Namjoon finds himself entranced by the sight. From his position under you, he leans forward and wraps his lips against the right peak, pulling the hardened bud into his mouth and gently sucking. The moment you feel his plush lips around your nipple, you cry out his name. Pussy clenching around nothing, you whimper at the ache between your thighs.

“Fuck, Namjoooon,” you whine - drawing out the syllables of his name. Indolently, his tongue swirls around your nipple - tracing its outline over and over again, while he simultaneously suckles at it. His hands are back on your ass - holding the plump flesh in his large hands while squeezing and spreading them apart.

Pleasure seeps into your veins, and you begin grinding more feverishly against him. Short gasps of pleasure slip from your lips, the friction of your sodden lace panties and his cotton boxers slowly driving you wild. You have no doubt that you’re dripping now - the material of his boxers soaked enough to leave damp trails of your wetness onto the fabric. Your stomach twists - the heat inside causing your stomach to flip and turn with every one of your movements.

Hands braced on his shoulders, you dig your fingernails into the thick muscle - Namjoon grunting at the slight pain. When he unexpectedly bites down on your nipple, rolling the peak between his teeth - your cunt clenches painfully and you sob out his name. “M-More, please. I-I need more,” you whimper. Hearing the desperation in your voice, Namjoon takes pity on your form.

Hand slipping down between your thighs, you feel him push your hips off of his cock. A whine of protest slips through your lips, your walls clenching as they ache for the feel of his cock - however, your displeasure only lasts a few moments. Pressing his fingers against your folds, Namjoon lazily begins stroking his fingers through your covered slit - causing you to whimper out his name.

“Fuck- you’ve soaked through your panties, baby. Do you want my cock this much?” Namjoon asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. It’s all you can do to nod eagerly, you hips pressing harder into his hand.

“J-Joonie- more,” you helplessly mewl, squirming into his fingers.

Namjoon chuckles from under you, but gives into you. Pushing the gusset of your underwear to the side, his fingers stroke through your naked folds, causing you to hiss and drop your head onto his shoulder. Tenderly, Namjoon traces the outline of your folds - completely in awe of how absolutely sodden they are. He’s barely even touched your entrance, yet thick, filmy strings of your wetness coat the pads of his digits.

“God- I’ve dreamt of what your pussy would feel like - but I never thought it’d be this good,” Namjoon admits - his thumb moving to stroke your hardened clit. The sensation of the pad of his thumb swiping against your swollen, needy bud causing you to buck into him, you cunt contracting around nothing.

Twisting your hand between your bodies, you push his boxers down all of a sudden. Abruptly, his cock springs out before the heavy length falls onto his lower abdomen. In an instant, your palm is stroking the thick length, your mouth watering as you admire his shaft. The velvet length is long, and incredibly girthy, and you have no doubt that he’s going to stretch you out deliciously. Experimentally, you wrap your fingers around before gently squeezing.

Namjoon rolls his eyes at your ministration - the action eliciting a short gasp from his lips as he bucks into your hand. Dropping his head to your chest, you feel him nuzzle the top swells of your breast, while he lightly presses tender kisses into your flesh. Between your thighs, his fingers rove further down your slit, until his digits are teasing your entrance. A low mewl falls from your lips, your hips writhing into his hand as you try to get him to push his fingers into you. God, you desperately need something to fill the ache.

“Joonie- want your fingers,” you murmur, not even bothering to hide the pout in your voice. Namjoon laughs lowly under you, and with an apologetic kiss to your sternum, his digits lightly push against the tight ring of your entrance. Fingernail circling your entrance - almost tauntingly - Namjoon relishes in the way it twitches for him: the tight rings clenching and unclenching involuntarily. Growing tired of his teasing motions, “Joonie, please,” you practically beg.

The ache between your thighs throbs with a vengeance, causing you to squeeze his cock. Hand stroking up to his tip, you take a moment to admire the bulbous mushroom tip. The head is sticky with precum, your thumb swiping over the slit, wetting the tip in his own translucent precum. Rhythmically, your hand begins pumping around the rest of his shaft - your fingers tightening around his girth intermittently.

“Sh-shit. Fuck, that feels good. God, your hand feels so fucking good,” Namjoon praises. He rewards your actions by deliberately pushing two fingers into you - your wetness allowing them to slide in with ease. Drawing sharp raspy breaths from you, Namjoon shallowly begins pumping them into you - never delving deeper than the first knuckle. With each movement, you feel your entrance open and close, your eyes rolling back at the sensation. Indolently, he pumps them - matching the pace of your hand stroking his cock.

Nuzzling into your chest, Namjoon breathes in your scent deeply, relishing in the comforting smell. It’s heavier this time - the smell of your arousal and sweat mixing in with your natural one. Yet, he doesn’t mind. Not when it smells wholly inebriating. “What do you want, baby?” Namjoon murmurs. His voice is low, dropping a couple of octaves, and the baritone sound thrums against your skin: causing goosebumps to flit over your arms.

Unhesitantly, “you,” you whisper back. Letting out an appreciative groan, Namjoon slides his fingers deeper into you. With a keening whine, you begin pumping his length harder - groaning in pleasure when his fingers inside you also pick up the pace.

“You’re so fucking - shit - tight. Can’t wait to feel you on my cock,” Namjoon breathily whispers. His words cause you to clench involuntarily - your hand tightening around his shaft. God, you don’t think you can wait any longer. You need to feel him inside you. Right now. Something you express to Namjoon.

“Want your cock- Joonie, please,” you implore, pressing your lips harshly against his.

Drawing away, “fuck, okay. Let’s get these off,” Namjoon says as hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear. Shuffling away from him for a moment - the both of you quickly remove your last articles of clothing: leaving you completely naked.

With not a moment to spare, Namjoon wraps his hands around your thighs, before pulling you back onto his lap. Hastily, you throw your leg over his hip, straddling him once again. One hand on your ass, and other gripping his shaft, Namjoon strokes the velvet head of his cock through your folds: the tip dragging over your clit before catching on your entrance. You hiss at the heated sensation of his cock, your eyelids fluttering when you feel it press against your entrance.

When he’s firmly positioned at your dripping hole, you slowly begin lowering yourself onto him. The moment his head breaches your walls, however, you let out a deep, guttural groan. Completely doused in your wetness, his cock should slide easily into you - however, his girth is so thick that you can’t help but mewl in pain. Squirming over him, your breath turns laboured as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock - the ache of the stretch burning your walls, the pain mingling with pleasure.

“Fucking hell- how are you this- fuck- big?” you keen, your eyes screwing shut. Namjoon leans forward - the movement causing him to sink another inch into you and making you gasp. Dropping his head to your neck, he peppers comforting kisses into your skin while his hand soothingly rubs over your lower back.

Nonetheless, there’s pleasure mixed in the pain and you continue lowering yourself onto his cock. Inch by inch, you take him into you - his cock slowly opening up your walls around his unrelenting length. With every second that passes, you feel his cock drag deliberately against your inner walls - your cunt clenching rhythmically - and forcing you to feel every ridge and vein of his thick girth. Eventually, you sink completely down - your hips pressed against his - and his cockhead kissing the soft walls of your cervix.

There’s an intense pressure deep within your stomach - Namjoon’s cock throbbing erratically inside you. The feel of him nestled so deep within you has you sighing in pleasure. There’s still a dull ache - from how wide he stretches you out; your walls pulled apart to their limits - but pleasure soon replaces the stinging ache. Gradually, you adjust to Namjoon’s size and with an experimental swivel of your hips, you cry out in pleasure.

“God, your pussy is so fucking tight - and wet - shit,” Namjoon slurs - euphoric elation dripping in his words. Breath laboured, you begin lifting yourself over his cock, your back arching - pushing your chest into you - as you ride his tremendous length. With every flex of your thighs, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure. Not only is Namjoon’s cock thick, but he’s incredibly long too, his length just slightly curved: allowing his head to drag against that sweet spot inside you.

Large hands falling to your hips, Namjoon grips them tightly as he helps you move on top of him. Every movement has hot spikes of pleasure jolting across your skin, your toes curling in elation while your stomach twists and knots violently. The rapturous bliss of your impending orgasm calling to you, you begin bouncing your ass over him. Namjoon groans at the feeling, and unable to help himself, one of his hand moves to splay across the curve of your back - pulling you flush into his chest.

Skin melding together, your sweat acting as a glue, you lose yourself into the feel of Namjoon. Abruptly, your arms shoot out and you wrap them around his chest, your fingernails digging into his flesh as you hold him close to you. With his cock buried deep into you, and his head buried in the crook of your neck - Namjoon is all you can feel. Your fingers find purchase in his hair, your nose burrowing into the side of his head as you breathe in his calming scent deeply.

From under you, Namjoon fucks his cock upward - his thrusts pushing him deeper into you. The additional sensation causes you to whimper, your ass twitching as sheer, unadulterated bliss begins flitting through your bloodstream. You’re close - so close you can practically taste your orgasm; even if your mouth is completely dry from gasping his name over and over again.

Feeling your walls begin to pulsate erratically - the rhythm of their contracting falling out of sync - Namjoon knows you’re close. All of a sudden, he pulls you even closer to him - a feat you had considered wholly impossible, considering you’re clinging to each other - and then, he’s flipping you over. Squealing in surprise, you feel your body bounce on the bed, before Namjoon falls over you.

The entire time he moves your bodies, his cock stays buried deep inside your pussy - your walls involuntarily clenching around his shaft. In your new position, Namjoon’s entire weight is braced on one hand beside you, his other hand resting on your back - under your body - as he pulls your chest into his. Your legs are splayed open on either side of his hips as he grinds his cock into you. With your new positioning, every time Namjoon thrusts into you, his pelvic bone drags along your clit: making you cry out his name in pleasure.

“J-J-Joon, I-I-I’m c-close,” you stutter out, your back arching as you push your hips into his.

Nodding above you, Namjoon gasps and pants for air. “Fuck baby, me too,” he replies. Legs shooting out, you wrap them around his hips, and heels digging into the fleshy globes of Namjoon’s ass, you pull him deeper into you.

Slowly, yet fervently, the two of your rock into each other - chasing your own highs. You cling desperately to him, your arms still holding onto his shoulders as you writhe together. Then, needing to feel his lips on yours, you strain your neck and press your mouth to his. Instantly, his mouth opens, and your tongues begin lashing against each other leisurely - Namjoon’s intoxicating essence coating your tastebuds.

One of his hands twist between your body before you feel him stroke your clit. Breaking from the kiss, you cry out against his lips: your breaths heavily intermingling together. “Cum for me, baby,” Namjoon urges. His command, paired with the way his fingers dance across your clit, and how his cock drags against your sweet spot, has you careening off of the brink of pleasure.

Mouth falling open, your muscles strain as you choke out a cry of euphoria. Head lolling back, your back arches violently as you twist and contort in pleasure under Namjoon. Rapturous ecstasy ricochets through your entire body, your muscles trembling violently as you cum around his cock. Feeling your pussy tighten in a vice-like grip, your inner walls gushing with wetness as you milk his shaft, Namjoon lets out a deep roar. His own head falls onto your chest, and with a few more thrusts, he buries his cock as deep inside you as he can before he cums.

Through the haze of your pleasure, you feel Namjoon’s cock swell inside you. All of a sudden, his cock begins throbbing - and then you feel it. Rope after rope of thick cum shoots inside you, his seed filling up your inner walls and painting them white. His warm cum fills you up deeply, the mild heat of it settling deep inside you and causing you to squirm under him. Once he’s done, you feel him soften inside you - and slowly, Namjoon pulls out.

You whine in protest, your walls a little raw from his thick girth - and when he retreats completely, you can’t help but jerk: his head popping out of you. Instantly, his cum begins leaking out, causing you to mewl in pleasure - your entrance throbbing and only forcing more of his cum out. Namjoon sits back on his heels, both your chests heaving as you attempt to catch your breath.

From his position, his eyes drop to your pussy - a low groan of appreciation resounding from deep within his throat. Your legs are spread wide, and your pussy slightly gaping from where he’d fucked you open. But he’s more focused on how his cum leaks out of you, his seed dripping down your ass. Chest swelling with pride, he can’t help but let out a lazy smile.

Leaning forward, he presses one hand onto your inner thigh, while the other swipes two fingers between your slit, gathering up his cum, and pushing it back into you. You wince at the sensation, a low groan slipping from your throat at the sensitivity. Pressing a kiss to your knee, “We’ll have to clean you up,” Namjoon mumbles, even as he continues pushing his fingers inside you.

“Later, I’m tired,” you murmur back whinily. When the ache of oversensitivity gets too much, you bat Namjoon’s hand away before closing your legs. With a low laugh, Namjoon presses an apologetic kiss to your knee.

Then, he flops down next to you. Feeling your best friend settle next to you, you automatically shift in bed - turning and curling into his body. Instinctively, Namjoon’s strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer into him. Hazily, your head still swimming in its post-orgasmic bliss, you feel Namjoon push your hair out of your face. You smile softly at the tender gesture, your smile widening when you feel him brush his lips against your temple affectionately.

“I love you,” Namjoon whispers.

Shuffling closer into him, you press your naked body into his. Easily, your legs tangle together, and closing your eyes, you let his words and the comfort of his presence wash over you.

Sleep already fogging your mind, “I love you too,” you mumble back. Then, after a short pause, “we’re together right…?” you murmur. Namjoon laughs at the slight slur to your voice.

Lazily, he picks up your hand, and entwining your fingers together, he brings them to his lips. Pressing his lips to each of your knuckles in a soft kiss, he nods, “we’re together, baby,” he replies. Sighing in pleasure, you nod happily before snuggling into him. Breathing in his scent, you let the mix of fabric softener, lotion and sweat waft over you - the cacophony of fragrances slowly lulling you to sleep.

Hours later, you and Namjoon wake up from your nap - just in time for dinner. With little giggles, you and Namjoon begin cleaning yourselves up - your face scrunching when you wipe the dried up cum between your legs with the damp washcloth Namjoon had given you. Walking over to your suitcase, you pull out a change of underwear, before slipping on your dress from earlier; Namjoon’s face falling when your body is hidden from his view.

“Why are you pouting?” you ask, throwing your hair into a ponytail as you turn around to face him.

“I miss looking at you, already,” Namjoon replies, an exaggerated pout on his face. Rolling your eyes playfully, you walk over to him and press a kiss to his lower jaw.

Then wrapping your arms around his neck, “Well, I miss looking at you too… but, we have all the time later tonight,” you say. Then, you grow quiet. Sensing the nervousness exuding from your being, Namjoon gently places his hands on your hips, before lightly caressing them in comfort. “And… for the rest of our lives,” you continue, the words leaving you in a single breath. There’s uncertainty in your eyes, because really, neither of you had spoken about what you are - you’d just fallen into bed after your confession.

Gaze softening, Namjoon drops his lips to your forehead. “For the rest of our lives,” he repeats - confident resolve heavy in his tone. His words cause a smile to grace your face. Beaming up at him, you draw onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then, pulling away, you take one of his hands into yours, and entwining your fingers together, you tug at him, “alright, come on. We need to go down for dinner before your parents come looking for us,” you say.

Namjoon nods, and the two of you slip out of your bedroom and back downstairs. With each passing moment, you feel dread pool heavily into your stomach. Nervousness grips your entire being, and desperately, you cling tighter to Namjoon - soaking in all the comfort your boyfriend - boyfriend! - offers you. Finally, the two of you step into the kitchen. Immediately, both of Namjoon’s parents turn to him - however, before they can greet you, they halt.

Instantly, their gaze drops to your entwined hands. Time moves past slowly - the seconds passing excruciatingly. The longer they’re silent, the more nervous you grow. Then, after what feels like aeons, Namjoon’s parents both smile.

Eyes twinkling with mirth, “well… finally,” Namjoon’s mother says, a knowing smile on her face.

a/n: thank you i love my man

⇥ Kofi | Masterlist

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takamishinko · 4 years ago

Text

"your scars are beautiful"

rq from @jream-23, this was a lovely piece to write since denki is my personal favorite :)

pronouns: he/him

warnings: angst, slight nsfw, self-harm mentions

_____

kaminari denki, the more acceptable pervert in class 1A that flirts with almost anything that he deems attractive, is actually settling down for a boyfriend?! most might brush it off as fake news but here he is, in love with the person sitting right in front of him in class, y/n l/n. at first, kaminari was incredibly afraid of confessing because he wasn’t sure if y/n was into boys. as it turns out, y/n did in fact like boys. it just so happens that the boy y/n has been pining for was kaminari himself. but was hesitant to confess due to the fact that kaminari would always be flirting with the other girls in the class. so naturally, y/n assumed him to be straight. that being said, when denki finally mustered up the courage to confess his feelings to y/n, he has never felt such joy before. to know that all of sudden, not only is your crush is into your gender but also just you yourself is the best thing that could happen to a gay teenager.

their relationship went very smoothly since their personalities are quite similar to each other. they’re both the bubbly and cheerful type. the whole baku squad adored y/n, mainly due to the fact that denki just wouldn’t shut up about him while hanging out. of course, y/n himself is also just a really fun and nice person to be around. when the two first got together they were hit with a “god, dunce face finally fucking did it, took him long enough” from bakugou. it was honestly getting on his nerves how kaminari was taking forever to confess to y/n.

it was just another casual weekend with nothing out of the ordinary happening. kaminari decided to invite his boyfriend down to his dorm to hang out for the afternoon. just the sight of y/n would make him happy, whether it was the way he smiled, the goofy jokes he makes or y/n’s beautiful singing. naturally y/n would never reject such a request from kaminari. they met up with each other shortly after and enjoyed cuddling for a bit on their beds until kaminari, inevitably felt certain urges rising just from looking at his beautiful boyfriend lying right beside him.

“hey babe~”

“yes bubs what’s up?”

“what do you say we... y’know, do it?”

you were definitely shocked by the sudden request, but how could you refuse such an offer from your boyfriend after all those times you've touched yourself while thinking about him. needless to say, you weren't exactly the innocent type and this was the opportunity that you were waiting for. without any second thoughts, you gave denki a small nod showing him that you'll accept whatever he wants to do. denki’s gave you an almost pervy looking grin and immediately started his attack on your body. he pushed you down on the bed with him, pinning you underneath him. as he loomed on top of you, he pressed his lips onto yours. the sensation his lips locked with yours was intoxicating. It was clear that both of you have been longing for this sort of contact from each other. you felt denki slowly slip his tongue in and intertwine with yours. to your surprise, denki was surprisingly versatile with his tongue, it almost made you doubt if he had any experience before this, even though he admitted to never having been kissed by anyone except for you.

as things intensified, you could feel yourself warming up from deep within. both of your faces were flushed due to the pleasure. neither of you could get enough of each other. denki’s hands reached down to the tent building up in your pants to stroke it lightly. some small whimpers left your mouth which only encouraged denki to tease you more.

“you like that huh~?” denki taunted

you were too embarrassed for words, you didn't expect such lewds sounds to come out of your mouth. you tried to avert your eyes away from his and turned away. however you're not the submissive type and quite capable of fighting back. you reached down to where denki’s erection is and gently stroked it, as if you were teasing him. denki wasn’t big per say but he was definitely above average from what you were feeling, and you had nothing to complain about that. the two of you closed your eyes and enjoyed yet another passionate kiss while grinding against each others bulge. after a while denki broke the kiss and raised his back while still having his knees in between your legs.

“i want more,” said denki, glancing down at your crotch “can i?”

“go ahead” you answered, with a prominent blush on your face.

denki pathed down to your pants and started to unzip them, getting ready to pull them down. At this moment, you remembered one of your biggest insecurities and why you refuse to change publicly after training.

“wait denki, stop!” you screamed

“ahh ok! is there something wrong?” he questioned, you could hear the worry in his voice.

you sat up straight and the expression on your face changed drastically. you were scared that denki would see…the old scars. they were from a darker part of you past, they were a constant reminder of the times where you wanted to end it all. when it seemed like things were hard and would never get better. you specifically remember making them on your thighs so that you hide them away from others. you didn't want anyone's attention to be directed there. however this is denki, your boyfriend, someone you love and trust with every fiber of your being. was it safe to tell him your secret? the secret that you held to yourself for so long because you were scared to be judged, or even made fun. Would he really understand?

“what’s wrong babe? was i too aggressive?”

“no it’s not that…”

“hey, hey, it’s ok i'm here to listen if you want to talk to me alright?”

with those reassuring words from your boyfriend you decided to believe in him and finally tell him this secret of yours.

“promise you won’t judge or laugh at me? this is very serious for me so I need you to understand.”

“of course i wouldn’t baby who do you think i am, a selfish jerk?”

with your cards laid on the table, you took a deep breath and started to explain the story of your hidden scars and explained to him why you suddenly stopped him when he was reaching down.

“ohhh so that’s why you always go to the private changing rooms! man i can’t tell you how many times I've wanted to see your body only for you to go and change in the stalls” denki said

“yah that’s why i didn’t want to…”

suddenly you feel denkis gentle hands cupping your face as he looks you straight in the eyes.

“y/n l/n! don’t you think for a second that i, the considerate and compassionate denki kaminari would judge or to ever make fun of someone for something as serious as this! self harm is not at all a laughing matter and anyone who makes fun of it is an absolute asshole.”

those words from your boyfriend made your heart melt and reminded you as to why you loved him so much. without any hesitation, you lunged yourself at him and gave him a hug. you couldn't be anymore grateful to him for accepting the markings you considered as flaws. whereas to him they were something unique that you had. they are proof that you stayed strong, you survived and now you're on your way to building a better future for yourself.

“is it okay if i see them?” he asked cautiously

you weren’t keen on the idea of telling anyone about this let alone showing someone. but after all you've shared with each other, denki is your boyfriend and you thought it would be important for him to know about this part of you.

you gave denki a light nod and slowly started to pull down your pants.

when denki saw your thighs you noticed his eyes widening. you were embarrassed to another dimension but you could tell that it made him very excited.

“damn babe! ok besides the fact that your thighs are freaking hot as hell- you’re scars… they’re beautiful…”

saying that you were surprised by this comment would be an understatement. you never thought something like this could be considered beautiful to anyone.

“t-thanks”

without any warning, denki lowered his head to your thighs and gave them a light kiss.

“denki! what are you doing??”

“what?” he giggled “i'm just appreciating every beautiful part of my boyfriend”

you were speechless but there was no way to hide the smile and blush that was on your face. you wrapped your arms around denkis neck and gave him a tight hug. there are no words to describe how much you appreciate him and what he said to you. sooner or later, you passed out and found an asleep pikachu in your arms. the sight of this made you feel butterflies in your stomachs. He has made you so incredibly happy. you decided to move in closer. both of you enjoyed a relaxing nap as the afternoon sun shot through the windows into kaminari’s room.

#denki #denki kaminari #bnha #bnha fic #bnha x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x m!reader #bnha x gn!reader #boku no hero x male reader #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero x gender neutral reader #denki x reader #denki x male reader #denki x gender neutral reader #denki x m!reader #denki x gn!reader #boku no hero x m!reader #boku no hero x gn!reader

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dracowars · 4 years ago

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Hi! I recently found your account and your writing style and content is right up my alley so I’m glad I found it. I was wondering if you could write a Draco x hufflepuff!reader where they are meeting Draco’s family for the first time and Draco didn’t mention their house of half-blood status. Lucius gets angry and things lead to him trying to hit Draco but y/n stands in the way. Don’t feel pressured to write this you don’t like the prompt or don’t want to :)

disgrace | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x hufflepuff!reader

word count: 3,1k

summary: where y/n's first time meeting draco's parents escalates

a/n: as a hufflepuff myself i really appreciate this request, so thank you very much~ narcissa is actually one of my favorite characters in the hp universe so i really like writing about her <3

warnings: angst, violence, cursing

universe: harry potter

Today is the day. The day you have prepared yourself for for weeks. The day why you have not been able to sleep properly the last two nights. Today is the day you are going to meet your boyfriend Draco's parents, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, for the very first time. To say that you are nervous would be an understatement.

You and Draco have been a couple for two years now, but the appropriate time - more or less - to finally meet them has only occured now. You know how important his parents' opinion is to Draco and it definetely does not help to descrease your incredible nervousness. What if they do not like you? What if they do not welcome you into their family? The worst szenarios are already repeating themselves in your head over and over again.

After all, you are only a half-blooded witch and, on top of that, a Hufflepuff. The Malfoys, on the other hand, are a pure-blooded family who were only sorted into Slytherin for generations without any exceptions, including Draco. Many times you have already heard how much the pure-blood families care for their bloodlines, especially the Black family, Narcissa's family, must have been incredibly strict in terms of maintaining their blood status.

However, you are in good spirits that they will accept you anyway. Why else would they, after Draco told them about you and your own status, have invited you to a first meeting at Malfoy Manor? 'They will accept you' is what you keep reminding yourself of.

With trembling hands and a fast beating heart - too fast for your personal taste actually - you are now standing in front of the big heavy door of Draco's home. So far you have only ever heard of this huge mansion through stories or Draco's tales, but in reality it surpasses all of them.

On your trip here, Draco did everything to relieve you of your nervousness and get you to relax. He also had to confirm you at least a dozen times that you are dressed appropriately for this special occasion with your basic plain black skirt and dark yellow blouse. He himself wears an all black outfit with the turtleneck that you love so much on him. Unfortunately he did not succeed in calming you down and you feel like your heart is going to jump out of your chest any moment. It stops completely when the door is suddenly opened and you are greeted by Narcissa Malfoy who is appearing right in front of you in a beautiful green and black, long dress.

Speechless, you basically stare at her while Draco greets her before reaching out his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side. Now there is no turning back.

Because you are not able to get a word out of your mouth for the life of you which Narcissa notices right away and just gives you a warm smile, starting the conversation herself. "Hello, dear. I am so happy to finally meet you. I am Narcissa", she introduces herself and you shake her hand politely. Uncertainty takes over your features as you awkwardly smile back.

"This is Y/N", Draco helps you out and smiles at his mother. "I-It is nice to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy", is the only thing you can stutter out. Oh, how badly you would like to slap yourself right now. "Dear, you can call me Narcissa. You really do not have to be so nervous. I am glad that you two are here", she says friendly and asks you to follow her. Draco softly squeezes your hand to reassure you as you walk around the huge halls of Malfoy Manor. "I have already prepared tea in the salon", Narcissa explains on the way.

Here and there you spot family portraits on the walls, some of them showing a very small and young Draco. You unintentionally stop in front of one of these pictures, looking at your boyfriend in his young years. "Wasn't he incredibly cute?", Narcissa notes which you agree to with a shy smile. "Actually I think he is still very cute", you giggle, causing Draco to playfully roll his eyes. He hates when you call him cute or adorable. At least he pretends to hate it in front of you or others. In truth, he loves when you do. It makes him feel fragile and human.

Narcissa is quietly watching your teasing and can't help but smile to herself. Since she opened the door - no, actually since Draco told her about you for the first time - she noticed how extremely happy he is with you. And that warms her heart. Even if she has only known you for a few minutes, she already likes you. You make her son happy and that is all that matters to her.

Together you continue on your way towards a larger room with a huge fireplace and a classy looking, dark green sofa set. Draco's father Lucius is sitting in front of the lit fireplace, looking in your direction with an expectant expression on his face. Due to the relatively dark room, his face is only illuminated from one side by the greenish shimmering fire and therefore makes him look even more intimidating. For a moment you have to hold in a breath. "Look who is here, Lucius", Narcissa announces your presence.

Lucius slowly gets up from his armchair with the help of his cane and waits for you to come closer. You catch a glimpse of the coffee table which is littered with sweet treats and biscuits and the scent of tea surrounds the room. Lucius raises an eyebrow when you stand in front of him and Narcissa sits down on the sofa to give you enough space.

"Father. It is good to see you again", Draco says, but Lucius does not even flinch a tiny bit, just stares you up and down. "T-This is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy", he introduces you to each other and suddenly seems a little nervous, if not worried, himself.

"What a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. What was the last name?", Lucius greets you as he takes your hand, examining it for a ring with a possible family crest. "You can just call me Y/N", you respond as he lets go and gives you a look that you can't quite interpret. "How nice that we all managed to be here at last!", Narcissa interrupts the uncomfortable silence that has occured and points to the sofa. "Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable. Draco, darling, please pour us some tea, will you?", she asks him and you sit down, leaving space for Draco between you and Narcissa.

"So, tell me, Y/N. How did you get to know each other?", Narcissa asks you eagerly, a small smile on her lips. "When we were at Hogwarts for the first time, of course, everyone already knew the Draco Malfoy. Everyone except me. I have never been very interested in other wizarding families and well, somehow he still managed to fascinate me. I did not know him, like at all, just from stories that were told in Hogwarts over the years. But these stories talked about a very different Draco than what he actually is", you start to explain, maybe also ramble a bit, but Narcissa is all ears.

"Y/N saw someone in me that I had not seen myself", Draco continues your story as he sits down between you and his mother, intertwining your hands on his lap. "At first I could not understand why she was even being nice to me, why someone like her is so kind to someone like me. I was always pretty rude to her."

"Oh yes, he really was. But just because he did not want it to be true that someone could see through him so easily", you softly nudge his side while you both smile. "You have to know that Draco never liked to show his feelings openly", Narcissa agrees, handing you and Draco your filled warm cups.

"To this day I do not know how she did it, but she managed to make me reveal my feelings to her and turned me into a better person. It wasn't until later that I realized I had always been in love with her", Draco tells his parents proudly, locking eyes with you. Your bright smile is reflected on his face and you shyly look at the warm mug in your hands. "I am so grateful that our son has someone at his side that takes such good care of him", Narcissa smiles while watching you two. "Are they not made for each other, Lucius?"

Only now you notice that Lucius has not yet said a word and was just watching the scene. He does not respond to his wife's statement, narrowing his eyes while closely looking at the silver snake head on his cane. Narcissa just shakes her head and turns back to you, takes a plate from the small table and hands it to you. "Eat, dear. These are delicious. It is a traditional recipe of my great ancestors", she offers and you take one of the delicious looking biscuits. "What about you tell us something about your family, Y/N", Lucius suddenly demands out of nowhere. "I would like to hear about them."

Confusion is written all over your face at his request. "Well, my family is not really special. My father works in the Ministry in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and my mother works as a journalist in London. My older sister-", you start to tell him, but you are immediately rudely interrupted. "In London?", Lucius asks, his eyebrows rised. You nod slowly, not quite sure what he is pointing at. "Why would a pure-bloo-"

"It is not that important, is it, father?", Draco sighs and Lucius does not seem to be convinced at all, but falls silent anyway. "So you have an older sister?", Narcissa asks and while she waits for your answer, she takes a sip of her tea. "Yes. She is currently in her last year at Hogwarts", you reply proudly when Lucius clears his throat loudly all of a sudden.

"I am sorry if I missed it but I do not think I heard what house you got sorted into", he shoots you a threatening glare. Draco's body tenses up next to you, making you feel more insecure as well. What is so bad about this mere question? "Oh, my bad! I assumed Draco had already told you. I am a Hufflepuff", you inform him and his eyes, as well as Narcissa's, grow bigger instantly, making you feel like you said something wrong. Which to them you definetely did.

"A what?!", Lucius raises his voice, giving you a pejorative look, while Narcissa just completely stays silent and focuses her gaze to the ground. You look at Draco, scared and looking for help as reality hits you right in the face. Draco told his parents a lot about you, always just the good things and how happy you make him, but apparently he left out the most important detail: that you are a Hufflepuff and a half-blood from the middle class.

"Y-You did not tell them?", you whisper nearly inaudible, a hint of hurt in your voice. Draco is not able to answer as his father furiously gets up from his seat. "What else did you keep from us, Draco?", Lucius barks angrily, making you flinch a little and unintentionally holding onto his arm. "I did not know how to tell them that you are a half-blood", Draco responds, his voice full of shame that he did not have the guts to tell his parents.

"I knew something was wrong with her the moment she walked into this room! You want to tell me this girl is a half-blood, which is shame enough that she even made it into our house, and on top of that she is also a Hufflepuff!?", Lucius yells loudly and points at you with his cane, the anger literally visible in his eyes. "I am sorry. I really thought Draco told yo-"

"How dare you bring her into our house?! That is not how we raised you!", Lucius interrupts you angrily, getting closer to you and Draco. Draco immediately stands up, pulling you with him, your hands still tightly wrapped around his arm. "I knew exactly how you would react and that is why I wanted you to get to know her first before you judge her based on her status which, by the way, does not matter to me because I truly love her with all of my heart!", Draco counters, fumingly clenching his jaw and fists.

"I want her to get out of my house. Now", Lucius commands, grinding his teeth as he is now directly in front of you. He looks at you with such a derogatory expression that you feel totally worthless for a moment. "Maybe we should leave, Draco", you plead quietly, tugging on the sleeve of his black velvet coat, not wanting the situation to escalate even further. But Draco seems to have other plans and continues to defy his father. In the corner of your eye you see how Narcissa gets up from the couch after having enough time to compose herself.

"Don't you understand? She is the love of my life!", Draco shouts at Lucius who is not at all happy about the fact that his own son is raising his voice at him. "You dare to stand against me, son?", Lucius huffs out, stepping forward so that he is only inches away. "Lucius", Narcissa now also interferes and walks next to him, trying to keep her husband under control. But it is already too late.

"I really thought you would be happy for me for once in your damn life and disregard your stupid, outdated rules! I hate you so fucking much!", Draco crys out and even though you can only see him from the side, you are sure that he has tears in his eyes, just like you do.

"LUCIUS!"

Out of nowhere Lucius suddenly grabs Draco by the collar aggressively, Narcissa and you immediately trying to seperate them from each other, and when Lucius dangerously raises his hand all of a sudden, wanting to hit Draco, you stand in between them and catch Lucius' hand just in the last second before it could hit you.

"STOP!", you scream as loud as you can and Lucius swats his hand out of your grip as if you had contaminated him. Narcissa pulls her husband back to put some distance between him and their son. "Have you gone crazy?!", she rebukes him.

"Did he hurt you?", Draco asks, pulling you close to him, his hands on your forearms. "You did not have to do that, Y/N", he whispers as you shook your head to his question and Draco gently strokes over your cheek while you both try to ignore his parents' loud argument behind you. His eyes shimmer sadly when he looks into yours. "I am so sorry", he breathes out shakily. "I was hoping they would accept you, Y/N. I really thought they would-"

You shush him with your index finger on his lips, giving him a small smile. "It will not change my love for you in any way, Draco", you reassure him and flinch shortly afterwards when Lucius knocks one of the cups off the table in anger. "He is a disgrace for our family! He always was! He is destroying our bloodline", Lucius loudly argues with his wife. "Enough, Lucius!", Narcissa raises her voice and seems to be on the edge of doing something she would regret, but she is able to control herself. "I think it is better if you leave now, Draco. I will lead you outside."

Narcissa quickly grabs both of you by the arm before Lucius can say anything and leads you through the huge mansion back to the front door. Once you arrive, Draco turns to his mother, whose face is crested by a heartbroken expression. Draco lovingly takes her hands in his and gives them a reassuring squeeze. "I will talk to your father, I promise", she whispers, her head and shoulders hanging low.

"Don't worry, mother. You are not responsible for his behavior", Draco replys, trying to cheer her up. Narcissa raises her head and her eyes meet yours as she quickly approaches you. "Oh dear. I am so sorry for the inconvenience", she apologizes immediately, her hands on your shoulders. "I could not imagine anyone better than you by our son's side, regardless of your origin. I do not want you to suffer as much as I and my sisters did back then. I do not want to stand in the way of your love. Please, forgive us what happened today."

After her last words, she pulls you into a tight hug, which you return, happy that you at least got her blessing. "Thank you very much, Narcissa. I really appreciate your kind words", you gulp while holding back a few tears. Her words made you emotional, especially because she must have went through the same situation as you right now. To not be accepted. To not be allowed to be with who you want.

As she continues to hug you softly, your gaze meets Draco, who is intensely watching what is going on behind you with a smile on his face. To see how the most important women in his life get along, makes him emotional as well.

"You are such a nice and beautiful girl. Never let anyone get you down, okay? And please continue to take good care of him", she smiles at you after breaking the hug. "I will", you answer, the smile equally as big as hers. Draco walks next to you and puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to give you a quick kiss on your cheek.

"I love you", he states, making you blush because Narcissa is still here after all. "Both of you", Draco adds and Narcisaa nods, opening the door for you to leave. You wave your goodbyes to her and step down the staircase of Malfoy Manor, Draco's arm still wrapped around your shoulder, and walk into the chilly night, the bright shining moon over your heads creating a calm and comfortable atmosphere around you.

Even though everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong, you feel like it has only intensified your relationship and made your love for each other stronger than before. If you can survive such a horrible evening you will survive anything. And perhaps the next time you meet his parents it will end better.

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missymurphy1985 · 4 years ago

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Nobody's Perfect (part2)

The aftermath of your apparent one night stand with Cillian Murphy.

Warnings - smut / angst / language

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x

The hangover was pretty mild compared to the absolute shame you felt walking onset that afternoon. Not only did Cillian simply discard you after he had his way with you, now you had to face him in an intimate scene. Well, as intimate as Clara Rose being fucked over a desk by Tommy Shelby can be...

Paul greeted you with a warm smile, which you didn't expect, surely the whole set would be laughing at you?

"Y/n! Where did you disappear off to last night?" He hugged you and you walked over to the canteen area together, one eye over the whole set checking whether he was here yet.

"Oh, I think I just had one too many.. once my head hit the pillow I was out like a light!" You lied, convincingly. Well, you were an actress...

"Cillian said it wasn't difficult to get you into bed!"

"What?!" You nearly got whiplash from the sudden neck movement.

"You were so drunk, you were practically asleep before you got there!" Your face softened in relief. Paul was one of his closest friends onset. If he hadn't told him, maybe no one else knew..

"Yeah, didn't put up much of a fight, did you love?" That voice appeared out of nowhere behind you both and you couldn't help your hands shaking a little.

You smiled, gritting your teeth.

"Bet you weren't feeling too hot this morning?" Oh when was he going to shut up... "Bit sore?"

"I felt fine thank you." You forced a smile and turned your back on him before walking over to Sophie and Natasha to get a coffee and some adult, non-innuendo conversation, leaving Cillian and Paul to head to makeup to get ready for their scenes.

You forced it down enough that Tash and Sophie didn't notice anything untoward. Before long, the director was calling you to get ready and your heart sank - THAT scene. Brilliant.

The set was closed to everyone except you, Cillian and the directors due to the 'sexual nature' of it, and you were casually sat leaning against the desk waiting for Tommy Shelby to make his way over. The sooner this was over, the better. A few moments passed before he made his way over. You didn't speak as he sat on the chair next in front of you, both of you in full costume.

"Can we at least be professional?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"It was just sex y/n," he chuckled making your blood boil. The directors came onto the set and took you both to the side explaining what they needed. These scenes were never fully choreographed - it was down to the actors to know their characters well enough to just run with it.

You both got into position, ready for the call of Action. You, dress hitched over your waist bent over the desk, Cillian behind you ready to go. One of his hands on your waist, the other on your lower back. You could feel him rubbing the skin there gently, as if he was trying to make you feel more comfortable.. but as quick as it started, it stopped. The director called Action and the pounding began.

Once the 'climaxes' had been reached, he 'removed' himself from you and you straightened yourself out, turning to face him. The cameras still rolling, the scene wasn't done. But the script couldn't have been more perfect.

"Better, Mr Shelby?" You asked, as Clara.

"Much. Thank you Clara, you can see yourself out, eh?"

"Does this life satisfy you, Tommy? A different girl every week? Just mere objects for you to get your end away... Never spare a thought for them do you? They're just there to what, serve a purpose I guess? How many was it this month, huh, do you even know?" A pause, his gaze never left yours. You weren't talking to Tommy now, and he knew it. Finally he took a deep breath and pointed behind you.

"The door's over there."

Your eyes watered. Unscripted, but the director didn't call cut... You bit your lip and headed out the door.

"CUT! Jesus y/n, you nearly had ME welling up.. that last shot was incredible..." You smiled at the director and looked back at Cillian, who was still watching you, a stony expression on his face. Without missing a beat, you walked off set and back to your trailer.

You sat at the table in your trailer with a coffee, closing your eyes and pushing away everything from the last 24 hours. A knock on your door stunned you. You opened it to find Natasha, who saw your red eyes and immediately let herself in, closing the door behind you and pulling you into her arms. Without thinking you allowed your tears to fall. Sobbing almost uncontrollably.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" She asked, easing you onto the sofa and kneeling down in front of you.

"Y/n... Talk to me, you're worrying me.." you took a deep breath and shook your head.

"I'm fine... Just a tough week and... I guess I'm just overwhelmed with it all a bit... you know?"

"Your acting skills are impeccable, y/n, but I'm not buying that for a second," she smiled. "He's an idiot, Y/n... And I should have warned you..."

"Oh god... Everyone knows don't they?"

"Only me. He doesn't know I know. He's a sucker for a nice pair of legs and dark brown hair. When he came back down after taking you to your room, it was written all over his face. That, and he had his t-shirt on inside out." You couldn't help but laugh. Idiot!

"Everyone was wasted - no one else noticed. But when you're on antibiotics and can't drink? You notice it all." Your smile was gone, as you held your head in your hands.

"I can't believe I let it happen.. he must think I'm such a slut.."

"You never had a one night stand before?"

"No, and I wasn't planning on having one with Cillian fucking Murphy either. My GOD he's an arsehole.. how the fuck am I gonna get through the next few months?"

"You hold your head high and walk proud. Kill him with kindness. Nothing more satisfying than letting him think you're not bothered! Come on, you're an actress aren't you? Channel your inner Clara!" She squeezed your hands and smiled.

"Thank you Tash..."

"And your secret is safe with me. Cillian's not the type to go shouting his mouth either don't worry. He's too in love with his reputation." She smirked.

You knew she was right - time to channel your inner Clara.

*******************************************

The next few days went well. Your conversation with Tash played over in your mind every time you felt down about what had happened, making sure you remembered exactly who was in control here - and it certainly wasn't him. You couldn't help but notice him watching you from the other side of a room though, and Tash had certainly noticed him glancing at you when you weren't looking.

You were sat reading in your trailer when the door opened.

"Paul asked me to drop this off, said you left it onset." Cillian's voice filled your trailer as he placed your handbag on the table in front of you.

"Thanks." You looked up and smiled, before returning to your book. He went to speak, but seemed to second guess himself and stayed quiet.

"Door's over there, Cillian." You stood up, moving past him to get to the door to open it for him, brushing your body against him as you did. You felt him tense and smiled internally.

"What are you reading?" You were stood by the now open door, he hadn't moved.

"A book."

"You gonna be like this for the next two months y/n?"

"I don't know what you mean Cillian."

He moved closer to you as if to leave, his body now in front of yours. He held his hand over yours on the door and your breath caught in your throat. Without thinking, you closed the door and his lips were on yours. The kiss soft at first, increasing in intensity as he pushed you against the wall. You lifted one leg up to his waist as he pushed his arousal into your core, making both of you groan at the contact.

"What are you doing to me y/n..." You wanted him, that much was clear.. but your brain suddenly kicked back in and you put your hands on his chest to push him away.

"I'm making you leave.. now.." your breath was heavy, you were turned on beyond belief but you couldn't let him do this to you again. He rested his head against yours and nodded. Without a word, he straightened out the clear erection in his trousers and wrapped his jumper round his waist to hide it, before stroking the side of your face and heading out the door.

#cillian fanfic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian smut #cillian x smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy

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hen-of-letters · 4 years ago

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@spnprideweek day one: flags

This little ficlet for #spnprideweek is brought to you by my big, non-binary bisexual love for this beautiful fandom, and my desire to fix that moment in 'Baby' when Cas indulges Dean by saying "werepire", but Dean doesn't hear him and Cas doesn't know. It ended up getting a bit long, so there's more under the cut or over on AO3. Thanks!

Dean's at Pride, and feeling a rising level of discomfort.

It's not the fact that he's wearing eyeliner in public for the first time in his forty-two years. Hell, he'd been wanting to do that ever since he was a kid, dreaming of being a rock star. The covers of music magazines in gas station racks had been windows on a world free from the brutally narrow definition of what his Dad meant when he told him to "be a man". Gradually, though, he'd learned what is gloriously apparent today under the hot June sun: that there are as many ways of being a man as there are men.

It's not because the sleeveless white t-shirt he's wearing is somewhat snug. (The heat had made him shed his pink, purple and blue plaid shirt - the one he'd worn today because Claire always called it his 'bi flannel' - and tie it around his waist.) He and Cas are both wearing a little of their contentment on their waistlines these days, and he believes Cas when he says that he adores his body because he means it when he says the same to Cas.

It's not the big, heart-shaped sticker slapped on his chest, which is striped in the colours of the bisexual pride flag in a way that's much less subtle than the flannel. Dean's always known that he wasn't only into chicks, but putting a name to it is new. Dean's had jobs and Dean's had roles, but having an identity had always seemed like a luxury well beyond Dean's means. Now he's not constantly running for his life, though, he has the breathing room to figure himself out. And he's good with this part of himself. More than good.

It's not the two flags that are padding the pockets of his jeans. One, he'd bought for Cas: it's striped in pale pink, pale blue and white. Earlier, he'd gone with Cas when he'd met up with some friends he'd met online (having managed to get past all the cats this time). The ex-angel had found that discussing their experiences of being trans had helped him feel happy in the body that had become his own. Dean could only feel immense gratitude for the way Cas' face had lit up afterwards when he'd talked about how he was creating himself, becoming himself, and embracing the human condition of change.

Dean hopes that the gift of the trans pride flag will show Cas that Dean understands and loves him, and the same is true for the other flag, which he'd picked up for Jack. It's yellow, white, purple and black. Dean had had to do a little research when Jack had used the term non-binary - it's amazing how the world can move on while you're living in an underground bunker. He'd kept on researching, too, after he'd learned the basics. Maybe he was still figuring himself out. Maybe there was more to discover about himself, and wasn't that fantastic?

Jack is wandering around somewhere with Claire and Kaia. Jody and Donna are here, too, with Alex and Patience. Adam and Michael have probably partied their way through fifty international pride parades by now, but they should be meeting up with everyone else later. Sam and Eileen are not far away. Eileen was the one who's slapped the bi pride sticker on Dean's chest - with unnecessary force, if you asked Dean. She'd grinned at him, showed off the identical sticker on her own chest, and said, with a suitably cheesy wink, "we need to stick together". He remembered the moment he'd nervously asked her the sign for 'bisexual', and when she'd shown him - the letter signs for 'b' and 'i' - she'd added, "me too," and Dean had scooped her up into a crushing hug.His love for his family is endless, and them all being here is definitely not why he's uncomfortable.

And it's not the body glitter freckling his cheeks and his shoulders with gold, although his feelings might change by the time he tries to remove it tonight. He'd been gilded with it when he'd been dancing up a storm with a group of drag queens. They'd admired his eyeliner - a deep brown shot through with gold along his upper lashes - but winked and said it was "a little subtle for Pride". As soon as Dean had seen the tube of glitter, he'd yelled "hell yes!" and even managed to hold still long enough to be coated in the stuff before moving his body to the beat again. Although he's sure his feet will be aching later, so far his favourite cowboy boots are not the source of his discomfort.

It's not the bright pink feather boa, either, which he'd acquired from the same source as the glitter, when he'd been sent off with a kiss to the cheek and the words "be bold, honey!" He'd expected the boa to tickle or irritate, but for some bizarre reason the sensation of feathers around his shoulders and the back of his neck feels incredibly comforting and reassuring. He feels warm and safe and oh. Oh.

As that particular realisation sweeps over him, Dean tightens his hold on Cas. He's standing behind him with his right hand on Cas' hip, and his left arm is up over his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. His hand is splayed out, at once putting his silver wedding band on display and somehow attempting to conceal Cas from the eyes of his many admirers (and, well, good luck with that. Cas is incredibly beefy these days).

Which brings us to the source of Dean's discomfort; to the thing that's deepening the furrow in his brow and the dimples beside his pursed lips: namely, the sheer number of guys hitting on Cas.

It's not like Dean can blame them. Cas' muscular frame is wrapped in black jeans and a tight black t-shirt bearing the Led Zeppelin 1975 tour logo. The short sleeves show off the floral tattoos trailing down his left arm. Cas is wearing a rainbow-coloured enamel belt buckle and, because he's determined to be the death of Dean, black cowboy boots. Before they'd left, Dean hadn't been able to resist grabbing a black kohl pencil and smudging a little along Cas' upper and lower lashes. And, okay, maybe Cas' wide-eyed bewilderment every time he's flirted with is vaguely amusing. But when Dean is right here? Not cool.

Right on cue, here's another one. From over his husband's shoulder, Dean levels his very best glare at the guy. It's a look that can stop a demon dead in its tracks. A vampire would tremble. A werewolf would wet itself. But one young gay guy with a few drinks in him? Totally unaffected. Like the others, he's all smiles and understanding when Cas politely, if awkwardly, waves him away. (Literally. With a final dorky little wave goodbye.)

Dean realises that he's moved his right arm around Cas' waist, so now Dean is wrapped around Cas like some kind of koala/octopus hybrid. An octoala? A koctopus? Definitely koctopus. Heh.

Dean snorts at the thought, which is somewhat unfortunate, given that his face is right next to Cas' ear. Cas flinches and turns his head around to fix him in a squinty glare.

"Koctopus?" Dean says, apologetically.

Cas narrows his eyes further and tilts his head to the side.

"Um, the way I was wrapped around you. I was like a cross between a koala and an octopus."

Dean nudges Cas. "So what does that make me? C'mon, you know you wanna say it."

Cas just tilts his head a bit further to the side, either in confusion or outright despair. Dean has untangled himself from Cas and stepped back, and looks down at the ground, suddenly self-conscious.

Dean feels Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then it smooths over his back, finding the back of his neck underneath the boa. Whatever his shape, Cas' touch has the exact same effect on Dean. He looks up into the impossibly blue eyes of his husband.

"You're a very glittery," Cas begins, softly, "and very beautiful," one corner of his mouth lifts, and then he purses his lips together, trying to hold back the smile, "koctopus."

The corners of his eyes are crinkled. He's not amused by the joke, Dean knows, just absurdly pleased to be saying something he knows will make Dean happy. Of course Dean knows that Cas loves him, knows the whole cosmic-realm-crossing magnitude of it, but in little moments like this, he's floored by it. Dean can't help his sudden exhale or the massive grin that breaks across his face. He wraps his husband up in hug that they hold for a good long moment, before Dean leans back to kiss Cas.

No one had ever explained to Dean how difficult it is to kiss someone when you can't stop smiling. He'd never had that problem before Cas, but now it's practically a daily occurrence. It's a menace because kissing Cas is one of Dean's favourite pastimes. Now, they trade little pecks between wide, toothy grins, until passion takes over and the kisses become heavier.

It takes someone wolf-whistling for them to part, and then they're back to grinning and staring into each others' eyes, until Dean spots something on Cas' face. And something else. And something else. In fact, there's something all over Cas, and that something is gold glitter. It's on his face, his hands, his Zeppelin shirt, and even in his hair. Dean runs his fingers through the unruly curls - Cas has been wearing his hair longer lately - in an attempt to shake it out, but only deposits more glitter into Cas' locks.

"Oops," Dean says, "I kinda glitter bombed you there. It's all over your shirt, too. Sorry, Sunshine."

He doesn't sound terribly sorry.

"This is your shirt, Dean."

"Aw, man."

He does sound a little sorry now, but his future laundry woes are forgotten when Cas presses another kiss to his pouting lips. They're forgotten again when something across the crowd catches Dean's eye.

"Oooh," Dean exclaims as he drags Cas towards the stall he's spotted.

It's selling cowboy hats in every configuration of colour imaginable, and Dean is practically jumping on the spot excitement. Cas looks his husband up and down, slowly.

"You think your outfit's lacking accessories?" he deadpans.

"Yup," is Dean's gleeful reply, "and so's yours."

Cas' groan is lost to the noise of the crowd and the beat of the music, so no-one will ever know if it was one of protest or defeat. He does, in fact, end up wearing a black cowboy hat with a rainbow band, so if it was protest then it was highly ineffective. Dean's has a pink crown, purple band and blue brim, and he's carrying another black one with a band in the non-binary flag colours for Jack. Cas admits that Jack's going to love it.

"Damn, this is awesome," Dean says as they head back to meet up with the rest of their family.

Walking hand in hand with Cas, Dean's thoughts wander. Dean could kick his younger self for every time he'd called someone gay or a girl as a way of saying they were weak. Because all he can see in the people around him is strength. He grins again, giddy with the atmosphere of defiant joy. All around him is everything he'd spent his life fighting to protect: freedom, family, and love. Holding his husband's hand a little tighter, he's grateful that in the end he gets to have both: freedom and peace.

#sorry to be late posting this - I was poorly but then I'm also naturally blessed with the writing speed of a sloth #thank you so much for hosting this event #spnprideweek #spn #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #dean is bi #trans castiel #non-binary Jack Kline #my fic #happy pride 🌈

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dalamjisung · 4 years ago

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queen of the night ❁ lee minho

genre: angst and fluff (a mess of emotions)

word count: 9717

pairing: reader x lee minho

description: the king needs you. but what he doesn’t know is that you need him, too.

“The preparations are underway, my King.”

He doesn’t spare a glance at his servant, waving her away with a wave as his eyes quickly scan the maps laid out in front of him. His Royal Secretary, Hwang Hyunjin, stands next to him, nodding in silent agreement as they move pieces around, mumbling unintelligible words that even if you tried, you couldn’t understand. Their low voices is a form of defense, protecting both you and themselves.

Being the Queen makes it so there are obvious downsides to a life of riches and power. After the first assassination attempt, Minho made a point of always having his eyes on you. You could still remember his angry words, the shouts echoing in the cold stoned walls of his castle.

“They dare to try and kill my wife under my roof?! Who the fuck do they think they are?” His crazed gaze lands on you, your hands clutching your robes shut as you try to control your ragged breathing. He frowns, and although it takes some time, you think he finally notices your discomfort in being in a room full of armed men after what happened. Gathering them all near his working desk, Minho quickly mumbles out orders. “Bang Chan, Changbin, take him to the dungeons, I’ll deal with him later. Felix and Jeongin, I want a through check of my grounds, use everyone available. Seungmin and Hyunjin will stay with Y/N–“

“What about you?” You ask, and you hate to admit that Lee Minho is your only source of comfort at the moment. “Where will you go?”

“I have things to deal with, my Queen,” The formality to which he responds to you is what ticks you off, and you are marching out of his room before he can even process it. Of course, his men are quick to follow you down the hall, all the way back to the Queen’s Chambers, but you lock the door before they can enter after you.

You need to be alone for what follows.

“Y/N,” Someone touches your shoulder and you’re quick to react, pulling away clumsily. You flinch, the sudden movement having your ribs throbbing in pain. “Oh… are you okay, Y/N?”

Chan’s worried eyes find your and you can’t help but smile at your best friend. He lived next to you growing up, his family relying on the crop yours maintained, and yours, relying on the protection of his father’s army. His father had been a loyal commander of the royal guard, serving the King and the Royal Family for years until he passed away in combat; and, having been trained since a young age, Chan was quick to follow his dad’s footsteps. You would’ve too, if the army allowed for female warriors. Instead, you found another way into the royal life, and, unfortunately, it came with a lot of weight to falls onto your shoulders.

“Y-Yeah,” You smile, a bit shaken up still. “I’m fine, don’t worry, Channie.”

He frowns, not believing a single word that leaves your mouth, but nodding nonetheless.

“Can I help you with anything?” You sigh, hands unconsciously moving to cover your ribs, uncomfortable with the pressure that your corset applies to the wounds.

“No, you just looked… lost,” He shrugs, looking around the room as the others busy themselves with strategies and tactical conversation. “It must be incredibly boring to have to sit through these.”

“You know I am not bored by talks of war,” You smirk, remembering back at fond memories of sitting in Chan’s living room with him and his father as you two played with his maps and two wooden swords he’d carved as toys. “I am, however, suffocated in a room too small for such big egos.”

The snort that escapes him makes you giggle, and you straighten your back at the realization that you two are being observed.

“My King,” You voice out, slowly raising up to your feet in the most composed way you can manage. “I am sorry to interrupt such urgent matters, but I wonder if it is okay for me to take a walk in the gardens…? It is such a beautiful day out and–“

“Commander,” Minho nods at Chan, face twisted into something that you can’t read. “Please escort the Queen outside.”

“Yes, my King,” Chan politely bows before following you out.

The noise of the door closing behind both of you is enough to have you both running down the hall, laughing in the most manic of ways as you race each other to the castle’s gardens. Upon your wedding, Minho had all your favorite flowers spread through the grounds, making a safe place for you to collect your thoughts and enjoy the sun, as he put it. You hold that space sacred, adoring what it means for you and what it could’ve meant for the King, even though you’ve never seen him out there, not even once.

“Oh, my Queen!” One of the maid steps out of the way as you run past her. “Be careful!”

“I will, Dorothea,” You shout back, smiling widely as you push the heavy doors open. The sun makes you squint, but you soon get used to it, quick enough to watch Chan pant, hands holding his body up by the knees. “Getting old, Bang?”

“Ha!” He wheezes out, but his nose crinkles in a oh so familiar way that is enough to have you laughing again. “You wish, Y/L/N… or should I say, my Queen?”

“Ew, no,” Your hands touch the white petals that surround you, finding comfort in the smoothness of their beings. “I hate it when you call me that, Commander.”

“You suck,” Chan grumbles, poking his tongue out at you.

“You are probably the only one that can tell me that without suffering the consequences,” You joke, sitting down on the wooden bench that faces the pond. Before sitting next to you, Chan looks around, wanting to make sure no one would witness such comfort casualty from a royal guard towards the Queen.

“Oh yes,” He chuckles. “The King would definitely send me after them.”

“It is not you that my enemies should fear,” You smile, hands once agains seeking the white flowers, almost as if honing their energy to yourself. “They are my enemies, after all.”

“Close your eyes,” He says once again, and is that a hint of a smile you hear in his voice? “It’s a surprise, my Queen.”

“They are closed,” You muse, chuckling at the uncharacteristically youthful behavior. Your hands are stretched in front of you, careful not to hit anything as your husband guides you through the halls of your new home.

You hear a loud, creaking noise and suddenly there is wind, blowing against you, caressing your skin with gentle nips of cold air. His hand is firm on your waist, and you dare to blush at the touch you’ve been craving for for so long, basking in the feeling of his breath hitting your cheek as he chuckles once you almost trip over an unannounced step.

“I got you,” He mumbles, voice low and raspy. “I got you, Y/N.”

“T-Thank you,” You whisper back, allowing your hands to fall on top of his as he keeps guiding you, turning you right, right, left, right, left, and stop. “Are… are we here?”

“We are,” He slowly withdrawals from you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” Your answer comes out more excited than you intended and he laughs at your enthusiasm.

“Open you eyes.”

Blinking, you focus on the rich bushes surrounding you, and where before there was simple foliage, beautiful, big white flowers have bloomed, their smell enveloping you in a trance of amazement and wonder.

“They are called Queens of the Night,” Minho explains, slowly walking besides you. “I thought it was fitting for you… with how they open up slowly, only at night; how they are careful with their surroundings, looking so rough at first, and then so, so soft at the touch.”

“Minho…” You whisper, holding tears back. This is the most beautiful thing he’s done for you ever since your wedding.

“My Queen,” His eyes are looking at you– only you– but he still misses the way your smile fades as you process his words, a pang of sadness washing away all the remnants of the momentary glee he was able to offer you. “My life.”

Nights in the castle are quiet, Minho being a kind enough master to give his servants the dark hours to rest. He cares for those who care for him and you know it; for him, however, it seems that you are the only exception.

Your windows is open, much to your husband’s dismay, but you simply shrug at his disapproving eyes, set on the ideal that if he won’t sleep in this room, he won’t command this room. A queen must sleep in her own chambers, is what he told you after the ceremony was done. He was courteous enough to call the maids to help you out of your wedding gown, but you would only see him again the next morning, understandably so. You knew why he married you then, and you know why he still keeps you close now; nothing about you is enough to allure the almighty King Lee Minho– no beauty, no riches, no titles. But what you give your husband is something beyond the shallow eyes of those who wondered what did their King see in a woman like you, a woman with no prowesses. What he did see, however, is something that only few do, and even fewer dare to recognize it– especially in a woman– but he did. He saw you for what you are, and that is the main, if not the only, reason you accepted his proposal. Minho saw pure, and unadulterated power.

Chan is the one to pick you up. He doesn’t dare to contest or question his orders, this is not up to him, but he worries; it’s clear in his eyes, in his face, in the way his mouth turns slightly downwards. He doesn’t find you in your family’s home and if that’s not where you are, then there is only one other place you could be.

He finds you in his house, laughing merrily with his mother as you enjoyed a warm cup of tea and wild strawberries from the forest in the back of his house. His mother sees him first, leaping to her feet and running to her son, excited to have her boy in her arms even if for a small moment. It is the fact that he doesn’t laugh or smile that has you both worrying, his mother pulling away from him, hands trembling and heart racing, and you behind her, hands on her shoulder in support.

That’s always been you– the silent support.

The strongest pillar of both your families.

“Y/N,” Chan’s voice is thick with worry, and you frown, wondering if he was once again hiding his tears from both of you. “The King requests your presence.”

“Oh my!” His mother gasps, turning to face you. “What does he want with her?”

“He saw you.”

You nod. You nod because you know– because you saw him too. It was during an attack to the village, an unexpected ambush from the prince of a neighboring kingdom as he visited to sign a trade treaty; from the carriages and nearby mountains, waves of men poured into the centre of your home, killing, destroying, burning. You remember hiding your parents and Ms. Bang in the forest, and almost like you’ve been possessed by an avenging spirit, you take a deep breath, you calm your racing heart, your focus, and you move. Years of training rush back to you, living next to the most skilled fighter and swordsman of the kingdom suddenly paying off, as one after the other, enemies fall to the ground under your merciless arrows.

In your defense, you didn’t know it was him– you didn’t know it was the King– but it wouldn’t matter even if you did. He is surrounded, twin blades in each hand, and all you see from under his dark hood is a smirk. The skill one needs to wield twin blades is immense, but even relying on his experience and obvious mastery of his weapons, this man would die by end of today… if you didn’t do something about it. Unlike him, you rely on your stealth and speed. You have a long distance weapon, and only a couple of arrows left– missing is not an option.

“Missing is never an option,” You whisper to yourself , and once again you take a deep breath. Hold it. And release.

The first arrow crosses his neck, and before their eyes can find you, the second one strikes another in the shoulder. With two down, you have enough time to throw your bow to the side, pulling two knives from your boots.

Some may say you fight dirty, arriving unannounced, secretly, quietly. It’s not good form, it is not noble. You, on the other hand, say you fight to survive. You don’t care about dignity as long as you get live. As long as those you are protecting get to live. That is all that matters, you think, as you approach another two, ducking away from the uncontrolled swords clanking against each other.

“Three,” You whisper, swiftly moving away as you slice his neck open. His body falls loudly, and now all eyes are on you, but that only buys you time. Another knife finds another man’s knees, and you let the twin blade’s finish the job. “Four.”

You pull away in time to see the other two enemies fall dead on the ground, and you don’t dare to look up at the curious eyes that watch you walk away.

“You saved my life,” He shouts as he sheaths his swords.

“I know,” You pick up your bow, quickly putting your knives away.

“What do you want?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You frown, not even bothering to look back at him. You don’t stop walking, but he follows you.

“You must know who I am,” He chuckles, and you can hear him jogging to catch up with you. “So tell me… how can I repay you?”

“No need for that, your Majesty,” You keep your eyes down. “I did only what anyone would.”

“No,” He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. Not even my best commander could do what you did.”

You frown, not quite content with the dismissal of your best friend’s talents.

“I am sorry, your Majesty,” You bow down. “But everything I know is because of your commander. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check in on my family.”

One final bow and you are gone.

You remain unmoving as you hear shuffling from your window, your blinds fluttering with both the wind and the intruder. Another assassination attempt… could it be? It had been less than a month since you dealt with the last one. Who could be so desperate to have your King dead as to send multiple assailants in such a short period of time?

Don’t they know?, you think, regulating your breath to not give yourself away. One of them is bound to talk…

You move slowly, almost dreamily, slipping your hand under your pillow, where a familiar knife lays. This one was specially made for you with the best steel available in the kingdom, handle garnished with the brightest rubies in the land– Minho was particularly proud of himself with that one gift. Your thumb laces through the whole in the handle, steading your grip for when you inevitably ‘wake up.’

“Ah,” You hear the low voice mumble, a man. The deep breath he takes, nose bumping against your forehead, makes your stomach knot, and you stop yourself from giving into the nausea that threatens to take over. “Such a pretty Queen… all alone at night, unprotected, unloved. You must be craving some attention aren’t you, your highness?”

The cold drag of his blade on the exposed skin of chest is all you need to snap, one leg pushing him into the bed and one hand on his shoulder to hold him down, knife perfectly placed on his throat. Your breathing is harsh, visibly disgruntled, but he is too busy trying to regain control to notice. No one ever notices.

“Wha–“

“Who dares to trespass into the royal residence?” You practically growl, hair escaping your braid and falling over your eyes. You are aware of how you look– nightgown exposing the top your heaving breasts, eyes dark, hair wild; you see how his eyes leave your for a second, taking in the whole picture, and you really want to get this over with. But you need information first.

“Well, well, well, the Queen has some surprises up her sleeve,” He wheezes as you press your knife down harder.

“Who are you?”

“Does it matter?” He mumbles, smirking.

“No,” You chuckle. “I have no use for such an insignificant name. I do, however, need to know who hired you.”

“Ah, I believe you know that information will never reach you, your Majesty,” He winces, feeling the sharp blade shallowly cut through his skin.

“You see, I don’t believe you,” You click your tongue, and with another swift motion, you two are standing, his arm twisted against his back and your knife still in place. “But I understand… I am merely a woman, why would you tell me anything? Maybe an audience with the King will suit you better.”

Your feet are cold against the polished stones, but everything is secondary to the task in hand. You push the man forward, and it’s only when you’re in front of his door that you notice it is already ajar. It’s almost like your heart stops beating and your hostage notices, using the moment in his favor. He knocks you back with his head, and you feel blood dripping from your brow where he hit you. He has no weapon, so he is quick to try and escape. You can’t let that happen; you need to know who wants Minho dead– that’s the only reason you are there to begin with. You can’t disappoint him. Whatever happens next, it happens in seconds; with your mind split in between you current situation and your husband, you cuss the gods above and throw your knife, and before you hear the loud thump of the man’s lifeless body hitting the floor, you feel all the air in your lugs escape you.

“Stupid bitch,” You hear, as you fall on the ground. Another person, another woman, stands over you, feet pressing down next to where a small blade is lodged on your side, blood staining the floors the more you stay there.

The pain you feel has nothing to do with the weapon intruding your body, and you push away any emotional turmoil, forcing your blurry vision to focus, and all you need is one hit to the back of her knee. She falls forward, arms stretched to cushion her fall, and your elbow meets her face before she can even touch the ground. Adrenaline is rushing through you and you rely on that, knowing that you don’t have long until it starts to wear off and you lose all consciousness.

“Respect your Queen,” You snarl, getting into a fighting stance as she raises to her feet. “Girl.”

One of your hands puts pressure on your lower stomach, stupidly trying to stop the bleeding– you know you can’t pull the knife out, but it might just be the only weapon you have available. You have no other choice as she advances, another blade pulled out from her back– it’s messy and full of rage, completely unlike you, but it’s the best you can do. You barely feel the cuts she makes on your arms, and you don’t really register the loud steps approaching from the south entrance; all you can think about is Minho and the fact that she came out of his room.

Your body is getting slower by the second, and your opponent is quick to use that to her advantage, widely striking whatever she can reach. She doesn’t kill you, though, and you wonder if she might just need you alive.

“Y/N!”

Chan’s voice is the last push you need, and the knife on your hands, one coated with your own blood and sweat, finds itself a home in her shoulder. The guards are quick to grab her, and you waste no time, pushing Chan away to run into the King’s room.

Minho has his wrists tied to the bed, and he is unconscious. A large gash in his chest, from his collarbone all the way down, is bleeding and you cry out in surprise, tears threatening to fall. It’s your voice, really, that wakes him up with a flinch, and his eyes open quick enough to watch you, all bloodies and bruised, crying, fall on his commander’s arms.

“I have a proposal for you.”

You don’t respond, still on your knees in front of your ruler. It is only once he tells you to rise that you do, looking at him in confusion.

“I have a proposal for you, Lady Y/N,” He repeats, getting from his throne. With suspicious eyes, he is quick to command everyone outside, wanting privacy for what is next.

“Whatever it is, my King,” You respectfully nod. “I am honored.”

“Marry me.”

Your gasp travels through the walls, and that is the first time you learn that the castle’s walls talk back, echoing your words as if confirming your decision.

“E-Excuse me?!” You mumble.

“Marry me,” He repeats, and with his hand, he guides you to his throne, sitting you down and moving to grab you a cup of water. “I know this is sudden, but you must be aware of the pressure I’ve been under to find a queen.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” You look at him with wide eyes. “But I-I don’t understand–“

“If you are aware of the pressure bestowed upon me,” He chuckles, and nothing but misery comes out through his voice. “Then you must also be aware of the attempts on my life.”

“I’ve heard of them,” You mutter, looking down at your hands. You hear shuffling, and you see the King kneeling in front of you. His hands cover yours, and he carefully examines your palms, looking for something. “I thought they were rumors…”

“Not rumors, unfortunately,” He sighs, closing his eyes, and just now you notice how exhausted he looks, almost like he hasn’t slept in weeks. “And it’s becoming impossibly harder to deal with those. Few of my men are capable enough to deal with hired assassins, but they are still soldiers– they rely on force and brute strength. That is not what I need, Lady Y/N, to deal with these threats.”

“W-What do you need, my King?” You frown.

“I need someone observant,” He says, eyes intense on you. “I need someone careful and stealthy. I need an assassin of my own.”

“Your M–“

“I need you.”

You quickly raise to your feet, putting some distance in between you and him, as if that would allow you breath, to think.

“Your Majesty,” You cry out, not being able to deal with his ludicrous offer. “I am not an assassin. I am not half as capable as your men, I am just a–“

“Woman?” He finishes the sentence and it burns; your skin burns with the way he looks at you, your heart burns with how fast it’s beating, your cheeks burn with the blush that takes over as you nod. “Even better. No one will expect this from you. You can hide from everyone, Y/N, but you can’t hide from me. Not anymore.”

“Why marry me, then?” You whisper, hands shaking. You want to scream… you want to cry and hit something. Why is this happening to you?

“Putting you in my army will just give away your potential,” He sighs. “And marrying you is the best way possible to always have you close without raising suspicion. You’ll always be by my side– my Queen. My life will be in your hands should you accept this, Y/N; but by marrying you I can at least make sure that your life here is comfortable. I can take care of your family, protect them. That’s why I can offer you in return.”

Your breathing stops. “You are asking for my life, your Majesty, not my hand.”

“I am,” He breathes out, frowning. “I am, indeed.”

“Do I really have a choice?” He doesn’t answer. “I thought so.”

“Everything I can do to guarantee your safety, I will,” He argues, closing in on you. His hands find your cheek, and his voice is as fierce as his eyes. “I’ll care for you. I’ll watch over you.”

You nod. This is your fate.

So face it.

“Okay,” You say, softly. “I’ll marry you.”

According to Chan, it took you four days to regain consciousness. The kingdom has been in distress, and your parents have not left the castle, Minho having provided them with comfortable rooms and service. Your husband stayed by your side until you opened your eyes, and only when you cried out, shaking your head, only then he left.

Everything hurt, and Seungmin has been more than attentive to your wounds, making sure to treat them at least thrice a day. He was able to stop the bleeding as soon as you were left to his care, but he still worried that you lost too much blood.

“You scared us,” He tells you every morning, when Minho and Hyunjin accompany him to your chambers to check on you. “You are lucky that the Commander got to you quickly, my Queen, or else who know what those people would’ve done to you.”

Who knows what those people would’ve done to you.

Such a pretty Queen… all alone at night, unprotected, unloved.

You must be craving some attention aren’t you, your highness?

“I-I, oh my god, I– Seungmin, I’m going; I need a bowl,” A familiar feeling creeps up to you, and you know what is about to happen. Your lungs tighten, and the more your try to take in gulps of air, the more you seem to be out of it; hands furiously searching for anything to grasp– the sheets, your hair, another hand– and you whimper, tears starting to stream down your face. “I’m gonna–“

There is no time– you throw up all over your bed, and you feel hands moving quickly to pull your hair back, another drawing circles on your back, but you need it to stop, you need distance, you need quiet.

“No, no no no,” You say weakly, pushing the hands away and shutting your eyes tight. “No, don’t touch me, don’t– please, please don’t touch me.”

You can still her that man’s voice on your ear, his tone, his suggestions. The disgust that hits you is enough to drive you out of your mind, hands rubbing your skin furiously, wanting all traces of him gone, all traces of her gone.

“Hold her!” Seungmin screams, grabbing one of your arms. “My Queen, you’ll open your wounds! Don’t–“

“Y/N!” Minho’s voice is the only one that makes past the cloudy haze tainting your mind. “My love, Y/N, what is happening?”

You freeze. This is the first time Minho says that; love. And as much as you want to enjoy it, to bask in the moment of hearing that word you’ve been waiting to hear for so long from him, all you can think is her. And her leaving his room. And if he said those words to her, too.

“Get out,” You whisper, pushing yourself away from both of them. “Call Chan. And leave me alone.”

“I am not leaving you unattended,” Minho says, and the voice he uses, the one he uses on everyone else when he orders them around, is enough to have you glaring at him. “I’m your husband. I’m staying with you.”

“I don’t need a husband right now,” You hiss at him. “I need my family.” “I am your family!”

“No, you are not!” You bite back, sobbing. “Wait here if you must, my King, but only until the Commander arrives. And then leave. Please.”

“W-What do you mean…?” He frowns.

“Minho.”

The sharp intake of breath is enough to have shivers running up and down your spine.

“My family would never ask me to die for them,” You sniffle, and when you look at him all you see is hurt. “They would die for me instead.”

Chan comes in right after, and only after the door closes you allow yourself to mourn. You cry for the love you gave away so freely to a man that wanted nothing but your willingness to die for him, and you cry for your fragile heart that breaks in two. You cry for the life you didn’t live; one that you might’ve found another love, one that loved you back, and you cry for the family that you’ll never have, that you refuse to have. You cry, but it’s too late now.

This is your fate.

So face it.

“You’re really marrying him,” Chan muses, guarding the door as your maids finish garnishing your hair. Everyone’s fixation is on your appearance, so much so that they miss the small daggers on your thigh. They have to make you pretty for the King, they say; he needs to finds you absolutely ravishing for the nuptial night. Just the thought of it makes your palms sweat.

“I really am,” You answer, offering him a small smile. “Can you believe it? You promise you’d always protect me when we were five, and now it is your official duty to see that you carry that promise to the grave.”

“And to the grave I will carry it,” His smile is true and dimpled and you heart aches at the thought of having to watch your best friend possibly go into battle. “My Queen.”

“Oh, god, no,” You crinkle your nose in disgust. “Don’t call me that when it’s just us, Chan. We are family.”

“As you wish,” He jokingly bow to you. “Your Majesty.”

“Oh god…” You laugh, and for the rest of the afternoon, Chan takes it upon himself to make you laugh as much as possible; to remind you of a time when everything was merry, and easy, and free.

It’s a beautiful sound, your laugh; and Minho closes his eyes as he washes himself in the sound, on the other side of the door.

“What’s going on with you?” Chan murmurs. For the first time in forever you see him without his official royal uniform. He is wearing an old shirt, and you recognize it from the stain– it was his dad’s old shirt, the one you dropped grape juice on when you were just three. You didn’t know he held on that all this time, but just the sight of it makes your eyes water. “Hm? What is going on, Y/N?”

“He doesn’t love me,” You murmur, quietly crying like you’ve done ever since you moved to the castle months ago.

“What do you mean?” Chan frowns, and gets up, moving to go sit next to you on the bed. Your hands grab the hem os his shirt, playing with it was you finally allow yourself to rid your body of the raging frustration trapped within. “He married you, Y/N. Out of all the ladies in the kingdom, he chose you. I think that says a lot.”

“It says he wanted something from me,” You say, rolling your eyes. His hands are gentle on your cheeks, wiping away the tears even though his efforts are futile– you can’t stop crying.

“And what did he want from you?” The intonation of his voice is enough to know he is suspicious.

“Protection,” You whisper, and only then you gather enough courage to look him in the eyes. “Minho was in danger, and… and I helped him. And he called me the next week, remember? He called me to the castle, you were the one that came to fetch me and he needed protection. There were many attempts on his life, Chan, and although he has a whole army, he needed someone more discreet. And he thought I could be that someone.”

“I- no, that’s not… what?”

It hurts you to see him like that, eyes wide, mouth hanging, but he needs to know. You could’ve died and he would never know why, but this can’t happen again; he needs to know.

“The assassin that went after the King last month,” You gulp. “I was the one that… dealt with it. He is capable, but he can’t put himself in danger like that– Chan! Where are you going?”

“And you can?!” He shouts. You expected this. You expected anger and frustration, but you really need him right now, you can’t be alone. “You can risk your life for a man you don’t even love?”

“I do love him.”

This is the only thing that appeases him.

“I… I love him very much, actually,” You whisper, too ashamed to look up from your hands. “It started a couple of months ago, and… I am not certain why, Chan, but he is a very good king– he treats the servants well, and-and he truly is loved by his people, and he is good. He is good and I just– I just wish he’d be good like that to me, too.”

“Things can change,” Chan breathes out. “He can change. You… you didn’t see him when you were unconscious, but I did. Y/N, I do think he loves you, I truly do but… I think he hasn’t realized it yet. Things haven’t been easy for the King. He’s protected himself as long as I can remember, always deploying the army to protect his people.”

“Chan–“

“I believe he loves you,” Your friend says. “But I also believe he doesn’t know how to love you.”

“My wife at last,” Minho smiles, guiding you across the dance floor. With him, things are easy– his smile make it so everything is easy.

“Indeed I am,” You smile back, and for the night, just for your wedding night, you’ll allow yourself to pretend. To pretend you’re in love; to pretend you are loved. “Can’t back out now, my King.”

“Wouldn’t dare even if I wanted to,” He snort, and you love these moments, the ones that he allows himself the casualness of life. “You are lethal, my dear wife.”

“So are you, my dear husband,” You raise your brows. “I believe I remember certain twin blades on these same hands that hold me, right now.”

“I am sure you must’ve been confused,” He laughs. His eyes disappear under the giddiness of his smile and you enjoy the moment to caress his face. “I am helpless without my Queen.”

Minho finds you in the gardens. You are dressed in strange clothes, men clothes, and something inside twists. The way you move your hands graciously through the large flowers is enough to have him walking to you, making himself announced with his heavy steps. The sun shines particularly bright on your face once you turn around to look at him, and he swears you look angelic, everything about you screaming innocence.

“Okay, that is enough Y/N,” Minho breaths out, frustration driving him over the edge. He moves from where he is standing to kneel in front of you, and, oddly enough, it bring you back to a fond memory of him in this same position, sitting you on his throne. “I don’t know why you’re avoiding me, but you are my wife. We are bound together by sacred matrimony, in which I vowed to take care of you, to protect and love you–“

“Love me?” You mumble, and there is something wrong once your eyes meet his. It’s almost like you don’t see him; like he is a ghost which you look straight past. “Love me, Minho? Do you love me?”

“Of cour–”

“That woman in your room,” You interrupt him, and you are very aware of your position; if you had not married the King, uttering a word in his direction could mean death. But as his wife, you have the power to interrupt him, to argue with him, to ask things of him– and yet, you still can’t gather the courage to simply talk to him. “If she had sneaked in, I would’ve noticed. I would’ve heard her, especially considering how you keep your windows closed at night. They creak, you know? Loudly. That’s why, usually, invaders will look for an easier entrance… like an open in the room next door.”

“Is… Is that why you leave you room’s window open?” He gasps. “To reroute them to an easier entrance?”

“Not an easier entrance,” You shake your head, and you finally focus on him, eyes on fire with anger, with rage. “Me. I manipulate their way towards me, so that if there is an attempt to someone’s life, it will be mine.”

“Y/N–“

“Tell me,” The way your voice wavers is enough to have him in high alert, desperately scrambling to try and get closer to you. “How did she get in your room? If not sneaking through the obvious entrance, how would she get in, my King… unless. Unless you invited her yourself?”

“No, that’s… I mean–“

“On our wedding day, I signed my life away,” You tell him, voice growing louder by the word. “I gave myself to you– body and soul– and all I asked back was your loyalty. You remember that? You remember the promise you made me, Lee Minho?”

“I do. I promised you I would never humiliate you,” He recites, frowning at the memory of you in a wedding gown, eyes wide as you listened to his words carefully. The kingdom was unaware, but you two signed the contract in front of them all. “I would never displease you, and I would never betray you. I would protect, love, cherish and care for you. I would do my best.”

“So now I ask, is this your best?”

“No.”

“Then did you lie to me?” You walk to him, finger poking his chest persistently. “Did you lie?!”

“No!” He shouts, taking a step closer, and you don’t feel fear– you could never fear him. Not him, with the hands that held you so close during your wedding; not him, with the mouth that smiles down at you in the most random of times; not him, that promised you the world, even if just for appearances. “I would never lie to you!”

“Then how did she–“

“I invited her!”

You had a hunch, but the confession is practically a slap to your face.

“Her name… her name is Adeline,” He sighs, eyes watery and full of regret. “We grew up together, much like you and Chan. She is the daughter of one of the old cooks; my parents allowed their children on the grounds so that I would have friends, you know? Her and I were really close, until I hit a certain age, and my training begun. Father had big plans for me, so he had to be harsh, I understand that but… he pulled me away from everyone. Adeline did not take well to the news and she– she was only trying to help, but she talked to Mother and the next thing I know they are being sent away and–“

Minho rubs his face with his hands, breathing deeply to regulate himself.

“The war hit and it was time for me to take over. I got used to how things were, so I just carried on like that, but it… it was hard. I was practically a kid, I was desperate and alone, so I reached out to her. Her words were familiar and comforting and it became a habit– whenever rough times were ahed, I’d rely on her. She knows be better than anyone, and I think she might’ve misunderstood my intentions. I got a letter… on our wedding day. She was angry and disappointed and I felt guilty and so I just kept writing.”

“What would you two talk about?” Jealousy is a foreign feeling for you, considering you’ve never had much to be jealous over. Yet you feel it as if it has been born with you, as if it controlled you whole. You hate a woman you never met and not for the right reasons– not for an attempt to your life, but for an attempt to seduce your husband.

“It doesn’t matter, Y/N, we–“

“It matters to me!” You cry out. Surprised with yourself, you cover your mouth with your hands, looking away from him. But he heard you– loud and clear– and he is not about to let this go.

“Why?” Minho questions, taking another step closer, until he can feel the warmth from your body touching his. “Why would you care?”

“Because you won’t let me in your chambers, but you invited her in,” Defeated, you let your hands fall down. Everything that’s been bothering you, suddenly race to the front, and all the nights you spent crying, all the injuries you’ve received in his stead, all the comments about who you are… it’s all too much. “You barely talk to me, but you write to her constantly! You push me away just to pull to her closer– should I continue?!”

It’s another cold night in the castle. Another lonely, dark night in which the wind blows so violently that the trees whispers secrets that weren’t for the random ear; the windows rattled and the doors creaked, and it all sounded much like a song– on a that you would never dance to. In your room, the candle is still lit, and you shiver under your covers, pulling them up past your neck and just above your nose. Once again, your husband refused to join you in sleep, as much as you tried to change his mind, and you have to brave the night by yourself.

The darkness is not your friend– someone like you doesn’t get to enjoy nighttime. You have more than enough training and enemies to be aware of what lurks in the shadows. People don’t take kindly to your abilities, and with the years, you’ve gathered a fair amount of people who might want to hurt you, but ever since you’ve became Queen, those people might just as well kill you. Your husband’s façade protectiveness is a curse in disguise, and anyone that might attempt an attack against you personally will have to be lethal, as to not leave any personal traces behind.

The windows rattle again and you whimper, scared. Your heart is racing with the just thought of an invasion. Even though you have absolute confidence in your skills and you know that you can protect yourself if need be, you don’t want to live looking over your shoulder; you want to be able to sleep in peace, without staying half awake in case of emergencies.

The wind sings again and this time, you cry over this sad, sad song.

“We talked about you.”

“You are a proper bastard, Lee Minho,” You feel sick. Your stomach turns and churns and you feel like you’re about to faint. “You truly are–“

“I told her I’m in love with you.”

Once you bring your hand up, you can’t bring it down– no matter how much you argue with yourself. You just can’t.

“I told her about us,” He closes his eyes, expecting to fuel you with enough anger to have you strike him across the face. You need this, and he deserves it. “That we keep each other at arm’s length, that we barely talk, that we–

“And how did that result in her entering you sleeping quarters?” If you hear one more fault in your relationship, you think you’ll break. You’ll give up. And you can’t give up, not now, not when you two are finally talking.

“She wrote to me saying she was passing through the village on her way East. I told her to come visit.”

“At night?!”

“It’s the only time that you are not next to me,” He mumbles, hands behind himself, holding back the want to reach out and bring you closer and closer and closer until you are practically one. “And I didn’t want her next to you. I know about her feelings for me, she makes them plenty obvious, and I did not want her to shred the little trust you have in me.”

“And how do you think that is working for you, my King?” Your voice is pure venom. “How do you think that shred of trust is dealing?”

“It is not, I know that, okay?!”

“Do you, Minho?” You cry out, and you fist finds his chest. And then again. And again. And you hit him until you con’t have the energy to do so anymore, but it doesn’t help; you don’t feel better, you just feel tired. “How could you do this to me? She almost killed me! She almost killed you! Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t leave you,” Minho whispers, frowning as the image of your bloody gown comes back to mind. “And because I wouldn’t take her as my lover. Adeline was under the false belief that once the time came, I would take her as my Queen. That I was in love with her.”

“Wasn’t you?”

“I loved her,” He explains. “Like you love Chan. Like family love each other… or at least like I thought family was supposed to love each other. I don’t have much experience in the area, but that is what I imagined having a sister was like. Adeline, on the other hand, had envisioned us a future.”

“You love her,” You nod, and this is the first time you two reach an understanding. “But you are not in love with her.”

“Yes…” A puff of air escapes him and you feel it in your face, and you reach a point in which you are not sure if it is rage that still bubbled inside you, or desire. “I am sorry, Y/N. I truly am– all your injuries, all your pain… it is all because of me.”

“No–“

“Yes!” The hold on your shoulders only bring you closer and you close your eyes, feeling his lips brush yours as he speaks. “It is! I– she barely hurt me, but you; God, Y/N, you were stabbed! You had blood all over you! You were unconscious for days and all I could do was sit by you and cry, begging whatever is out there to wake you up! I… I never felt so powerless in my life.”

“Don’t be foolish,” You frown, hand moving to cradle his face. “You’re the most powerful man I know, Lee Minho.”

“Not when it comes to you,” Your husband whispers. “When it comes to you, I’m as powerless at the next man… I am simply at your service, my Queen.”

You hold your breath as he leans closer, and, when he kisses you, it is all very familiar.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Those words will haunt you for the rest of your life. The way Minho’s eyes bulge slightly in surprise, since he’s clearly forgotten about this step in the confirmation of your union, so you take the lead. With a rehearsed giggle, you offer him a gentle pull, hand gripping his so harshly that you would not be surprise if it stopped his blood flow.

“Are you ready?” He whispers, nosing your cheek in a false adoring motion. The kingdom is watching, you remind yourself, and you raise your hand to back of his neck, fingers playing with the hair that escapes his heavy crown.

“Yes, my King,” You whisper back, and for the first time, you notice you’re shaking.

When his lips touch yours for the first time, it’s simple. It’s a light touch, and you’ve heard about this kind of kiss; the ones the maidens in the village talk about when they tell tales of their escapades. The Teasing Kiss, they called it, and you’ve never really understood what they meant until that moment. Until he pulled away, your mouth chasing his and wanting more. And then he kisses you again, coming right back, and the cheers and screams from the thousands of people watching you two gets drowned out by the increased pressure, the increased need. His lips are faster, more desperate, and it’s almost like they search for something within you, coaching an answer out of you, and the best way you can give him what he want is to give him what he wants. You follow his lead, and you are not sure for how long the two of you push, and pull, and give, and take, and it’s only when the priest coughs uncomfortably that you focus enough to pull away.

“Now please,” Minho says, even though he is still breathless and shocked. “Bow down to my Queen.”

His hand is in yours, guiding you through the hallways you’ve gotten so used to walk alone. You don’t know how to feel; you don’t know what to do. You’ve never imagined this possible, but he seems to be in such a hurry that you barely have time to gather you thoughts before you’re being led inside his chambers; before you are being sat down in his bed and he is moving quickly around the spacious quarters. Your eyes follow him, the sun shining through the window and hitting his back, and you can see his muscles through his shirt. You are distracted for a second, but once he opens the doors of his wardrobes you feel your heart stop– your eyes prickle with tears at the sight of an almost empty space. Only a few shirts and britches in view, and you start to wonder if he truly sleeps in this room.

“Wha–“

“Here you go, my Queen,” Minho mumbles shyly, face tainted red. His hands give you a set of clothes to change, and you frown at him, confused. “You can dress in mine instead… if you’d like, of course.”

“Thank you,” You mumble, blinking up at him. Your hands are slow, and you even dare to smile at him, now blushing yourself.

In hopes to escape from his intense gaze, you look around, and everything seems normal; desk full of unsigned decrees, a couple of painting by his wall, a small pile of dirty laundry to be taken by the maids. Typical to men’s fashion, he seems truly embarrassed by his lack of royal behavior in the privacy of his own chambers, and you her him muttering something as he quickly moves around, hiding his dirty clothes in the empty wardrobe and moving to tidy his bed. His large, wide bed. With only one messy side.

“Do you even sleep here?” You joke, getting up from where you sit.

“O-Of course!” His nervous stammering is endearing to you. “Where else would I sleep?”

“It’s just… only one side seems slept on,” You feel as ridiculous as you probably sound, standing next to him while hugging his clothes and pointing to his bed. You feel almost childish.

“Ah, yes, well,” Long ago you’ve learned that your husband and the King are two distinct people. It was obvious from the way he behaved, sometimes, and you might’ve been biased, but you preferred your husband. You love your husband. “That’s my side of the bed. The other side is… well, is yours.”

“But you never let me sleep in here,” You worry that you are whining, pouting, and you straighten your back, composing yourself.

“I didn’t want to force you into a loveless marriage,” His hands move to grabs yours, pulling you closer to him. The way he looks at your clothes is enough to have him sighing in frustration and you chuckle, amused at this new found behavior of his. “Didn’t want to disgrace you by making you lay next to a man you don’t love.”

“But I do love you,” You say, and the way his head shoots up, eyes searching yours and then simply staring, is enough to make your knees buckle. Thankfully he has his hands around your waist now, body pushing against yours until your back is on the wall, shivering in contact with the cold surface. “I’ve asked to sleep here before, I’ve asked to–“

“I thought you were simply trying to appease me,” He shakes his head, desperately trying to argue in your defense. His hair falls over his eyes and you really, really want to reach out and push it away– you want him to see you, you want his to see all of you. “I thought… I thought you were trying to keep up appearances.”

“The night terrifies me,” You whisper as your head cocks to the side, voice wavering as tears roll down under the relief of finally dragging this out of your chest. “The dark a-and the silent, and b-being alone, it’s all too much, Minho. I’m scared all the time! I never know when someone will appear in front of me with a knife or attempt to poison my food! I never know when will be the last time I see Chan, or my parents, or– or you! I know you married me in search for personal protection and I am confident in my abilities, I swear I am, but I am so, so scared.”

“Why did you never mention this to me?” His voice breaks and you can’t believe how hurt he looks. “I’m your husband, my love, I am here to soothe you and calm you. I am here to protect you even if that costs me my life.”

“Then what would be your use for me?” You shrug, looking down in shame. “Why would you need me?”

“Because I love you,” His mouth covers your gently, giving you a quick kiss. “Because I need you,” Another one. “Because you are my Queen and I am your King.”

“I love you,” You tell him again, holding his face in your hands. “I love you so much.”

“Let me protect you,” He but begs, eyes pouring out more emotion than you’ve ever seen. “You don’t have to watch over your shoulder anymore; you don’t have to fear the dark, my love, because I will be laying right next to you, and I’ll hold you in my arms until you feel safe enough to sleep. I… I was an idiot, and for that I apologize. For that and so much more, but I am sorry for putting you in such position, I should’ve never done that. I should’ve been a better husband– a proper husband.”

You say nothing, too overwhelmed by his sudden change.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” The smile that blooms in his lips has you sighing in happiness. “Starting now.”

“Welcome to the family, my darling,” Minho’s mother smiles as he introduces her to you. It is the first time you meet the former Queen, and you see parts of your husband in her face– you see his smile in hers, and hints of the way his eyes disappear under such smile, just like hers.

“Thank you, my Queen,” You bow down respectfully, afraid to look into her eyes in case there is a mistaken understanding of defiance. You know how the power succession happens, and you know the resentment that can linger once it’s gone– all that power, all those riches. And the last thing you want is to cross your new mother-in-law.

“Look at me, my Queen,” Her voice is cold like ice, and once her fingers touch your chin, you feel as if it almost burns. “Ah. Just as I thought…”

“I–“

“You’ll do well,” She whispers. “You’re strong. He needs someone strong… he’s been strong by himself for too long, now.”

Waking up next to your husband is everything you’ve imagined it would be. His arms, tight and secure around your waist, reminds you that from now on, you won’t be alone. You won’t be alone during the day, and you won’t be alone during the nights, because now you truly have a husband; one that loves you, and adores you, and one that you love and care for back.

The night went by too fast, is what you conclude as you notice him stirring awake; you could still hear him whispering all about the days he felt he had to keep you at arms length, and you just now realize how much attention he payed while you were in your own world, floating around in your head. He tells you about the day you wore the deep red dress, and how beautiful you looked; he talks about the week he spent getting your garden ready, hoping to not ruin the surprise; he talks about how sometimes he used to– and still does– gets jealous of Chan, and of all the memories he has with you, and all the intimacy you two share, and all the laughs, the smiles, the hugs. He wanted it all– he still wants it all.

And now he can finally have it.

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aaaaahhh I’ve had this saved on my computer for so long now and I finally decided to post it :D King!Minho really does it for me 🤡❤️ what do you think of this one my lovelies? Let me know! Share, comment, help a struggling writer lol as always, thank you so much for your support <3 means the world!!!

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 4 years ago

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What if...? Part 6

Again, this one goes out to you beautiful enablers! You who comment, reblog and are along for this journey through AU land! I see you, I appreciate you and you make my day :D

So, uh, a quick question: Which do you, read readers, prefer; either one giant part 7 or more regular sized part 7 + a part 8... What’s your vote?

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

“I want you to train me. Teach me how to fight.” Dulsissia blurts it out as she settles herself down next to where Davarax is sitting on the floor with his blaster meticulously laid out in pieces on a blanket in front of him to do maintenance on the different parts.

Davarax freezes for several seconds and then he cautiously puts the pieces he was holding down and he looks over at her. “I, uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Dulsissia frowns. He doesn’t think she can handle it?

“I’m sure we can ask Decco to train you.” Davarax offers.

“Bee-cause you don’t want to.” Dulsissia draws out the word, not entirely sure whether to be hurt or offended, but right now she’s leaning towards both.

Davarax lifts a placating hand, sighing. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

Had it been any other man, Dulsissia would have gone on a rant by now, but she knows Davarax wouldn’t say no if he didn’t have a good reason. “Would you mind telling why not?”

His hand slowly sinks down again and he makes a couple of efforts at starting a sentence, but in the end; Davarax’ shoulders sag slightly with defeat. “It’s just… not.”

“Why not.” She insists. Fine, Dulsissia can ask Decco, but she will at least know why the most skilled fighter in the Covert refuses to train her. He’d even called her Mandokarla once. “You don’t think I’m Mandokarla any more?”

When had she broken his faith in her? When she’d panicked over that storm trooper? Was that it? Mandalorians aren’t allowed to show fear?

“You are!” Davarax blurts out. “You definitely are. Mandokarla. You are.” He then sighs again and gestures faintly towards himself. “It’s me, okay? I’m the problem.”

“You?” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. How can he be the problem? He’s their best fighter.

“I’m too…” Davarax searches for the right word. “...invested.” He finishes, somewhat lamely, and his hand just drops to his lap.

Dulsissia snorts. “You’re training my son, your own kids, but you can’t train me?”

“You’re different.” Davarax mumbles, sounding awkward.

“Nonsense.” Dulsissia inches closer. “I want to learn and I want to learn from the best. Please? I’ll be a good girl and do everything the teacher says.”

Davarax makes an odd sound deep in his throat.

“I know you are busy and you’ve already helped me so much and it is incredibly selfish of me to put another burden on your shoulders,” Dulsissia confesses, feeling the taste of shame again, “but I trust you. And… I like spending time with you. No offense to Decco, she has been wonderful, but she’s not exactly… cheerful. Or especially fond of conversing. She threatened to glue my mouth shut yesterday and I honestly think she wasn’t joking.”

Davarax chuckles, sounding both resigned and fondly amused. “She wasn’t.” Then he hangs his helmet low for a moment or two before sighing yet again and looking over at Dulsissia. “Okay.”

Letting out a low squeal of delight, Dulsissia bumps her shoulder against his. “Thank you! You won’t regret this.”

Davarax makes a sound as if he’s not entirely convinced about that before he picks up the blaster pieces again and continues his work. “Tomorrow. Thirty minutes before I teach the kids.”

“Thirty minutes?” The man pushes the children far harder than that. “That’s it?”

“One, it’s your first lesson. We’ll be going over basics. Two,” Davarax’ t-visor turns to look at her, “I thought you were going to do what the teacher told you to do?”

Dulsissia puts on her sweetest smile and nods. “Thirty minutes. Before the kids. Yes, sir!”

Davarax sighs, how many times is that now in such a short while, and turns back to his blaster.

She meets up a little early, eager and wearing her finest skirt, ready to impress and become the best student Davarax has ever had. Dulsissia straightens her spine and gives him a bright smile when Davarax enters the training room.

He comes to a halt when he sees her, then clears his throat and continues to walk over to her. “You’re early. Good.”

Dulsissia tilts her head, still smiling. “Ready for training. As you can see.”

Davarax makes a non-committing hum.

She can’t keep it up any longer. Dulsissia reaches down, undoes the two buttons and lets her skirt fall to the floor to reveal the far more practical pants she’s wearing underneath. “Ha! Got you!”

He does the Davaraxian huff of a laugh and rewards her with a faint nod. “Funny. Very funny.”

Stepping out of the skirt before picking it up to fold it, Dulsissia rubs her successful prank in with a smug cackle. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to say anything. You’re so sweet.”

“I can’t believe that you don’t think I won’t get back at you for calling me out on it.” Davarax replies, crossing his arms and tilting his helmet in a challenging way.

Dulsissia grins, puts the folded skirt by the wall and trots over to stand in front of him without a hint of fear. “Whatever you got, my good Lord Davarax, I can take it.”

Davarax just looks down at her, breathes, and for some reason; Dulsissia’s heart does a flip.

Then the Mandalorian suddenly unfolds his arms, clears his throat and steps away to take up a position she’s seen the children start the day with.

“We’ll start with the basics. Just the basics. It’s going to be harder for you than the children because you’ve grown accustomed to your body in a way they haven’t had the time to yet, and you’re going to have to unlearn a bit of that plus replace some old reflexes with new ones.” Davarax says.

Dulsissia forces herself to focus and tries to copy the stance. “I’m ready to sweat. Show me.”

Davarax glances over at her, she can feel his gaze slide over her, then he nods.

Yeah, okay, Dulsissia is starting to understand why he’d been hesitant to agree to teach her. He’s an excellent teacher, explains things so well, but she’d failed to take into consideration how every single touch of his hands on her, despite the gloves, despite the layer of clothing, results in flares of heat, moments of complete distraction and a flush to her face that has nothing to do with the strain of the exercises.

She had complained about thirty minutes not being long enough, but after twenty five of them; Dulsissia resolutely sits down and lets out a loud, unladylike groan at the ceiling. Who could have known copying moves that Davarax makes seem easy would be this hard? And while Dulsissia had not considered herself to be out of shape, this has left her completely exhausted.

“Still five minutes left.” Davarax points out, standing next to her, sounding smug.

Dulsissia decides to wipe that smugness off his face. Fast as lightning, she flings herself over and grabs a hold of his lower leg with both of her hands, aiming to bring him down to her level, and she yanks with all of her might.

Nothing. It’s like trying to pull at an AT-AT. And Davarax just looks down at her.

Groaning, Dulsissia lets go and flops over to lie on her back. “It was worth a shot.”

Laughing, a low, warm sound, Davarax eases himself down to sit next to her. “It was cute.”

Cute? Dulsissia glares over at him. And before he realizes his mistake, she launches herself at him, climbs into his lap and shoves at his shoulders. Maybe she couldn’t topple him over on his feet, but surely she can knock him over like this?

No.

She’s not entirely sure how he does it, he moves too fast, he’s too strong, but suddenly she’s on her back on the floor and he’s hovering over her. His hands are pinning her wrists to the floor and a quick tug tells her she has absolutely no chance of getting loose. Dulsissia grins. “Also worth a shot.”

Davarax hums, deliberately not to touching her with anything but his grip on her wrists. “Be careful with your shots, Dulcy. You don’t want to end up like this with the enemy.”

Her face burns. She’s suddenly so very aware of him. “It doesn’t feel all that bad, to be honest.”

It feels like all of the oxygen in the room abruptly disappears, gravity gives up and the temperature sky-rockets. Neither of them move. The tension keeps growing and then…

Davarax looks over at the door and scrambles away from her half a second before the children come stomping into the room, chattering and eagerly anticipating today’s lesson.

Dulsissia closes her eyes and let out a long exhale, just as she hears;

“Mom…?”

It’s Din’s birthday. Dulsissia had overheard it by accident when Din had been talking to her son and he’d mentioned how he was counting down the years to when he would finally be allowed to put on the helmet.

She’d asked when he was having his birthday celebration so she could get a present for her son to give him and felt no small amount of horror when Din said there wasn’t going to be one. His parents had said there was no point so he assumed that meant no celebration.

Well, he was wrong about that.

As Din is more comfortable there, she arranges the birthday celebration in her and Corin’s room and invites the rest of Davarax’ children, plus the man himself. It’s a small thing, compared to the parties she used to throw, but it is a huge deal to Din. He shies a bit away from being the centre of attention, but with Davarax and Corin both encouraging him; Din ends up actually enjoying it a little.

And it is all worth it when a red-faced and awkward Din gives Dulsissia by his own free will a quick hug at the end of the day.

Dulsissia then has to hide a smile when Paz ‘innocently’ mentions how he has his birthday exactly one standard week after Din’s while they are seated at the table and devouring the sweets she’s made. (She’s getting pretty good at this baking thing. The fighting? Less so, but she’s improving.)

Paz’ father has a big celebration for his day, but while Dulsissia mostly observes it from the outside, she can’t help but to notice how, while it is in his name, very little is focused on Paz himself. It’s mostly about his father, adult food and strong spirits. Not much for a twelve year old to enjoy.

So she throws him a party in her quarters with the other children and their teacher like she’d done for Din. And Dulsissia feels her heart break yet again when, at the end of the day, Paz hugs her so tight he almost squeezes the air out of her.

Standing next to her, Davarax sighs as he watches Paz leave with the other kids in tow. “I didn’t really celebrate my own birthday much so I never thought about theirs. I let them down.”

“From what I’ve seen,” Dulsissia replies with a bittersweet feeling, “you are the only person in this place who hasn’t let them down.”

Davarax shakes his head. “Not entirely true, but thank you.”

She turns to face him, places her hand on the breastplate where she’d feel his heart if not for the armor. “You took them under your wings when everyone had given up on them. You didn’t just give them the abilities to survive that they are going to need, but your attention and kindness as well. You are those children’s entire world. And I don’t think they could have chosen a better man.”

Davarax reaches up and covers her hand with his. “Dulcy… Do you know what a kov’nyn is?”

She shakes her head. Her heart is going faster and faster.

“Find out.”

“How?”

Davarax does his trademark huff-laughter. “You’re a clever girl. You can do it.” He then lets go, says his goodbye to Corin, who sits on the bed and watches them with a far-too-knowing grin on his face, and gives a final bow to Dulsissia before leaving as well.

Flustered and a little breathless, Dulsissia walks over to clean up the last traces of the dinner.

“Mom.” Corin says.

“Mmh?” She replies, wondering if she can ask Decco what a kov’nyn is or maybe just try to find some sort of dictionary so she won’t have to trouble her all the time.

“Can we ask Din to stay here with us?”

Dulsissia gathers up the plates. “Baby, I don’t think Din’s parents would like that.” Unfortunately.

“He says they wouldn’t mind.” Corin replies. “Also, when you and Davarax become girlfriend and boyfriend, can I call him ‘dad’?”

Dulsissia straightens with a jolt and her face flares up so badly it hurts. “Go brush your teeth, baby.”

“But-”

“Go brush your teeth!”

The Tribe doesn’t have an abundance of datapads or old fashioned books. Most of their teachings are done verbally, but Decco is kind enough to ask around and two days later, a Mandalorian in an orange armor agrees to borrow Dulsissia something similar to a dictionary.

Too curious to wait until she is back in her room where Corin is getting ready for bed while she rushed out to get the book, Dulsissia stops in the middle of a hallway to look up the word. She’s dying to know what Davarax had hinted at, what he was trying to tell her and wanted her to know.

Turning the pages, Dulsissia finally finds the word. ‘Kov’nyn’! There it is!

A headbutt.

Dulsissia blinks. What? Excuse…? She vividly remembers the sight and not to mention the sound of Davarax headbutting that poor Mandalorian during his training and her eyes widen with startled surprise. What?! Was he going to do that to her during their next training? Oh, nonono, no way.

Just as she’s about to slam the book shut and declare that Davarax had been right; Decco might be a better teacher after all, Dulsissia almost accidentally reads more of the text.

Or: A kiss between couples when wearing armor.

Now she does slam the book shut and she’s finding it a bit hard to catch her breath.

Oh.

“I heard you were looking for a book on Mando’a.” A voice says behind her.

Making a startled sound, clutching the book close, Dulsissia spins around and is even more startled when she sees the golden armor and fur cloak.

It’s her. The leader.

“Yes. I, uhm,” Dulsissia awkwardly pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, “I thought it was about time I learned a little more about… Mando’a. You have all been so kind to me.”

The leader looks at her and her body language is as impossible to read as her facial expression hidden by her helmet.

Dulsissia tries to smile.

“I also hear your son is making good progress in his training.”

Nodding, Dulsissia tries to hide how nervous she’s feeling.

“On his travels, Davarax has brought back many Foundlings. That is his Way and that is The Way.” The leader says. “But he has never brought back an outsider.”

Dulsissia loses the smile and she feels her shoulders sagging a little under the heavy weight of shame. “He… He was kind enough to save me from some horrible men.”

“Mmh.” Is the flat reply. “Are you going to take the Creed?”

Surprised, Dulsissia struggles to find the right answer. She’s been so busy trying to deal with the present that she hasn’t really planned her future. “I… I don’t know.”

That does not seem to impress the leader of the Mandalorians. “Then find your Way. Before you ruin his.”

Watching the Mandalorian walk away, Dulsissia isn’t entirely sure how she feels about this conversation. She’s getting the distinct feeling that this was a message for her to stay away from Davarax, but why? Surely the leader of a warrior tribe does not care about the love life of one of her soldiers? And what gives her the right? Rude.

Frowning, Dulsissia starts walking back to her room while the thoughts keep churning in her brain.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do, not even when she walks over to Davarax’ door instead of her own and finds herself knocking on it. Dulsissia waits until he opens the door, says her name in a slightly confused tone, and then… she drops the book, reaches up with both hands to take a hold of the top of his breastplate and promptly pulls him down to thump her forehead to his helmet.

Ow.

Letting go, Dulsissia takes a step back and rubs her forehead. One eye closed, she stares at him in confusion. “I think you people got kissing a bit wrong. It’s not supposed to hurt, you know?”

Stunned, Davarax finally straightens back up and reaches out a hand to take a hold of her upper arm in case she falls over. “I don’t… That’s not how…” The Davaraxian laughter huff appears before he urges her to take the step back to him. “Can I show you?”

Dulsissia moves closer to him willingly enough, but she keeps rubbing her forehead and hesitates. “I’m not sure if I want another concussion.” Maybe she isn’t Mandokarla after all? She prefers softer things than headbutts from her date.

“Trust me?” Davarax asks in a quiet tone.

Sighing, Dulsissia lowers her arm. “Fine. But if I am knocked unconscious, you’re in charge of making breakfast to Corin tomorrow as an apology.”

“Deal.” Davarax murmurs, but in an absent way. His hands are already sliding up to cup her face and she shivers at the memory of them without gloves. “Close your eyes, Dulcy.”

Swallowing hard, she does. Suddenly she doesn’t care if he headbutts her into tomorrow as long as he doesn’t take his hands off her or stop talking.

“It’s mean to be gentle…” Davarax says, so soft and smooth, his hands tilting her head backwards, just a little, but enough so her body automatically arches against his. “It’s meant to be warm…” One hand moves to cup the back of her head, the other slides down to her lower back. “It’s longing…” Smooth beskar gently meets her now very warm skin and he eases her body close, so very close, until she’s firmly up against him with a very strong arm around her waist. “and it’s giving.” He tightens his grip around her.

Reaching up, Dulsissia’s fingers dig into the fabric on his upper arms, desperate to hold on to something so she doesn’t just swoon in his arms like a bad theatre actress.

Davarax lets out a soft exhale, it’s sounds almost like relief, and she can feel the muscles in his arm tightening a little more, his hand cupping her head and holding her there, as if she still isn’t close enough for him.

Time stands still. All she feels is heat, him and her own frantic pulse.

Breathless, far too warm for any decent explanation, Dulsissia reluctantly opens her eyes when he pulls away and shivers with disappointment when he lets go of everything but her hand.

“That’s what it’s meant to be like.” Davarax says.

“Oh.” Dulsissia manages. Okay, maybe everyone else had something to learn from Mandalorians.

It takes a visible effort for Davarax to make himself let go of her hand, for a second she can see the twitch in his shoulders when he stops himself from pulling her close again, but he lets go and now he is the one to take a step away. “Good night, Dulcy.”

“Good night.” She whispers, and it takes a visible effort for her to turn around, pick up the book with numb fingers and go over to her own room.

Stupid Mandalorians and their stupid headbutt kissing! Now Dulsissia can’t even look over at Davarax without feeling her face burn or be near him without having her heart to backflips all around her ribcage. This is making her life very frustrating!

And her only comfort is suspecting that Davarax isn’t faring much better either. Judging from how he walked into that table yesterday when she stretched out.

The training? Oh, it’s the sweetest torture ever.

She’s on her way to pick up Corin at Din’s room when a familiar piercing way of screaming catches her attention and Dulsissia doesn’t hesitate to run towards the sound.

Inside what looks to be school room with several pillows on the floor placed around a larger one. A group of scared children are huddled together in one corner while a Mandalorian who looks to be the teacher is restraining a fully feral Raga, with one big hand gripping her arm and the other hand is locked around her neck and preventing her from moving her head.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dulsissia shouts, stalking in and shoving the Mandalorian away.

Once again surprise is on her side and the Mandalorian stumbles away, releasing the little girl and Dulsissia does not hesitate to crouch down and wrap her arms protectively around the flailing child. Pain flares when sharp teeth dig into Dulsissia’s arm and latch on.

“She’s completely feral!” The teacher shouts, pointing at Raga. “I’ve taught children, youngsters and foundlings alike, for decades and I’ve never met a child that feral! She’s hopeless!”

“What do you expect when you restrain her like a rancor? I’d bite you too!” Dulsissia shouts back at him. She gets up, hoists Raga in her arms, ignores the pain of the teeth still digging into her and marches out of the room with her.

She’s halfway to her quarters, Raga still hasn’t let go but at least she has stopped flailing and screaming and is just quietly twitching so that’s something, when a Mandalorian comes trotting with Davarax on his tail. They both come to a halt when they see Dulsissia carrying Raga.

“I was just coming to…” Davarax points helplessly in the direction of the classroom. “They said she…” He sighs at the sight and reaches out towards Dulsissia’s arm. “Here, I’ll try to-”

“No.” Dulsissia snaps, turning away to shield her arm and Raga from him. “I got her. I’m taking her to my room. You go tell Corin, he’s with Din, that I’m going to be late, and then you go get us Paz.”

Davarax seems a little surprised, but eventually he gives a nod and Dulsissia continues her march back to her room, giving a quick couple of pets to Raga’s back as she’s still twitching.

Once they are inside in the safety of her and Corin’s room, Dulsissia walks over to sit down on the bed. Raga is a bit larger than Corin, her thin frame doesn’t make her much heavier, but she’s taller and it takes a little arranging of her skinny legs and arms. Once they are settled, Dulsissia continues to run her hand up and down Raga’s back and just waits.

To her surprise, Raga lets go of her arm. And a few seconds after that, the girl quietly mumbles; “M’ sorry…”

Smiling, Dulsissia continues to stroke her back. “It’s okay, baby. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“He said I had to sit in the corner because I threw some thing at him.” Raga mumbles. “But I didn’t. It wasn’t me!” She starts to get agitated again. “I told him it wasn’t me and he said he was going to tell my parents I was a liar and have them punish me!”

Forcing her own anger away, Dulsissia strokes the girl’s back again. “I’m sorry he did that to you, sweetie. I’m sorry he didn’t believe you. That was wrong of him.”

“It wasn’t me…” Raga whispers.

“I believe you.” Dulsissia reassures her. And for the next ten minutes, she just holds her close, strokes her back and pets her hair. And anger quietly simmers inside.

Finally Davarax arrives and in his footsteps, Paz follows. He instantly darts by his teacher at the sight of Raga and the girl doesn’t hesitate to twist around to reach out to him.

Dulsissia gets up from the bed and watches Paz take her seat, pulling Raga close and lets her curl up on his lap. She almost disappears in his embrace. That boy is going to end up a giant if he doesn’t stop growing soon and yet he treats his friend with such mesmerizing gentleness.

“Your arm…” Davarax asks quietly, looking over.

“It’s fine.” Dulsissia replies. It aches like crazy and there will definitely be bruising, but that is not what is important right now. She looks over at him. “They called her a liar. They were holding her down like a rabid loth-cat. And they are surprised she bites?”

Davarax shakes his head. “I know…” He sounds pained and resigned. “The four of them are marked as troublemakers. If something goes wrong, if something could have gone wrong, they’re always blamed. And I can’t stop it.”

Dulsissia’s eyes narrow. “Stay here with the kids.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to talk to someone.”

Dulsissia raps on the door with urgent haste and this time she doesn’t wait for the drowsy Mandalorian to speak before she asks; “Is he in?”

He is.

She knocks and then barges in to the room, startling Barthor into a defensive stance. Dulsissia ignores the tiny fists. “What I’m about to ask you can never be repeated. Do you understand?”

Barthor stares at her, slowly lowering his fists. “What?”

Dulsissia stalks closer and he backs up a step so she crouches down for them to be the same height. “I need you to do something for me and no one can ever find out.”

Barthor’s dark eyes slide from side to side, as if checking for hidden cameras. “Do… what?”

“I want you to make me a stink bomb.”

Snorting a laugh, Barthor shakes his head and walks over to sit on his bed. “I don’t know how to-”

“You know.” Dulsissia interrupts him. “Will you make me one?”

Barthor frowns, now suspicious. “Why? What are you going to do with it?”

Dulsissia raises an eyebrow. “I want to place it in the room belonging to man who teaches Raga’s class.”

That seems to make Barthor even more suspicious. “Why?”

“Because he’s a bully to Raga.”

Something flickers in Barthor’s eyes. “He was mean to Raga again?”

Again. The word hurts Dulsissia’s soul. If that man had been mean to her son, he wouldn’t have had the chance to do it ‘again’. She nods.

Barthor stares down at that floor for a little while, then he jumps to his feet and sighs. “Okay, give me ten minutes.”

It takes him eight to finish it. But he insists on joining her when she goes to plant the contraption.

“You might do it wrong.” Barthor informs her, gingerly easing it into a small bag.

Dulsissia rolls her eyes but follows him when he marches off towards their unsuspecting victim.

Once there, it’s clear it won’t be as easy as they hoped. The man is in his room.

“You distract him, I’ll plant it.” Barthor declares.

Dulsissia nods. “Be careful.”

Barthor smirks. And they go to work.

Knocking on the door, Dulsissia waits for the man to open it and then begins lecturing him on all the wrong ways to handle a sensitive child, not letting the man get a word in, and she barely catches the shadow of little Barthor sneaking by them and into the room.

She keeps her rant going, the man is too surprised and startled to do much than come with feeble objections, and the second Dulsissia sees the shadow sneak out by the man’s legs again, she finishes her speech.

“Good day to you, sir!”

Marching down the hallway, she rounds a corner and finds Barthor there. He looks up at her with a hint of respect.

“Not bad.” He says with grudging respect.

“You too.” Dulsissia replies, reaching out a hand and shakes his when he takes it. “But remember, no one can know.”

Barthor grins. “Don’t worry. No one is going to be able to to prove anything.” “Good.”

When the stink spreads in the man’s room, Dulsissia and Barthor has picked up Corin, and somehow Din ends up tagging along, and they are all safely in Dulsissia and Corin’s room, along with Paz, Raga and Davarax. Eating cookies.

And Barthor was right; nobody is ever able to prove who was behind it.

“Mom, are you sure we can’t ask Din to stay here?” Corin asks one morning.

Sighing, Dulsissia looks over at her sweet son. “I told you, baby. I don’t think his parents will like that. Is there something wrong? Is that why you keep asking?”

Corin, sitting on her bed, shrugs and looks down. “He doesn’t like it there.”

Clearly, as the child spends most of his time with them rather than his parents, but Dulsissia isn’t sure how Mandalorian adoption works. She’s fairly certain it would be frowned upon if she just started hoarding children from them. Otherwise, she would probably have had bunk beds and five children in this room. “I’m sorry to hear that, Corin. Has he tried to talk to his parents?”

Corin shakes his head. “He doesn’t like talking to them.”

Dulsissia has a sneaking suspicion that Din doesn’t like much, except Davarax and her son. At least he has excellent taste. “Do you think he’d like me to talk to them?”

Corin shakes his head again. “He won’t like it if he knew I’d told you.”

Figures. Dulsissia sighs. “Then I don’t know what we can do, baby. They are his parents. We are guests here.”

“Well,” Corin looks over at her, “at least he can come and visit as much as he likes?”

“Absolutely.” Dulsissia confirms. “And I’ll ask if he can stay over some time. Would that help?”

Her beautiful boy lights up with delight. “Really? You’re the best, mom!”

“Remember you said that when I tell you to clean up your toys.” Dulsissia declares.

Corin laughs.

It’s such a wonderful sound. He never used to laugh. He’s always been such a silent child, like Din, but the longer they have stayed here at the Covert; the more Corin has come out of his shell.

He no longer cowers behind her leg when they are in the common room with the other Mandalorians. He still flinches when someone raises their voice, but at least he doesn’t go pale and look like he’s about to pass out. He has friends. And there is a father figure whom Corin greets with joy and looks forward to spending time with, unlike his biological father.

Losing her dresses and servants is a price she’s more than willing to pay to see her son this happy.

There is just thing that could ruin everything. And considering it’s not just harmless flirting any more, Dulsissia decides it is time to tell Davarax.

She asks Decco to look after her son, which she grudgingly agrees to despite meaning the boy is old enough to look after himself, and then Dulsissia asks Davarax to meet her in Din’s hiding space.

“Well,” Davarax say as he steps over a piece of engine and barely manages to make his way over to where she’s sitting on a sofa pillow without falling or knocking himself unconscious against some metal part sticking out amidst the debris they are surrounded by, “this is romantic.”

“Sorry.” Dulsissia says, too nervous to be amused by the graceless way he tumbles down on the pillow next to hers. “I just wanted us to be able to talk in private.”

The tone of her voice makes him sit up and pay attention. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to tell you something.” Dulsissia says, sighing. “And I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

“You can tell me anything.”

Oh, how she hopes that is true. Dulsissia takes a deep breath, looks down at her own hands as she wrings them nervously in her lap. She smiles a little when his hand moves over to cover them and stops her from hurting herself. Okay. Here goes. “I told you my name is Dulcy.”

“Yes?”

“It’s not.” She glances over at him. “Well, it kind of is. It used to be my nickname. My name is Dulsissia.”

Davarax gives a faint shrug. “Okay?”

“Dulsissia Motti. The man looking for me, his name is Macero Valentis. He is Corin’s father.” Dulsissia braces herself, turns her gaze down to his gloved hand over both of hers and dreads the moment it will withdraw.

Davarax’ voice is carefully neutral. “If you’re a Motti, surely your family will help you get rid of Valentis?”

Dulsissia’s smile is bitter and it hurts. “No. I stupidly defied them to marry him and I’ve been told that I have to lie in the bed I made.”

Davarax hesitates. “Would you like to go back your family?”

Looking over at the man by her side, unable to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes, Dulsissia shakes her head. “No. And they’re not my family. They don’t know what the words means.”

Davarax’ hand withdraws from hers, but only so he can gently cup the side of her face. “Mottis and Valentis, they don’t scare me if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Kind of.” Dulsissia admits, a tear slipping from her eye. “I have seen the destruction they can cause. I don’t want to bring it here.”

“We’re Mandalorians.” Davarax says, a slight grin in his voice. “We thrive on battle. It’s in our blood. And they would find us a lot more dangerous than any other opponent they’ve been up against in the past.” His thumb caresses her skin, wiping away her tear, and his voice softens. “They don’t matter. They’re in the past. You are here now. You’re Dulcy. And Corin is safe. You both are.”

It might not be Mandokarla, but Dulsissia doesn’t care; she leans over and he wraps his arms around her.

“As long as I breathe,” Davarax mumbles, holding her close, “you and Corin will always be safe.”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Baby Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #What if

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ppersonna · 5 years ago

Text

physical - pjm | m

lights out and follow the noise. baby keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice. so come on, let's get physical - physical, dua lipa

↳ summary- you cant seem to escape the sexy fitness instructor that seemingly is everywhere you turn. it’s enough to make you irrational.

↳ rating- explicit

↳ word count- 6.2k

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ genre- smut, fluff, comedy, fitness instructor!jimin, honestly this is pwp but with like 20% plot

↳ warnings- oral sex (m/f receiving) penetrative sex, sex in public, exhibitionism, spitting, slightly dom!jimin, jimin is v mouthy during sex, jimin is also a brat,

↳ a/n- hiiiii we back at it again. this fic brings me to 1 fic per member so i can finally feel good about repeats looloooolll also, this was very fun to write because i got to incorporate my love for exercise classes and my bias uwu. also jimin 100% would be the worst instructor to take a class from bc i would NEVER focus EVER AGAIN. pls feel free to message, comment, etc etc bc i love friendship. enjoy!!!!!

The sound of your spin shoes clipping into the pedals is like music to your ears.

You feel your shoulders relax as you roll them, warming and stretching the muscles of your arms and back. EDM beats play lightly over the impressive sound system, encouraging the riders to cycle to warm up for 45 minutes of adrenaline and heart-pumping cardio.

Spin class is one of your happy places. Group fitness classes give you a rush that solo workouts can’t compare to. You love the camaraderie, the support and the built in friendships. Plus, you love having someone at the front of the room tell you exactly what to do. So what, you’re a little subservient?

You smile at the ladies clipping into the bikes next to you, not knowing who they are but finding that everyone is friendly and wants the best for themselves and the group. It’s why you love these types of classes. Strangers become teammates.

You hadn’t bothered to check who was instructing today, having clicked on the class time that fit your schedule best. You hoped it was your favorite Hoseok, but had learned that all the instructors were just as good Hoseok was just so vibrant, he made you work harder.

The heat in your legs builds upon a low simmer, muscles warming for an intense class. A melodic voice sounds over the speakers, your instructor coming in and securing their place at the front of the room.

You take a moment to stop gaping. In front of you is quite possibly the most beautiful human you’ve ever seen in your short life.

He’s incredibly toned, wearing a tight adidas tank and second skin-like leggings. He clips into the bike on the podium and smiles at the class.

You’re sure you’re salivating. You curse yourself for picking the bike front and center today, now acutely aware how likely you were to drool over the instructor the entire time.

He notices your stare and winks before he adjusts his mic and speaks again.

“Good morning, everyone! I’ll be your instructor today. My name is Jimin and I’m happy to be here,” his voice is light and sounds like honey. It slithers down your skin and oozes into you. “Let’s get started at a quick pace of 90 rpm’s and warm up those legs!”

His dirty blonde hair glistens in the spotlight, thighs flex and ripple in his leggings. You’re frozen in your seat and it takes you four thumping heart beats to realize the class has started. Fuck. He will be the death of you. Nothing makes you lose focus in class.

You push your legs and begin, and he turns his gaze back on to you. It’s as if he lights a match and throws it on you, the way your body reacts under his stare. You wonder what it feels like to touch his chest, his toned arms. You bite your lip and pant, breathlessness unrelated to the exercise.

Class is torture. Everything Jimin says is a double entendre to your ears and you find your core aching and wet only 15 minutes in. Jimin looks perfect, up in third position on the bike, standing and hips pushed back. You can see his pert little ass in the mirror, and you want to cry. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of him.

“All right, let’s tap it back in 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Jimin pushes his hips to tap the seat with his ass, before standing back up as he pedals in time with the music. He looks delicious, sweat on his forehead. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and you nearly pass out at the sly smile curved on his face.

You attempt to do the workout but feel yourself faltering, missing the beat often. It frustrates you. Normally, you are at the top of the leaderboard, soaring above the others with your effort. Today you land near the bottom. All because of fucking Jimin and his perfect fucking body.

The arms circuit comes next and you are grateful for the reprieve from heavy resistance on your legs and a chance to sit and catch your breath. You grab the weight bar and hold it in your palms, ready to do bicep curls at the count of your instructor.

Jimin unclips from his bike and grabs his bar, before walking the length of the front of the room. He begins with the bicep curls and you choke. His arms ripple with the effort and his hands look so strong and veiny; your mind immediately fills with thoughts of his strong hands fingering you to completion. He counts out the numbers and winks at you again as you falter in your push and pull. You shut your eyes, avoiding looking at him, and focus on the curl of your arms.

It’s infuriating. You take pride in your fitness and find yourself most satisfied after an intense workout. This class has proven to be intense in a whole different manner, but you’re upset at the lost opportunity to push yourself and focus.

As your eyes flutter open again, Jimin moves to put the bar away and clip back into his bike. Only 15 minutes left. You can do this.

You definitely did not do it. The last fifteen minutes were pure torture. Jimin kept his monologue of encouragement going, but his voice was tinged with fatigue and he panted hard into the mic. Sometimes, during particularly tough resistance, he would add little grunts and “uh!”s to his countdowns. You felt your thighs tremble with each one, gasping at the fantasy of his grunts as he fucked into you.

Blessedly, the class ended and Jimin was leading the group through relaxing stretches to calm you down. It didn’t calm you in the least. You watch as he folds himself in half over the bike to stretch his hamstrings and you’re mesmerized when he stands on his bike to stretch his back out. You want to lick every inch of him, tease your tongue down every hard line of muscle you could see until it landed directly on his coc-

“Thank you, everyone! You did incredible!” Jimin cooes over the mic as he stands next to the bike. He bows slightly in reverence to the group, and the class is dismissed.

You’re not sure if you want to book it out of the room first or linger. You’re sure if he tries to talk to you, you’ll implode. Maybe you can leave in a crowd, while he’s talking to one of the older ladies sure to hit on him.

You pack up your water bottle and towel, patting the sweat on your face as you try to sneak past in a crowd of elderly women.

“Hey!” Jimin calls and you freeze. You look up to find the object of your frustrations smiling at you. Fuck. He was talking to you.

“Great job today,” he grins.

Little shit, you grumble internally. He knows perfectly well that you did dreadfully, coming in 12th place out of 15. A woman three times your age got first place, and it burned you more than you cared to admit.

“Thanks,” you murmur, awkwardly patting your face dry. You’re positive you look terrible. Red faced from exertion and arousal, sweating like a pig.

“You come here often, princess?” He asks as he walks closer to you. You find your breath catch in your throat and you’re unable to reply. He chuckles.

“Cat got your tongue?” His smirk is legendary and you want to slap or kiss it right off.

“I’m-,” you croak out, then clear your throat and steel yourself. “I come every other day. Sometimes more.”

Jimin can’t take his eyes off of you. He smirks again. “You should take another class of mine, doll.”

You blush, and you hope the already flushed color of your cheeks hides it.

“You could use the practice. Soon, you’ll get the hang of it.” He gives you a wink and leaves, leaving you stewing in anger and frustration at his words.

How dare he?! He assumed you were a novice! Your pride and ego burned. You were a regular! You always came in the top 3 of the class! It’s his fucking fault you couldn’t focus on class!

You grab your things from the locker you stored it in, change your shoes, and stomp out of the spin studio with only one thought on your mind.

The asshole, Park Jimin.

You avoided spin like the plague. You rationally knew he didn’t teach every single class there, but you couldn’t face it, face the place where he hurt your pride so quickly and turned your insides into molten lava.

You dragged your best friend Jungkook with you to yoga, a quick and heated vinyasa class. Jungkook was more of a weight lifting guy, but you had recently talked him into trying yoga, explaining the benefits of meditation and the stretching of his muscles and sinew would help improve his form. He caved and quickly found he liked it.

You spread your mat down on the warm wooden floor and let out a sigh. You had been looking forward to this class all week, and you were finally here. You ensured you were taking the class from your favorite instructor, Taehyung, when you booked you and Jungkook’s spot.

You smile at Jungkook as he settles himself into his mat, and you both begin stretching and chatting lightly before class begins.

The door opens just as you get into child’s pose, face toward the mat in between your thighs and arms stretched high above your head on the floor.

A silky voice, most decidedly not Taehyung’s, rolls over your body.

“Welcome everyone. I’m your substitute teacher today. My name is Park Jimin.”

Your head snaps up and you stifle a groan at the sight you’re welcomed with.

Jimin stands on the mat at the front of the class, directly in front of you, wearing nothing but long, lululemon tights that cling to his skin. Again, you chose to be front and fucking center. You can see the way his legs form in his leggings. His chest is bare, and you can’t stop staring at the defined lines of his abs. You want to cry.

He’s invaded your favorite spots twice now.

He recognizes you, startled for a moment, but quickly covers it with a wink in your direction. You let your head fall to the mat with a thunk.

The class is hot, literally. It’s 102 degrees Fahrenheit and you’re dripping with sweat. You move with precision through each sun salutation, ashtanga, and tree pose. The moves flow into one another, your favorite thing about vinyasa, and you pointedly avoid even looking at the instructor. You’re grateful you know all the moves by heart and can position yourself into them by memory.

You’re proud that you only falter a few times, heart stuttering every time Jimin walks by you to note your pose and call out the next position. You’ve never wanted to simultaneously fight and fuck someone so bad in your life.

It’s the final, relaxing poses of the class and you sigh with relief as you maneuver into sleeping swan. You slide out of down dog and slip your right knee between your hands, lean a bit to the right, and press your hips forward towards the ground. You can feel the delicious stretch in your hips and your eyes flutter at the release of tension. You lay down over your knee, allowing your arms to lay flat above your knee and press your hips down as far as you can.

It’s quiet, all you can hear is your breath. You see Jimin out of the corner of your eye assisting others push deeper into the pose, pressing his hands where they need the help. You gulp. Fuck.

You turn your head back towards the mat and focus only on your breathing and the stretch in your body. Jimin indicates to switch legs, and you do so effortlessly, sliding your left knee to the center and putting your right knee back.

It feels good to stretch, especially on your weaker left side. You inhale deeply and let it out as you try to push your hip forward more.

Suddenly, warm hands are on your lower back, right above the cleft of your ass. You bite your lip tight, knowing it’s Jimin, guiding you deeper. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Your breath catches as he presses down, humming his approval as your hips move with his hands and you gasp at the feel of the stretch. It feels even better going further than you could on your own. He laughs quietly through his nostrils, as he smooths his warm hands up under your shirt to rest on the skin of your back.

You feel as if you will explode. Just as your body reacts to his touch and caress, it’s gone and he’s moving to Jungkook to guide the weightlifter through his own pose.

The class ends and Jungkook smiles at you as you both lift from your ‘namaste’ bow.

“That was great!” He grins as he rolls up his mat. “Jimin’s a great teacher! We should take more of his classes.”

You silently cry, not sure your weak heart and pussy can handle any more of Jimin and his stupidly hot body and his ridiculous smile.

“Yeah, Kook,” you half-heartedly agree, not interested in divulging your sordid secret crush on the asshole who embarrassed you.

You’re packed up and exiting the room when the same familiar voice chimes.

“Hey, princess!”

You and Jungkook both turn around to see Jimin smiling at the head of the room. Jungkook looks at you questioningly, wondering why the instructor is calling you princess.

“You did good today,” Jimin notes. “You should come again sometime. We can make sure you’re really getting stretched out.”

Your cheeks flame impossibly red and you splutter. Jimin winks at you. This fucking asshole.

“Your hips seem a little tight. We can work on that.” He knows exactly what he’s fucking doing and you want to kick him in the dick just as much as you want to kneel in front of him to suck it.

“Sure, Jimin,” you grumble out before you drag Jungkook from the heated room.

Jungkook is all grins. “What was THAT?” He asks as you exit the yoga studio and head towards the subway. “He was basically asking to fuck you right there! How do you know him?!”

You pout at your best friend. “He doesn’t want to fuck! He just enjoys getting me worked up,” you sigh. “He was my spin instructor the other day, and he got me so fucking heated I nearly came in last place! In a class full of grandmas!”

Jungkook snickers as you both tap your metro cards and lean against the wall to wait for the next train.

“Girl, he was offering to help you stretch you out. He wants you.”

As much as it thrilled you, you couldn’t comprehend it. Jimin was ethereal. He surely had women throwing themselves at him. He simply enjoyed the teasing.

“Whatever, Kook. He told me I need practice at cycling. ME! I’m the goddamn spin queen!” The crowd around you watches you and you pale at the embarrassment. You lower your voice. “He just wants to see me fired up, for no fucking reason.”

“Okay, delusional,” he sighs, patting your sweaty head. “Believe what you want.”

You hmph in reply and watch as a train approaches to take you home.

You most definitely will believe what you want.

Jimin is fucking everywhere. If he’s not instructing, he’s taking the same fucking classes as you. Barre, Pilates, yin yoga, CrossFit. He’s always there and always taunting you with his perfect fucking body and teasing words and your fantasies of him drilling you into a mattress until you can’t talk.

You avoid group classes altogether. You can’t face him. Your fitness is suffering because of it.

You suck it up and go to the gym, the regular ass gym with no classes, and you’re determined to run a few miles on the treadmill and maybe get a good 20 minute lift in. It’s been too long since you’ve had the thrill of a good workout, the satisfying ache in your muscles. The gym will suffice. It’s missing the level of companionship that group classes provide, but it’s better than nothing.

You pop your earphones into your ears and click on some music, not caring what it was as long as it was quick, and press begin on the treadmill.

Running is easy. The strangers around you melt away and it’s just you and the treadmill. You love the way your heart is beating, sweat forming at your forehead. Finally. A good fucking workout.

All thoughts sweep away as you run, and your only thought process is on the push down of your feet on the treadmill belt and the pull up of your legs to lengthen your stride. The runner’s high was something you lived for, and you realize you should incorporate more running into your routine.

You don’t even pause for water, so wrapped up in the run's high that you don’t feel thirsty.

Your watch vibrates against your wrist, notifying you that the 60 minutes you set to run is up, and you slow your pace to a complete stop. You feel like you’re high. Your heart is racing and your body feels like it’s vibrating. This is what you had been missing in the weeks of unsatisfying classes. The flood of endorphins after a perfect workout.

You suck down some water, before removing your earbuds from your ears. The roar of the gym is loud, music and TVs and chatter from the gymgoers.

“You’ve got great running form, you know.” A familiar sultry voice is suddenly next to you, and your arms prickle.

You turn to gaze at the intruder and feel your body coil tight.

Park fucking Jimin. And his fucking ridiculously sexy smirk and perfect hair and godly body.

“Are you following me?!” You accuse. How the fuck is he everywhere you go!?

Jimin laughs out loud and leans against the treadmill next to you. “It’s not my fault you’re taking all my classes! One might think you’re following me.”

You scowl and push yourself off the treadmill.

“Hey, wait, don’t go!” he calls and grabs your arm.

You turn to glare at him. “You going to tell me I need more practice at running too?” your tone is harsh but you don’t care.

Jimin bites his lip and smiles at you. “Damn, is that why you hate me?” He asks.

“You told me I needed more practice at cycling! I'm great at cycling! Better than most!”

You’re aware that others are watching, but you can’t find it in you to care. You cross your arms underneath you, pressed up against your sports bra you deemed appropriate as a shirt.

“You looked like a beginner! I’m sorry!” He apologizes. “Hoseok told me later that you’re, like, one of the best! I have to reach out to the new riders! It’s mandatory!”

You suck your teeth, still unimpressed.

“When I saw you in yoga doing everything from memory, I knew you weren’t just some novice! I’m sorry for assuming, okay?” He sighs. “What had you so fucked up in spin, anyway?”

Your heart thuds to a skidding brake. There’s no way you can tell him the reason you sucked so bad in class was because you could only focus on how his cock would feel stuffed up inside you.

“I,” you falter. For the second time, Jimin has you stumbling over your words. “I didn’t feel well,” you lie.

Jimin snorts. “Bullshit.”

Your cheeks flush and you stay silent.

“You got distracted by me, didn’t you?” He smirks. You gape at the size of his ego. You wonder if his cock compares in size and then kick yourself for still thinking about his fucking dick.

“I’ll take the silence as a yes,” he winks as he throws an arm around your shoulder.

“You’re an arrogant prick, you know that?” You snark as you push his delicious, toned, silky arm off you.

“And you’re a selfish, competitive bitch.”

The grin on his face is shit-eating, and you find your blood boiling.

“You take that back!” You demand.

“Tell me I distracted you, that my presence fucked up the great ___, spin queen extraordinaire, and I will.”

All you see is red. Red, fiery anger. No. There was no fucking way you would let him win, revel in your shame in the middle of a crowded gym. You drag Jimin by his Nike tank top that shows almost 100% of his body, to the nearest ‘family shower’, pulling him inside and locking the heavy door behind you.

You push him against the door and press a finger to his chest.

“Fine! You did. You distracted me throughout fucking class,” you hiss. “All I could think about was sucking you off and seeing your lips on my pussy and riding your dick until we both can’t talk. Okay?! Happy now?!” You’re fuming, chest heaving with intensity.

Jimin's grin lights up ten times brighter.

“I thought the same things during class too,” he admits coolly.

Jimin has you speechless for the nth time. “What?” You breathe.

“When I saw you on the bike, I couldn’t stop staring at your tits and your lips. You looked so good. And then in yoga, that tight little ass was begging for me to spank it. While you were running, I was wondering what you’d look like cumming around my cock.”

He shrugs, the words rolling off his tongue as if he isn’t admitting he wants to defile you as much as you do him.

“Are you serious!!?” You squeak, heart beat thundering in your ears.

“100%,” he smirks and rests the back of his head against the door.

It’s silent for a beat as you stare each other down.

Fuck it.

Next thing you know, you’re launching yourself forward to press your lips to his in a searing hot kiss.

Jimin kisses back fervently, tongue swirling into your mouth as his hands wrap around your body. He finds purchase on your ass and squeezes it through the tight leggings.

You gasp and shudder at his hands roaming your backside. Jimin pulls his lips away and smirks. God, that fucking smirk.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“Yeah?” You ask as you move your hands to the front of his chest. He nods. “You know what I’ve wanted to do for a while?”

He grins and tilts his head. “What, princess?”

You drop to your knees, tugging his adidas tights down with you. His cock springs free, and you gape at the enormity of it.

“Shit,” he hisses suddenly as cool air hits him. “That was fucking hot.”

You’re encouraged by him and you wink up at him, before you’re wrapping your hand around his length to give it an introductory pump.

Jimin rewards you with a moan, unabashed in his volume. He doesn’t care who the fuck hears you two, this is the hottest thing he’s done in his life.

“So thick,” you murmur. “I wondered how big it was.”

Jimin can’t reply, because your lips are latching onto his dick with fervor and you lick and suckle at his length. Jimin’s eyes nearly roll back into his head at the suction of your mouth.

“Oh, my god,” he gasps. “Y-You’re ridiculously good at that.”

You preen under his praise and continue, allowing his length to the back of your throat. You let him gag you, saliva and tears both gathering at the sensation and Jimin stifles a cry. Your hand comes to his cock as you pull away and take a harsh breath, wiping away the tears from your gag reflex. You stroke him quickly, loving the way his weighty cock feels in your hands. As you pump him, the tip of your tongue teases at the slit of his head and Jimin swears loudly.

“Fuck! Christ, gonna make me cum,” he’s whiny. It’s adorable. He purses his pretty puffy lips as he moans for more, more of you. “Such a good girl, shit, ahhhhh,” he gasps as you suck him into your mouth again.

It doesn’t take long, the sensation of your hot mouth and hand jerking him sends him flying and he’s cumming hot stripes down your throat. You feel you’re on cloud nine as you swallow his seed, sucking at the tip until he hisses from overstimulation.

As you pull away, you open your mouth and extend your tongue to show him you dutifully swallowed his cum, and he groans.

“You’re a fucking filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You nod in reply, and Jimin grips your jaw in his hand, forcing your mouth to stay open.

You jerk in his grasp as he spits into your mouth; the saliva hitting your tongue. You’ve never been more turned on in your life. He releases you, and you swallow again.

“Kinky bitch,” Jimin cooes. “All for me.”

He pulls you up to stand in front of him, pressing his lips to yours again for another burning kiss.

It’s too short for your liking, as Jimin pulls away and manhandles you to sit on the sink. You’re obedient, smiling prettily. Fuck, you can’t believe it’s happening. You just sucked Jimin off, the same Jimin you’ve ogled and anguished over for weeks now.

“Let me see these tits,” he asserts as he tugs up the sports bra from your body. You comply, raising your arms up to allow him to pull it off.

He throws the bra to the floor and cups your breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes as his thumbs rub across your nipples. You shiver from the cold air and the heat of his thumbs. “I jerked off thinking about these tits after spin.”

He lowers himself to lick at a nipple and you’re whining for more.

“Thought about pushing them together and fucking them like a pussy.” He bites down on your nub, causing you to squeal and jump. He soothes the flesh with a suck from his lips and languid circling of his tongue.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He smirks, eyes boring into yours as he roves your nipple with his delicious tongue “My kinky little whore wants her yoga instructor to fuck her pretty tits.”

You’re thriving, his words making your cunt ache. It’s dripping wet. You’re sure it’s leaking through the fabric of your leggings by now. Jimin being just as rough and filthy as your fantasies has you reeling.

“Yes,” you whine. “I want you to fuck your cock in my tits.”

Jimin hums around your nipple before switching to the other, ravaging it with the same attention as its twin received.

“God, you’re a fucking whore,” he whispers as he bites at your nipple hard enough to make you jerk in his grasp. “I love it.”

Your hips are moving against his body, desperate for friction where you need it most. It’s not lost on Jimin and he pulls off your tits with a pop. He marvels at his work. Your nipples are suckled fresh and red, perking and pebbling in the cold air.

“Mmm, does princess want some attention here?” He asks as he slides a hand down to grip your aching quim.

You gasp in response, shuddering at the feel of his palm against your core.

“P-please! Pretty please!” You beg.

He kisses at your breasts again, before he tugs your shoes and socks off, and pulls the leggings down your smooth legs and throws them to join the matching bra on the floor. He’s pleased when he notes you aren’t wearing panties.

You don’t care how you look, wanton and desperate. You spread your thighs wide, feet resting on the edge of the sink. Jimin gazes at you like you’re fine art, the Mona Lisa at the Louvre.

“Look at you,” he adores. “Spread out for me like a slut. And you’re dripping wet too, mmm.” He rubs a finger up and down your silky thigh.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He grips your chin with one hand while the other continues rubbing at your inner thigh. “A good little bitch for me.”

You nod and gasp as his fingers skim impossibly close to your cunt.

“Do you deserve it, princess? After you were so mean to me earlier?”

You pout and shiver. “I’m sorry!” You gasp as his finger hovered over your pussy. “I’m s-sorry! I was j-just upset! I didn’t meaaaaaaan it!” His finger dips and taps at your clit, feather light, and you’re crying at the feeling.

Jimin shushes you, finger still impossibly light on your clit. “Hush, baby. I forgive you. You sucked my cock so well, made me cum so hard.”

The finger increases pressure slightly and you’re aching, trembling for more.

“Good little sluts get rewarded, hm? I think you’ve earned yours, princess.”

You’re not given an opportunity to reply as Jimin harshly thrusts two fingers into your cunt and fucks you furiously. Your moan is impossibly loud, loud enough you’re sure the rest of the gym can hear you but all you can focus on is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin and his thick fucking fingers thrusting into you.

He lowers down and licks at your clit, flicking it up and down. He watches as your body trembles, wails echoing off the tile walls.

“Mmm, my pretty little princess, so fucking wet for me.” He emphasizes with a kiss to your clit, before he sucks it into his lips. The tugging makes stars shine in your vision, nearly blacking out from how good it feels.

Jimin can feel that you are close, and as much as he wants to get you off with his fingers, he wants you to cum on his cock more. He pulls away from you, and you’re whining at the loss.

“Hush, princess,” he sighs. “Be good, no whining.”

You quiet immediately but still feel a throb in your core. He delivers a harsh slap to your cunt, surprising you and making you yelp. Jimin grins and kisses your lips.

“Stand up and turn around and face the mirror, doll.”

You move to comply, hop off the counter to turn and press your back against Jimin. You can see yourself in the gym mirror now. You look fucked out completely. Your tits are blooming red where he suckled at your nipples, eyes hooded and blown wide with lust.

Jimin’s lips tickle at your ear and he whispers, “This is what I imagined during spin class. Seeing you so fucked out and wet for me. These pretty tits marked by me,” he cups one, and pinches at the nipple. “My sweet little princess.”

His hand moves up to your throat, giving it a solid squeeze, and you shut your eyes. Euphoria. Pure bliss.

“That’s right, baby,” he kisses the shell of your ear. “All mine. Such a slut for me.”

You’re nodding, eyes still closed, as he removes his hand and pressed your head down towards the sink. You wiggle your ass and rub against his length, giggling at the feel.

“I want you to watch yourself get fucked by me. You’re gonna watch me ruin this tiny little cunt,” he grunts. “You’re going to watch what I fantasized about in every fucking class I saw you in.”

You realize you’re moaning loudly, the sound spilling out of your lips subconsciously as the head of his dick rubs your pussy lips. He hisses at the wetness, loving the way it slicks up his cock with ease.

“Eyes open, my love,” he orders gently when he notices you’ve closed them. They snap open and your gaze falls on him in the mirror. He looks so fucking good, so hot and feral. His muscles glisten in the light, a sheen of sweat from his workout and from the heat of your bodies pressing together.

He winks at you, the same one he gave you that fucking blasted day at spin, and then pushes into your tight heat in one go.

“Oh, fuck, Jimin!” you’re gasping as your walls stretch to accommodate him.

He grits his teeth for a moment, savoring the feel of your silken walls. “Told you we needed to stretch you out, need to get you nice and loose.”

You shiver as he remains still inside of you, but he’s quickly pulling out of you to impale you again. The sound of flesh slapping on flesh fills the room and you can hear the wetness of your cunt around him.

“Shit,” he moans. “You’re so fucking tight, unghhhh. Gonna ruin this little pussy, baby. Gonna make you never want another cock in you except mine.”

You believe him. You’re sure after this you’ll never even notice another man. Jimin has you wrapped around his finger, he has since the first day you met at spin.

“All yours,” you squeak through the thrusts, watching your tits jiggle. He notices your stare and roughly grabs at one, squeezing it until you reward him with a loud groan and the tightening of your cunt.

“That’s right. You’re mine. Ahhhh, wanna make you my girl, baby. Gonna fuck this little hole every night. You’d like that, huh?” You nod in reply, and he slaps your ass with his free hand. “Use your filthy words, bitch.”

You gasp at the sharp sting and splitter a response. “P-please! I want you! Only want you inside me.” You’re half coherent to the words you’re speaking, his dick is literally fucking you stupid.

He grins in reply, swatting your ass again. The pain sends a tingle straight to your clit and you squeeze his cock inside you, causing him to groan out loud.

“God, you’re so perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he babbles. “Gonna fuck you in the spin studio. And at yoga. Gonna fuck you in barre while everyone watches.”

The high you’re feeling is unparalleled. You’re sure you’ve felt nothing quite like this, never been fucked so good in your lifetime. Jimin knows how to work you up, both emotionally and physically, and brings out the beast in you.

You can feel your release building, already so close from his incessant fingering and tonguing of your clit.

“J-Jimin!” You’re heaving his name, harsh pants signaling your oncoming climax. “S-so close!”

He becomes rabid, fucking into you at a pace you’re sure isn’t human. He angles his dick to hit right at your spongy wall, thrusting into your g-spot with ease, as if he knows your body inside and out.

“Yeah, cum for me, whore. Cum on my cock.”

It feels heady, feeling him thrust inside you and murmur such filth to you. He wants you and only you. The notion is as orgasmic as his cock itself. The tightness in your core builds, builds, leaning on the precipice of euphoria.

“Cum for me, baby, come on. Mark me as yours.”

His possessive tone is the last thing you hear before the waves of orgasm pound over you like a typhoon. Your cunt clenches and flutters hard around his dick and he’s moaning your name. You feel how tight you are, his cock stilling inside you as he reaches his own high.

“Oh, shit! Shit shit shit!” he gasps. “Gonna be full of my cum, baby! You’re mine!”

Hot ropes of cum coat your core, and you’re relishing in the feeling.

“My god,” Jimin sighs. He lets his softening cock remain inside you as he presses a kiss to your back.

“Is it too early to say I love you?” He jokes. Your heart flutters as you wiggle your ass.

“No, but take me to dinner first.”

He slaps at your red ass lightly, right where he spanked it before. His grin lights up the room.

“With pleasure.”

“Hi, welcome to class, I’ll be your instructor today. My name is Jimin. Let’s get started.”

You smile from your seat, front and center, and move your legs in time with the music.

The instructor catches your eye and winks at you.

Spin is even better now, if that’s possible. You spend your time in class with your deliciously sweaty boyfriend, who doesn’t go easy on you. He pushes you, makes you better and faster and stronger. He rewards your first place spots by eating your pussy until you cry.

Life is better. You’ve found your person, the one who will do everything with you, for you. He loves you, completely and fully. You’ve never felt more cherished in your long years of living.

Class ends before you know it, and you linger as the group meanders out to the lobby, leaving Jimin and you alone.

“Hey, princess,” he calls to you as you rub the sweat from your face.

You look up to see a sly smile on his face.

“You should stay back and practice. I think you need it,” he chides, teasingly.

Your heart skips a beat as he closes the door, barring you from exiting the room full of bikes, and approaches you with a leer.

“Oh, yeah?” You place a hand on your hip.

“Yeah, and I think I know just the instructor who can help.”

Jimin pounces on you with a kiss, and your giggles fill the room.

Life is better now, and it will get even more so. Jimin glances back at the podium as you scurry to get your leggings off, his eyes resting on the velvet ring box.

Yeah, it will definitely get better.

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