#you just said hi to me again. you just repeated what you said. you just | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

biteyoubiteme · 1 day ago

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brrr

seungmin x fem!reader

⊹ ₊ ݁ . ❅ synopsis: friends with benefits either ends in love or indifference. ⸝⸝⸝ warning: fwb, reader and seungmin are toxic/avoidant/mean, not too much aftercare at all, mentions of menstruation, period pain, slight spit kink, mentions of no prep, no protection, creampie(s), oral (f!rec), lots of kissing, minho side character, I probably did forget some this time im so sorry

⊹ ₊ ݁ . ❅ wc: 13.5k ❅ . ݁ ₊ ⊹

❅ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: brrr- kim petras an: this was not my best work pls forgive me ;-; ive had this idea since august last year and im glad I could get it down- this is not proofread im so sorry for any mistakes that you come acorss :p

[m.list]

The two of you weren't friends; you didn’t even share any acquaintances, classes, or hobbies. It was better for the both of you that no one knew the other existed; there was no need to make things messy with questions. It was a one-night stand that turned into two. Six months later, the two of you were still inviting each other over for no-strings-attached sex.

You remember that second night when Seungmin rolled out of bed already halfway to putting his jeans back on when you asked, “Are you leaving?” The look he threw over his shoulder was cruel to anyone else, the one that said he would kick a girl while she was down in the dumps for him, put an end to any relationship with complete certainty, and never look back.

“I don’t want to sit and cuddle, I told you that already. I don’t do relationships,”

“I wasn't asking to cuddle you idiot, I wanted to make sure you would lock the door on your way out,” you were sitting up in bed the sheet halfway up your body, “I need to shower and I don’t care enough to walk you out again,”

Seungmin had huffed a laugh tugging his shirt on, “You didn’t walk me out last time,” he looked down at his phone flipping through his calendar, “Does Thursday at three work?”

“Are you really trying to schedule sex like we’re a forty-year-old married couple?”

“Yes, does three work?” he repeats himself looking bored.

“I have a chem lab then, I'll be here at seven,”

“Okay, I'll just meet you here,”

And if you didn’t see Seungmin all week you would be sure to find him standing at your door Thursday at seven, hands in the pockets of his jeans leaning against the door frame waiting as you unlocked your door. Your standing dick appointment was penned into your schedule along with any other time one of you felt an itch. It wasn't past either of you to text randomly in the middle of the night a quick you up?

In minutes Seungmin would be in your bed, on your couch, over the countertop, or even right at the front door. Neither of you really wasted time with kissing or prep, most of the time Seungmin’s spit was the most lube to help with the stretch of taking him so fast after he came in, it was a month in when he brought over a bottle of lube with him to keep in your nightstand. “look what I got you”

One of the nicer things he had done besides make you cum but you only ever used it if you made it to the bed. The only times he had his mouth on you was to keep his moans down after a noise complaint from your neighbors. Every sound pressed right against your pulse.

Seungmin often came over when he was angry, always upset about one thing or another. Pressing your face into the mattress as he pounded into you, complaining about his classes, his roommates, and someone getting his coffee order wrong. Any slight towards him sent him right to your door, his perfect crutch to getting his anger out. It didn’t matter much to you either way as long as you had at least one or two orgasms by the time he left you were fine to be used without mercy.

It was easy to ignore him, push everything away until he was there in front of you, leaning on the door frame already hard just knowing you would pull it open. But if you weren't in the perimeter of your apartment neither of you even looked at the other besides a sideways glance you would share with any stranger you walk past.

It's how you could stand in the same line for coffee, a few feet away chatting with your friends while he picked up his order. Just a boy with a scowl on his face as he sipped from the still steaming up. You didn't even look at him as he brought his cup back up, cutting your friend in line just to complain.

“He's always so rude,” she mutters as soon as Seungmin has gone, rushing out without a blink your way, taking his newly redone cup of coffee with him. “He was arguing with our professor the other week about the context of some passage. Went on and on and it was so awkward because he was kinda right but neither of them would drop it,”

Seungmin had come over that day, the door slamming behind him when he finally came in, no questions as he pushed you down onto your bed, not even stopping to help pull down your shorts. “Stupid fucking prick, doesn't even know how to properly teach a class he's paid to teach-”

But you just shrug now, arms crossed holding your coat like a blanket you could throw over your lies. You didn't care what Seungmin got up to when you weren't around, but it made sense that he was angry even outside the walls of your apartment. How he got through his fits before you wasn't your concern but you're sure he did have some other form of release. And now you knew he would be right back in your bed when you got home. Because it didn't matter how small the inconvenience was.

And you were right, the second you turned the corner you could see his stupidly big black car sitting outside in the parking spot with your apartment number on it, unused when you spent most of your time biking or walking the short distance to campus.

“It's fucking freezing outside,” was the only thing he said as he watched you roll your bike into its spot next to the entryway, your keys jingling as you pulled them from your coat pocket, twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open.

“Is it the cold weather of the bad coffee that has you back here,” you ask, your smirk only making him roll his eyes. He lets you get out of your outerwear, watches you slowly unzip, the sight less tantalizing and more annoying. He knew you liked to play with him, especially when you witnessed the problem for which he came over in the first place.

“Shut up,” he walked right past you to your bedroom, pushing open the door to see your half-made bed. He moved around like he knew where everything was placed and located. You're sure that if you asked him to do the laundry he would know where to fold and put away your clothes, even where to put the basket and fabric softener when done.

You follow, shimmying out of your jeans before he's on you, pushing you against the wall and pulling your panties to the side. His fingers are cold and he runs them through your folds, your body jolting forward until your face and chest are the only thing keeping you up. “Warning next time?” but if he's going to warn you it's the first drag of his tip from your clit to your entrance right before he slams himself in. hands digging into your hips and he curses, sinking in all the way so that there is no room for you to get away, no way for your to fuck back onto him.

“No,” he grunts, pulling out only an inch before slamming back in, picking up a steady pace that has you biting your lip, hands sliding down the wall searching for purchase as he holds you in place. You lean forward so that your shoulder can keep you up, hand snaking down to rub at your clit because you know he won't do it right now when he's so focused on getting off.

He’s quick, grunting into your ear and you're right there at the edge ready to fall over when he pulls out. His cum dripping down your lower back after he gives a few short tugs of his slick cock, your whine an exasperated expectation when he's this fed up. “Seung-” he cuts you off with his fingers, shoving them back into your waiting cunt, pumping at the same pace he had been at before, letting you finish the second he curled the digits to meet the perfect spot inside you.

It's a rush of a high before he pulls away, fingers in his mouth before he zips his pants back up. It didn't matter to you if he got you off when you had your hands to help. Neither of you was past using the other like it was nothing. You had done it before and you're sure it would happen again. Late nights where you called over Seungmin to eat you out when you just couldn't get off, toys doing little for you when you wanted someone right there between your legs. There were plenty of times you sucked him off without wanting anything in return, but finishing now felt like a bit of a gift.

“Sorry,” he huffs, less an apology but a way to fill the space.

“You don't have to apologize,” you try to look at the stain he's left on you, the warmth already cooling against your ass, “I needed a shower anyway,”

To anyone else it would have felt cold, the dismissal as clean cut in your eyes as you waved him away. But it's the exact reason why you liked Seungmin, if even a little bit. He wasn't one to get attached, less so one to linger; hover around like the ghost of past regrets. The two of you knew exactly what this was, down to the way you turned around with a small goodbye, his in turn response just as cold, transactional. You would have it no other way.

You jumped into the shower after hearing the door close, Seungmin always remembering to turn the first lock so that you would only have to deadbolt it when you were done. The routine down faster than it took you to memorize your class schedule. He was a constant you knew would always be around, one that you even liked from time to time when he could hold up a conversation longer than a few words.

It hasn't always been like this, not that first night you met. The conversation flowed, aided by the drinks in hand, tucked into the corner of a frat party neither of you wanted to be at. It was a glaring contrast to the second night when you had called each other back. Less wanting and needy under the LED lights half hitting your faces and more like tonight. It had been one of the only times he had kissed you, lips chasing yours when you pulled away, hands greedy to get a feel of your body, so new and undiscovered to him. “I don't do relationships,” had slipped from both of your mouths between kisses, his apology then for feeling as if he had cum too soon and not because he had pulled out to release on your favorite lace panties.

But it didn't matter, you didn't need an apology when he had stayed hard, finding himself back in you without stopping, making you feel things you never thought possible, finding your moans in his mouth, as he echoed back the perfect choir to match. It had been the best night you had had with someone, the one you turned to when you needed help to get off. And it wasn't as if you hadn't had great times with Seungmin after that, it was only different because the two of you knew who you were.

You could see into each other and you didn't have to hide. Somehow you had stripped down to the basic raw instincts of each other, no need for the added layers of emotions when all you wanted was everything physical. Neither of you had to hide from the other when it would be no use in the first place, the two of you looking into a mirror that shouted back the same image.

It's why when he came back hours later, the knock on your door had the same rhythm he always found, you didn't think to even turn him away. “It almost seems like you missed me,” his eye roll, a welcomed response.

“Shut up,” but he couldn't deny the way he had already been hard just thinking about driving over to your place. The idea of someone being so open to taking him whenever he saw fit was something he found addicting, something he wouldn't admit to anyone except you but never in words. The confession tucked in between his moans as you sucked him off, the warm, wet skill you have over him bringing him to your door over and over again.

He did miss you, in some strange way when there was no sex and he was sitting at your doorstep waiting or in the short time it took him to get up and leave, the small conversations shared before you got in the shower he liked the solace he found. The sex was an added bonus nonetheless. But he wouldn't be able to deny that he liked how easy it was to just be himself when around you. It was something he avoided thinking about too much but crept up on nights like this where you just wiped the corner of your mouth and sat next to him on the couch not kicking him out as you turned on the TV.

The two of you could sit in silence that is not strained, no questions asked when the air is still. It was peace he didn't know that he needed; didn't even know that he wanted. And yet he always went home.

Because when you woke up, tucked in on the couch right where he left you it wasn't surprising. You just picked yourself up and got ready for school all over again. Bundling up in an extra layer since the seasons were changing, the bike ride numbed your face and ears. Your lecture halls were stuffy with the heat turned up enough to make you flushed, stuck in a roundabout feeling as if you were defrosting. Your partner already waiting in the seats you had picked out at the beginning of the semester, assigned together at random to work together on your final assignment of the quarter.

Minho was always on time, scrolling through his phone as he waited for you to join, coat thrown over the back of his chair. Your exasperated ‘hi,’ enough to turn his head in your direction, a soft genuine smile gracing his lips, the the edge of his mouth turned up.

“I only got a few words in on the doc last night, the research isn't going too well,” he confesses while you pull out your laptop from your bag, setting it up once you have taken your seat in the unbearably uncomfortable chair.

“I only got a few more lines in before i had to take a break, maybe we can work later if you're free,” it was usually how things ended up going, you got most of your work done after class while sitting over coffee growing cold. The work slowly devolved into giggling over stories you shared together. But you two always fell right back into working.

“I'm free after my lit class, around three if that works,” it's how you ended up back at the cafe, your usual spot occupied by your laptops and books, research underway as you tried again and again to locate the proper evidence you needed. You needed Minho there in times like this to be the soundboard to bounce ideas off of, making sure that your topics lined up and you didn't have the wrong points being made.

“I can never tell if I'm doing the citations correctly,” Minho muttered, blowing a puff of air out enough to tousle his dark bangs. The two of you had been sitting here for well over two hours, the sun just starting to set from the wintertime. It made the whole cafe feel warm now that most of the bustle of the campus was dying down, everyone just milling around doing work, muttering with their friends, the hum heavy in the air.

“Let me see,” the table was long, filled with all the books and empty cups you two had yet to clear so you got up to lean over his shoulder to check.

Minho sat with his hands in his lap, letting you look over the work he had done poorly, “what have you done?” The words are mostly a giggle at how messed up he got the format, every line was at a different indention, nothing lining up properly at all.

“I have no idea,” he giggles right back, his hand rubbing down his face as he tries to hold back his laugh, “I really didn't want you to see it but it got too bad,”

“I could have helped when you first had a question,” you remind him, leaning over the side of him to get the keyboard in place for you to help fix. It was something you would have done in the cramped library closer to your lecture hall, the larger study rooms always taken up leaving the single cubicles available, the two of you squeezing into one if you weren't lucky enough to find one together. It's why you preferred the cafe, so much space to look at everything you needed and apparently the free entertainment.

Pushing open the door, Seungmin waltzed in, eyes glued to his phone before he ran right into the poor soul who happened to be walking right out at the same time. The crash is loud enough to turn everyone's heads, Seungmin's loud “fuck” echoing in the newly silenced room.

He was drenched in coffee, the front of his cream-colored sweater only showing off the river of the stain for everyone to see it. The perfect design you would wear for a bad day.

You're frozen leaning over Minho, his hand resting hot on your lower back to steady you. It's the first thing Seungmin sees when he looks up from his soaked sweater, his lip curling in as he holds back his frustration, balling his fists, shaking his head. It's a rush of apologies from the coffeeless person, Seungmin waving him away without the need for the theatrics, what's done was done, and now he's pissed.

Minho laughs, loud and shocking in your ear, cute teeth on display for the cafe as you gape at him. “Bad day?” he asks, and unlike the rest of the cafe who tries to turn away, shy eyes from the mess made, Minho only racks his eyes up and down the front of Seungmin.

“Now made worse,” seungmin mutters, not even looking at you as you stand up straight, Minho's hand leaving you as he pushes his hair away from his brow.

“Oh this is my roommate by the way, seungmin this is my project partner, the one i was telling you about,” he gestures between the two of you, sharing your name, seungmin only sharing you a brief glance.

“Hi,” “Hello,” it was probably the few times you two had shared niceties, even when he watched you walk up your front steps he was quick to complain about the wait and you were quick to tell him to fuck off. But it was clear Seungmin was surprised to see you now with his roommate.

Seungmin hadn't even caught on that it was you who was Minho's partner until that very moment, seeing you lean over him, his hand on you like he was comfortable enough to even do so. He listened when Minho talked but clearly not close enough to realize it was you. Now not only soggy and angry he was able to admit the hint of jealousy he was feeling at the sight of the two of you. If not jealousy, annoyance that he hadn't caught on, annoyance that the two of you seemed so comfortable, so able to be seen in public.

But the two of you had made the rule without thinking much about what it would do in the long run, no need to go on and on thinking about some kind of claim he had on you when in turn you two had no claim over each other at all. But it didn't keep him from feeling the crinkle of unease in his stomach, the feeling so similar to anger that it was easy to feel the emotions flip-flop with each other. “We are just about to finish up and I was wondering if you could take me home,”

“Don't you have your own ride?” Seungmin asks, Minho was the only other one who had a car in the apartment they shared. It was the point of contention every night who got street parking and who got the lone parking spot by the front door.

“I dropped it off at the shop before class and just walked the way, and it's too cold to walk back now,” Minho shrugs,“wait dont you bike home?” you've moved back to your side of the table, slowly packing your things as they talk, seungmin ignoring you.

“Yeah, but I'm used to it, when it snows I'll catch a ride with a friend or just walk once it's settled,”

“I could give you a ride whenever you wanted,” and he's so obviously flirting it's like you're caught. Seungmin is watching you, looking for your response as you blink at Minho who is smiling so sweetly the corner of his mouth dipped just right to turn any girl to agree just to see that smile again.

“Flirting when I'm right here?” Seungmin flicks Minho's shoulder, and you can feel your face heat, as Minho rolls his eyes. It should feel small, like a joke, Seungmin poking fun at Minho in front of a girl he likes, but it feels like Seungmin trying to tug you from Minho’s hands. The obvious glint in Seungmin’s eyes could be written off by his bad day but you know exactly what it means, if anyone knew what he looked like when pissed it was you.

“Maybe i'll take you up on it for now youre right i should be back home it's getting late and i don't like to make the trip in the dark,” it's all you have to say to get away from really answering in front of seungmin, your bad thrown over your shoulder as you wave bye to them, “its was nice meeting you, see you tomorrow minho,” seungmin dipping his head in a stiff nod as you leave.

It wasn't too long after that there was a knock on your door, the first words out of your mouth teasing him, “Is someone upset?” he doesn't even try to answer with his usual bite, his hands in your hair before he's nipping your neck, leaving a trail of wanting bites and muttered words you can't grasp. The door is kicked shut behind him as you clutch his shirt, still warm under his open coat as you stumble back.

He was needy, hard already, and grinding into you as you fell back on the couch. His hands were hot, working off your shirt, not stopping to worry over your bra as he shoved his hands down into your sweatpants, sliding them down your legs along with your panties.

It's rare that Seungmin comes over to eat you out, not unless you send him a text to head your way. Now with his lips on your clit it shocks your system, thighs trying to close in around his ears, hands twisting into his hair as he sucks. He doesn't even have to try to get you wet, he's lapping at your cunt like he had been starved for you, the lewd sounds only making you shake. It's when he slips his fingers in, curling them just right that you cry out, moaning without warning that the noises would even leave your lips.

“Wait-” It feels too soon to finish, like everything is hurtling towards you as you feel the tightness in your stomach burns. You don't want him to stop now when you're crashing as he pulls his mouth away, thumb working over your clit to help ease you down from your hair, the fingers still inside you, pumping slowly as he watches the way you tremble for him.

“Tell me you want it,” chin still slick with your wetness, his tongue darting out to taste you on the edge of his lips. Your heart is beating in your ears, so caught off guard that you're stumbling to keep up but Seungmin is right there tugging you closer to where you need to be. His thumb which had been so slow is now replaced by his persistent circles, speeding up the longer it takes you to answer. “Tell me,”

“I want it,” you can't even remember what it was a few minutes ago opening the door for him, teasing only to be teased right back, now you're looking for anything to hold onto, searching for the right words as your mind spins.

“Beg me for it,” he pulls his fingers from inside you, placing them on his tongue as he soaks in your desperate whimpers.

“Please-” hips moving on their own, you're grinding forward trying to catch more pressure as he slows down his circling fingers on your clit. “Please Seungmin- I want it, please,”

Free hand pushing down his pants he releases his aching cock, pre-cum bubbling up from the tip, thumb rolling over his slit to catch the release. “Louder,” his eyes are hooded as he watches, so dark you are sure that you'd fall into them if you didn't know what this was. But you couldn't care about that, not when he was demanding something so little of you.

“Please- please Seungmin,” his lashes flutter at the sound, his name on your lips like an antidote to his frozen limbs. He moves so that he can sink into you, falling over your body as the two of you gasp at the entrance, the stretch gloriously needed to leave you mindless.

He doesn't even realize he's doing it, nose to yours, breathing in the same air, gasping on the same breath, lips just brushing and before he can help himself he's kissing you, sloppy and consuming. The taste of you fills your senses as he finds it in him to devour you. Your arms wrap around his neck, hands pulling on his hair as you let him take control as if you ever had an ounce of it before.

Every drag of his cock only draws out both of your hums, the slow pace only speeding up as Seungmin’s need grows. He had only been here yesterday, felt the warmth and squeeze of your cunt less than twenty-four hours ago, and yet even he could admit he was addicted. He needed a long fuck, that drawn-out ache working into his bones the whole way to dropping off Minho back at their shared apartment. The only thought on his mind was the way you said his friend's name instead of his, how many times had you uttered his name? How many times would you do it again if you had the opportunity? He wanted you to think of him in the way he was starting to think of you.

Not in the way he had imagined, he knew I wouldn't fall into loving you easily as horrible as it sounded. Seungmin had come to the conclusion that he wouldn't find anyone to love, but you…you were an obsession, that jealousy twisting around his mind, burning down every rational thought until he couldn't help but need to hear you say it, say his name, over and over again.

And you didn't stop saying it, the reverberation of it pressed to his lips as he tried to hold back his moans but it was impossible when you felt this good under him. He didn't even realize it was happening, the kissing, until he was cumming, his breaths uneven, whines pressed right into your mouth as you came along with him. The warmth of his cum spilling out of you with each added thrust he made, his face pressed into your neck to try and hide what he had done.

His mind was clearing, from the jealousy, from the orgasm, from you, and he needed to leave.

It felt so unceremonious; so quick to move from passion to regret. He shouldn't be here, not when it wasn't just anger getting him off but jealousy, unreasonable jealousy that felt heavy and sick in his stomach. He had no reason to be jealous, not now when the both of you had made it clear that if the other found a partner you would stop seeing each other. That the two of you would let the other know when it was even close to happening. And maybe that's why he was angry, not over the fact someone had the opportunity to get you in bed but because it would mean he would be left alone with nothing but his hand.

Since being with you in whatever way it was you had, he hasn't even tried to look for anyone else because he didn't have to and he didn't necessarily want to. He liked the ease at which you put him. Even now, pulling out of you and cleaning you up it felt so normal until your phone lit up on the table. Minho's name flashed across the screen for the small second it needed to let you know he had texted you. So late at night when you don't usually text your project partner.

You didn't even see it, too busy throwing your clothes in the hamper, warming up your shower, and asking if Seungmin wanted to hop in with you. It was an offer, not a plea he knew as much.

He could still feel your kiss, the thrumming of the memory scaring him more than he would like to admit. So much so that he's gone with a wave, ditched from the situation like it was the first week of seeing each other and not two years deep.

You knew he would do it, the second he kissed you he would be gone. It was rare he made the slip up but it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last time and each time you knew he would be out the door no matter how much you told him it didn't matter.

It was something you had trained yourself not to be hurt over but it's not as if you didn't see it getting easier with time but it only got disappointing. Seungmin had only stayed over a few times in your bed, sleeping over without realizing he was doing it, not realizing that you two found each other sharing a meal over the course of a few episodes of TV, sitting around on your phones, sending each other videos you found funny because he was right there and on your mind.

So you climbed into bed feeling drained and wishing for just one time you could spend it tucked back into it, not even cuddled, with him after a night like this where it seemed like he wanted you so bad he couldn't stop himself from taking and taking. But you didn't care, or it's what you liked to tell yourself, you had signed up for it, knew what you were asking for, and had enjoyed it, loved the rules you had fit so snugly against, all until it felt like a straight jacket you could pry yourself out of.

It kept you up most of the night, the chill of the air outside sinking in between your floorboards making your bed seem warmer than it really was, wanting you to stay in it and skip the day so that you didn't have to face the ride to school. But you fell into the monotony of the day, dressing and making sure your bag was packed with everything you would need for the day. Minho has texted you to tell you he wouldn't be in today because of his car, needing to take it to get checked out across town. It meant you could leave early and work in the comfort of your own home but it also meant you had to keep yourself accountable in getting the work done alone.

It's halfway to campus that the first snowfall starts, the fat white puffs coming down like rain; fast and hard. You have to keep your annoyance in check at the sight. It was snowing so much earlier in the year, that the hassle of finding someone to take you on the worst days already makes you upset. You can feel the scowl set in on your brow, the tilt of your mouth taking its shape. It's how Seungmin sees you, locking up your bike with your hands in fingerless gloves, spinning the combination, the snowflakes catching in your hair. Scarf tucked close to your chin, nose scrunched as the wind sends a flurry of snow in your direction.

The decision is easy, he knows when your class is out, your schedule memorized just like you had his down. And when the day is over, your last lecture out he waits next to the bike rack not caring if anyone sees him. Leaning right against your bike he wipes away the build up of snow that had already accumulated. You don't even notice him, head down as you try to avoid the breeze.

“It's snowing,” the sound of his voice startling you, the obvious observation making you irritable.

“I know,” you tug on the lock, fingers already falling numb as you put in your combination. The second it clicks seungmin’s hands are on the handlebars, pulling it from its spot, and rolling it away from you. “What the hell-” but you don't stop him, following after as he leads you to his car, already on and warmed.

The suv was completely oversized and obnoxious, the kind of car that was made for families or people with entourage, not a college student. But it was Seungmin’s prized possession, the only thing he put all his care into, and he was proud of it. You had made fun of it before, the spot in front of your apartment hardly big enough to fit it between the other two much smaller cars next to it. But he took no criticism of it, completely blacked out with its heated seats. It was a blessing when the road's reflection of the winter sun bounced off the blinding snow.

You had only been in it a few times, that first night being one of them, his hand on your thigh as he drove you home. Even now it was a welcome warmth as you got in, body instantly feeling the effect of defrosting as you buckled in, seungmin lifting your bike to place in the trunk like it was something he did all the time and not the first occurrence.

And for the first time, the air was stale between you two, not the usual understanding, not after last night when both of you couldn't get the feel of each other's lips to go away. The radio was low, your hands twisting together as an excuse to do something besides sit still; eyes dancing over the oncoming snow, raining down harder than it had been earlier. The soft thumps of the windshield wipers keep up with the pace of your thoughts, say something- don't, say something- don't.

It's not until he pulls into his usual spot that you speak up, the light, “thank you,” fading into the background. The wind is howling, beating the flakes against the windshield at a rate the wipers can't keep up with, the inside of the car keeping the two of you in a reverse snowglobe, watching the world shake as you ask, “do you want to wait it out inside?”

“If you don't mind,” he doesn't even share a glance your way, eyes passing you to look out the window before looking over his shoulder into the backseat, “we can just leave the bike in here for now,”

The two of you rush out of the car, huddled close as you fumble for your keys, Seungmin standing in the way of the wind, taking the brunt of the weather before you push open the door. The two of you shedding clothes without the intention of fucking for the first time in a long time, your school bag falling to the foot of the couch as you move to turn up the heater.“Do you want anything to eat, i have a few snacks and things if you're hungry,”

He already knows where the pantry is, pulling open the door to look inside. It's casual and yet you feel the distance, not only in the way you had been before, the barely talking had been comfortable, but now the barely talking felt heavy. But you wouldn't be the one to break it, it wasn't you who came around to take you home, it wasn't you who had kissed him. But you knew exactly why you wouldn't say anything. Somewhere the worm of thought was wiggling around your brain, telling you that you weren't as casual as you had hoped to be, you were in some way friends at the end of it all, even if no one knew about it.

Seungmin pulled out a bag of popcorn, still folded nearly, ready to be popped. You sat back down on the couch, getting under your blanket and ignoring your work as you reached for the remote to the TV. The air filled with the buttery scent of fresh-popped kernels, seungmin reached for a bowl in the cabinet already having seen you do this exact task before.

“I didn't know you knew Minho,” you don't even turn in his direction when he makes the statement, watching the TV shows and movies flip past, looking for something to watch.

“Yeah we’ve been working together for most of the year,” you watch Seungmin’s lips pursed, nodding to your answer lightly before moving over to sit next to you on the couch. He kicks his socked feet up onto your coffee table and you click on a random show that neither of you care much about. “I didn't know he was one of your roommates, I knew you had them of course it's why you keep me away from your coveted apartment,”

“It's not coveted, they are just nosey,” you lean over to grab a handful of popcorn as he chews, “and your place has no one else we have to worry about, if we went to my place yesterday and tried to fuck on the couch we would have a lot of explaining to do, and the decor is better here,”

“So it's the decor and convenience that keeps you coming,” you're leaning on the armrest of your couch, half turned to him so that you can push your foot into his side. Toes cold as you tuck them under his thigh.

“You know that's not the only reason,” but it's the way he looks at you when he says it that makes you freeze, the soft tilt to his eyes and the quick realization that he was doing it in the first place. But you knew it wasn't the sex, not when he was quick to flush about the statement. He never got embarrassed to talk about your sex life, seungmin was the most open partner you had, slowly pulling that same confidence out of you. He was easy to talk to about what you wanted and when you wanted it, his one-month-long journey to get you to speak up in bed worked wonders on the way your sex had evolved.

But this, the blush on his cheeks staining your mind as you knew turned over the meaning in your mind. He knew the same comfort that you did, felt the same relaxation settling over him as it did you when you could just strip back to someone who was entirely yourself and yet hidden from so many other people. “I know,” it's a whisper because anything more would make him run, just like a kiss, anything more and he would be out the door in seconds, snowstorm be damned he would sit in his car. And you were starting to hate that truth, that fear he was feeling. So you kicked him again, “and you can't resist my-”

“Do not start right now, I'm eating,” he cracks a smile, the corner of his mouth turning up as you fake shock.

“I was going to say personality i have no idea where your mind was going,”

“Your personality makes me sick,” his tongue poked out for a moment as you shoved your feet further under him, toes wiggling in the cramped space.

“Your attitude makes me sick,” you quip, rolling your eyes as he leans over, hand sliding up your calf.

“You love my attitude,” it's the kind of moment that would have led to sex, you could see it, him leaning over to kiss you,if he let himself. Spilling popcorn but neither of you cared as you fell into each other. But that wasn't the way things felt for you two, because that would have been too close to a couple and you could see that in his eyes when he pulled away.“I should head out soon before the roads get too bad and it looks like it's clearing up a bit,” he nods to your window, the curtains pulled back to see the light snowfall.

“Yeah, let me get my bike-”

“I'll just pick you up tomorrow, you're seriously not going to bike in the snow again,” he passes you the bowl of half eaten popcorn, setting it in your lap as he stands.

“You don't have to do that-”

“But I am, you don't have to worry about it I don't mind, and you can't deny you don't love the heated seats,” and you want to ask him to stay, and spend the night. He had clothes here, ones he had left and forgotten. He knew where in the drawer they were and put them occasionally, it wouldn't even be the first time he used your shower whether alone or not. Even sharing your bed wouldn't have been too much. But you let him go without asking. Too scared to be turned away, too scared to think about why you wanted him here this close when you swore to yourself that you wouldn't let that happen, he had told you it wouldn't happen. But the lines felt so blurred when he was being nice even if it was the bare minimum.

So he left, took your bike along with him, and you found yourself alone in bed again, turning and turning as you tried to find the right spot to lay. You had accounted for the bad sleep to that, the constant moving, and yet the second you made it to the bathroom you found your period had started. Your groan sank into your stomach as you got ready. Seungmins knock on the door was punctual and all too much a reminder of not having enough time to crawl back into bed and skip.

“You look like shit,” it's the first words out of his mouth and you're not sorry for the look you land on him.

“I hardly slept,” you mutter, locking up and following him back to the waiting warm car. The few steps down were slick with a mix of melting snow and salt, Seungmin’s hand helpful as he hovered it just slightly next to your hip without actually touching you. It made you want to shout at him for being nice, for blurring lines you didn't think would ever be spotted with questions.

It felt like he was toying with you, pulling on the little string on your back to hear you, all before he left again. It was tiring and you already felt drained. Especially when he was back to not knowing you on campus, the library filled with people, and there he sat with his friends, ignoring you when everyone else said hi when Minho introduced you, picking up notes he needed from one of them. It felt like falling backward, hurtling in a different direction than you had been going when on the couch together less than a day ago.

And it was so easy to feel annoyed today of all days, when your cramps were starting to work their way through your body, and make you more uncomfortable than sitting silently in a car with seungmin as he took you home. But you did have to agree about the heated seats being the perfect makeup for not having to bike to school.

But as you sat there trying to focus on the warmth under you all you could feel was pain in your lower back, that hollow ache pressed right against your pelvis.

Seungmin could see the way you were trying to hold back a whine, eyes squeezed shut as you rested your hand over your stomach, leaning back with a frown on your mouth. He didn't say anything, just followed you back into your apartment unasked, and you let him too tired to care. “I don't feel like it today,” you muttered while he followed you into your bedroom, already halfway undressed as you slipped on pajamas.

“Neither do I,” he shrugged, pushing out of his coat. “If you want me to leave I can,”

But you don't tell him to go and you don't really tell him to stay. Groaning as you fall into bed, face pressed into the pillow trying to find some way that relieves even a bit of your pain. Seungmin climbs in after you, but not next to you as if he was going to nap but straddling the back of your thighs, hands warm as he pushes the back of your sleep shirt up, fingertips pressing into your lower back as you whine.

He knew your periods would get bad occasionally, once you had texted him to come over just so that he could help you to bed, your body curled up on the bathroom floor, head pounding with a headache and nausea making it hard to want to stand at all. He hadn't said anything, helped you up, and took you to your bed without questions. It had been one of the truly personal moments you had shared and didn't care that he had seen you like that, didn't care if it had made you seem less sexy because it hadn’t, he had been back just as often as he had the week before.

Now he massaged you, hands kneading slowly as you tried not to think about what it meant to have him here with you now. It would have felt embarrassing to have anyone else around to see you like this but at the same time, it was natural. And Seungmin liked to know he could make you feel good, not only when he was having sex with you but that he could make you feel good in a way that was similar to how you made him feel. He liked to know you were okay, liked to see that he could provide as you had for him when he was in his nastier moods. Because sometimes he felt bad that he used you, even if you had used him right back it left him feeling like he owed you an apology, even if you would never accept it.

So you let him stay, let his warm hands work you to sleep. And when you woke up with the lights dimmed, curtains pulled closed to let you sleep in you felt like crying. Your bed empty but your bedside table dawned a full glass of water, a few painkillers, and crackers. He was gone but he hadn't left like it was nothing.

You climbed into the shower trying to wash away the feelings that had started to cling to your skin, your mind. It felt wrong to hear his knock on your door and know the second you saw him you wanted to hug him and say thank you. You wanted to let him know how much it meant to you, how much it was affecting you. The only thing you could come up with as a thank you that didn't seem too much was to gift him your apartment spare key, shoved in the back of a junk drawer where it should not have been, the little heart keychain getting tangled in a bunch of old changing cables you had no use for anymore.

It was a long overdue gift, one you should have given a year ago in the winter where he would stand next to the front door with his hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders to his ears. But you had been so used to avoiding your feelings that it was easy to write them off as nothing more than a complication. But now it feels silly to think that. This isn't even the first time he was nice, much less the last time seeing as he was already leading you down to his warm car.

“Here so you don't have to freeze your ass off and so you can deadbolt my door when you leave now,” it was another casual dismissal like it meant nothing to hand your house key over to someone you only slept with when you needed to take a load off. But it was the way you knew wouldn’t make him run, if you had said it any nicer he would leave and you wouldn't see him for a week or more, damn it if you're cold or not.

“Took you long enough, didn't I ask for a key once and you told me if I didn't make one there was no way of me ever getting one?” he slipped the key into his back pocket, the little pink heart made of easily shattered plastic hanging out right against his dark jeans.

“Well you have it now so no need to complain about how long it takes me to make it back from campus,” you were setting yourself up for the morning when he didn't show up, did not knock or let himself in so that he could take you, snow or not you knew it would sting.

“You love it when I complain,” your answering eye-roll enough to make him chuckle.

You didn't think that he would use the key so soon, the weekend rolling in, no reason for him to pick you up, no reason to come over. He had even dropped your bike off right outside your door on Friday so that if you needed it you had it. Spending most of the day hunched over your books working on your project that you and minho would have to submit by the end of the week and present.

It was late enough that Minho had logged off the shared doc and retired for the night and you knew you wouldn't hear from him until he was ready to put in work again. So you stood going over your presentation trying and failing to work your way through the parts you had to memorize. You got more points if you didn't use flashcards, and even more points if you only gestured towards the board and didn't need help to remember plot points from it as you flipped through slides. But you kept having to look down and remember the parts you had to interject in between Minho's parts.

The task was distracting enough not to hear the door open behind you, your hand falling over your heart the second you turned and away Seungmin coming in, the flashcards holding Minho's parts of the presentation fluttering to the ground,“you scared me you asshole-”

“I texted you like an hour ago that i was coming over,” and you know your phone is on the charger in the other room, turned face down to try and keep you from flipping it over and going on it to procrastinate.

“We can have sex after you help me with this,” picking up all the notecards you file them in order shoving them into his unexpectant hands.

“I don't really want to do homework this late at night, it's not even my homework,” fingers deftly working through the cards, “and it's not even your work i’m reading, shouldn't minho be working on this with you?”

“He was busy and i didnt even know you were coming over so, wrong place wrong time, now help me,” you wave seungmin to sit on the couch, standing in front of the coffee table, closing your eyes to try and remember the first line in your speech.

“He is back at home watching TV with the guys,” Seungmin says leaning back as he reads over his half of the cards. “And you know sometimes I come for the company,” it was the truth, or at least as much as he was willing to share. He didn't know why he had texted that he was on his way, he knew less as to why he couldn't think of what to say when he finally put his key in your lock. He was glad to have found you somewhat shocked to see him so that he wouldn't have to jump right into your bed but had time to do what he really wanted; just sit around in your presence.

“Well either way I want a very nice reward for doing so much school work so late into the night,” and it had been a while since you had found each other twisted up together, especially after seeing each other around more often than usual these past few weeks. “For now I need you to read those when I get to the breaks,”

Seungmin picked up the pace easily enough, pointing out the grammar mistakes that had been rushed over in haste to get the cards done. But you were thankful to have him help you. His easy chuckle and smooth cadence helped more than you thought you needed. Even halfway you order food to be delivered, taking a much needed break and calling it a night for work. You had been standing the whole time, looking for a way to make it seem less awkward talking with nothing in your hands. Now your legs were tired, your groan leaving you the second you laid out on the couch not caring about putting your feet into his lap while you did it.

“Thank you,” you whispered, eyes covered with the back of your hand as you sighed through your nose. “I know it sucks to come over for sex and get this instead,”

“I didn't come over just for sex, believe it or not. Sometimes I like your company enough to not be inside you,” but it didn't matter about him trying to brush it off when now all you could think about was sex. And with him looking the way that he did, half disheveled and relaxed was enough to make you want to sink to your knees for him. So you did. Sliding from the couch so that you could be in front of him, hands gliding over his thighs, looking up from under your lashes.

“I mean we don't have to…” but just the sight of you like this on your knees for him was making him grow hard, his hands reaching out for yours, capturing them before you could find his zipper.

“Sit with me,” but the words themself felt like a ‘no’, a direct denial that he could read over your features as they sink into you. But it wasn't the way he wanted you to take it, not when he couldn't get the idea of your lips out of his mind, not wrapped around him but pressed to his, chasing his mouth as he tried to catch his breath. So when you got up he pulled you down to the couch with him, pushing you into the fabric and finding your mouth without warning.

He knows he shouldn't, knows it goes against the quasi-distance he puts between you two, and yet all he could think about was the last time his lips were on you, kissing you, trying to hide his truths right against your mouth. And you were so willing, arms pulling him in, needing him closer, wanting to be here, and not pushing him away like you should have. But even you couldn't deny how good it felt to have him this close to you, semi-hard just from the sight of you. And there was something about breaking the thin rules you two had in place like his need was more than his conscience. No longer able to resist himself.

It was a slow kiss, exploring the way you fit together as if you hadn't learned each other's bodies before this one bit. All his kisses turned intense, dripping with desire as you spread your legs, letting him sink in closer to you, rolling his hips as he caught his breath on the edge of a whimper. And he was looking at you, really catching you in his sight, blinking down at you. His hair hanging around his brows that you couldn't help but push it back, fingers running through the strands as you tucked them behind his ear. “You look so pretty,”

It was the truth, one you didn't know you had said aloud but you had, and now he was pulling away. Sitting up and leaving you laid out, disheveled, and feverish from a few kisses. “I have to go,”

“Seungmin-”

“No i should go, i need to go,” and it was a switch, that boyish smile cleaned from the surface like a stain he didn't want visitors to see, and you were just a visitor he allowed to see it occasionally but not one he let stay. Now his scowl was set in, his shoulders set as you sat up.

“Fine, go, run away,” his eyes flickered at the dismissal as if he could be angry at you for kicking him out so willingly.

You watch the way his eyes roll, “we have rules for a reason,”

“Rules,” the word feels foreign in your mouth, arms crossing, “you're the one who came over, you're the one who told me it wasn't for sex, if it wasn't for sex what was it for? Huh? Think about the rules next time you want to stay a while,”

“We said no kissing,”

“You said no kissing, and I never kissed you first, think back to every time it's happened, you did it, take up the rules with yourself,”

“You should not let me-”

“Let you, you're acting like a child, get over it, people kiss all the time, go if you want to, act like you don't like me,”

“Fine,” he mutters grabbing his coat, “and it's not an act,” you don't even try to stop him, let him walk right out and even listen to the sound of him locking the door, deadbolt slamming like the shutting of a heavy book, echoing in the room as you fall back where he had pressed you, heels of your palms pressed to your eye sockets, sighing.

He was scared and you didn't help it, didn't want to push him so you pushed him away. The both of you are childish and cold to the other, running around like you don't know that this would one day crack so much so that you wouldn't be able to glue it back together. But you had never predicted it would be over a kiss or even the friendship you had started with one another. And even that made you want to cry, now alone on a warm couch soon to grow cold because he's not here anymore to keep you warm.

He doesn't call or text you, doesn't even come to pick you up Monday morning. The snow already settled and mostly shoveled away from the roads and sidewalks, and a lot of other people from campus were already back to walking. And you had prepared yourself for this, your sadness turning to anger more than anything else. The walk filled with a scowl and half pouty stomp, cursing Seungmin under your breath knowing that if it was anyone else making you feel this way you would have called Seungmin over to work you out enough to let it go. And now you have no one to help you, having to find more conventional ways of getting your anger out. And so you turned to overwork on your projects.

You spent more time at the library and the cafe, calling Minho to practice so that you knew in some way Seungmin might know that you were busy. The whole week you poured over every little note to take your mind away from his and his rare smile and soft kisses. And when you did see him at the cafe ordering a coffee neither of you acknowledged the other, brushing past each other like true strangers, like it had been before when you first set your rules.

But it did sting, like an ember that only aided a fire and didn't put it out because you bottled it up and didn't wallow over it. You wouldn't be the first one to crack, not when you didn't see what you had done wrong besides letting him do what the both of you were thinking.

Minho had picked up on the irritation, “everyone is having a bad week, some of my roommates are in a pisspoor mood,” he commented while you waiting for your turn to present your project, “you should come out with us tonight, we are celebrating the end of the quarter with lots of drinks and dancing but mostly drinks,”

Most of your time had been spent indoors and now would be the perfect time to get out. The much needed time away from your apartment, letting go and not thinking about Seungmin on your couch, and if he wanted you he would text you,or wait for you to come home. “That sounds perfect actually,” and Minho planned to pick you up for your place, texting you when he was outside and watching you lock up from the comfort of his car, headlights shining over you as you walked across to get to the passenger side door.

Both of you had done great on your project, the time you spent pouring over your work and not worrying about boys with commitment issues helped tremendously. Now without a care you wore the shortest skirt you owned and didn't care if Seungmin saw or not. Until you made it to the bar and watched his eyes find you. Minho's hand in yours led you through the crowd to the table they had all gotten, seungmin’s jaw tight as he held his glass of water, gaze trapped on the way Minho helped you get into the booth.

It felt liberating to be ‘allowed’ to talk to him in this sense. He couldn't hide behind the fact he didn't know you after this, you would now know of each other publicly even if he never did break and text you again. For now, you would sit and let him stew for as long as he wanted. And stew he did, watching every little move you made although he was trying not to seem obvious about it. He listened and didn't talk, nodding along to what his friends were saying and yet still treating the room like it was only you two and your fight between you.

And when Minho asked you to dance you didn't stop yourself from agreeing, taking his hand and letting him hold you, standing as close as he wanted knowing exactly how angry it would make Seungmin to see. He traced the path Minho'shand had made on you, from the underside of your rib cage down to your hip, catching your eyes as he fumed. His tipping point when you caught him looking you knowingly blew him a kiss, the taunt going too far for him. His scowl set as he stood grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

“I think I'm going to head home,” your hand cupped near Minho's ear, “I'm going to call a bad I'm a little lightheaded,”

“I can wait with you-” he started, concern written over his face before confusion.

“I can wait with her, Chans asking after you,” Seungmin’s voice was a cool balm over your flushed skin, hot from the crowd, the lights. His face had an indifferent cold exterior as you nodded, “Yeah, you stay, have a good time,”

Minho gave you one last final look over, nodding with a quick,“Okay, text me when you get home,” before you were walking out the same way you had come in. the chill sinking into your bones the second you left the stuffy club. Your phone in hand, fully prepared to call a cab just like you had claimed you would.

“You could sleep with him if you wanted to,” Seungmin wasn't even in front of you when he said it, your head snapping to look at him over your shoulder, his brow raised like he was waiting for you to take the bait waving in front of you.

“Oh I know,” the sarcasm dripped from you like venom. You didn't want to sleep with anyone, not when the one person who you enjoyed getting your anger out on was being an ass.

“Go sleep with him, you have my permission,” he tipped his head in the direction of the door, goosebumps rising along your arms from the anger, the cold.

“I don't need your permission to sleep with anyone, you don't do relationships, remember,” you were standing right at the edge of the pavement, where the sidewalk met the parking lot. “Go home,” the words felt heavy as you said them, hitting him with each syllable. You felt so silly standing here before him, both of you dancing around each other but you could see the cracks in him, watching the way the water bubbled to the surface ready to spill out between the two of you.

“I'm just reminding you,” it made you sick, the arrogance, the casual brush off as if he wasn't the one who started the conversation over nothing.

“Maybe I will sleep with him,” but you're bluffing, crossing your arms and stalking closer to him, your breath fanning white in front of you like smoke, “maybe he will actually invite me over and not run away from his feelings,”

But he's angry even at the thought, “no,” the word like a slammed door at the unwelcome proposal. He looks disgusted, nose scrunched, shaking his head, “No,” as if repeating it would make it stick.

“didn't you just say I could? Go back so easy on your word when people play with your toys, if you like me just admit it- stop acting like a toddler and fess up,” you're standing so close to him now, it didn't matter what height you were when in this conversation he knew you were right anyways you looked you would be the one on top. You just wanted once for him to admit it, say it without having to reduce yourself to begging him. You wanted him to say yes, to tell you, even if you had to stop seeing each other you would live with it because you could live with him being scared but not dishonest.

But he just blinked back at you, mouth pinched closed like he knew it would drive you insane. Sometimes he loved to deny you, wait it out because it was better that way than just giving in to losing. “Let's go, you can't walk home it's too far,” the words felt like a clear wave of his hand, taking everything you had said and swiping it off the table into a drawer that was easy to slam closed and ignore for later, or never open again.

You turned around, arms crossed, fiddling with your phone as if you weren't too angry to look at the screen properly. You would walk all the way home if it would fuck with him, just to say you did as petty as it was. You would be the only one at a loss and still, it didn't matter, you knew it would piss him off nonetheless, or if you went back in and asked Minho for a ride, that would hurt him even more. “I'm going to get a ride,” you throw over your shoulder, the angry padding of his following steps right behind you.

“You already have one,” he holds up his key and you see your keychain as the only other one on there besides his house key and car key, the small heart dangling in his fist, “come on, get in,”

“Admit it,” you don't care that you are stopped in the middle of the parking lot, standing there in what felt close to nothing, numb from the cold.

Seungmin watched the way you shivered, hated that he knew you would torture his mind until the end if he didn't get you into the warmth of his car, no matter how badly he wanted to keep his mouth shut. Because he did like you, hated that he was backed in the corner to say it when he could hardly think about it when alone, less when he was with you and the idea was right over him. He was so good at ignoring things, he had been doing it since that first night that he had you. “Fine, get in the car,” it was already on and warm.

“Say it,” your hip dips, ready to hold out.

“I like you,” he says it like he hates the words, the tone chipped as you pull it out of him, but you know him, know him best when he's on the edge of anger and desire, “now get in the fucking car,”

“Fine,” both of you headed for the car, Seungmin reaching out around you so he could pull your door open. He even helps by keeping his hand right on your lower back as you step up to get in, closing the door behind you as you reach over to turn up the heater. The seat was already warm and welcoming. He doesn't say anything when he gets in, putting the car in reverse, hand on the back of your seat as he twists to get a good view behind him. You sit watching outside the front windshield, arms still crossed as you ignore the way his shirt rides up across his waistband.

“You could have cleared up so much if you had just said something sooner,” you mutter, “hell even if you didn't want me because if it did, it would have been better than sitting around thinking about how I must be a horrible kisser-”

“I never said that,” he cuts you off, watching the road as the snow starts to come back down. The roads had been cleared and it was only a light dusting, flurries that would melt as soon as they hit the pavement.

“Exactly you never say anything, you come, you fuck, you leave. I don't even mind it, I welcome it, but then you come over and just hang out, kiss me, and leave but deny you have feelings for me-”

“I never said I didn't have feelings for you, you never asked,”

“I shouldn't have to ask,”

“I shouldn't have to be the one to start the conversation, you're just as much to blame as I am,” it shuts you up, lips twisting closed as you sink into the seat knowing he's right. But it didn't matter, what's done was done, and you were never the one to run away from him, annoy him yes, but you never ran.

The two of you sat in silence, watching the snow fall, the anger slightly dissipating as you let the thoughts of him take over. You knew you were a hypocrite, and felt it as easily as you felt the feelings you had for him. You didn't want to push him away, you didn't want him to take you home to drop you off and ignore you all over again. Not when it would feel closer to breaking up than him not coming back to pick you up from school. “I like you and I don't care about the stupid rules, not when you like me too. I like you more than just the sex and that's saying a lot because you can be distant. And I like it when you kiss me, even when you don't mean to, I like it when you come over just to hang out, and I like your stupid car and its heated seats, and I like your smile,”

The words came out in a rush, “I used to like that you ignored me and now I just hate it, and I hate your stupid jealousy over nothing at all, and I hate the way you make me feel sometimes,”

“Like when?” His grip on the wheel was tight, knuckles white from the hold.

“Like when you pull away from kissing me and leave me alone, when you don't show up to pick me up the next week and walk past me like you don't know me anymore, when you watch me dance with someone else and you don't admit when I'm right. And I hate it even more that when you kiss me and it doesn't make you want to stay but run,” your throat felt tight, your teeth working into the flesh of your lip, trying to ignore the way this conversation was making you feel. You didn't even notice him pulling off the shoulder of the road, not until he was putting the car in park.

Unbuckling his seatbelt he leans over, catching your chin in his hand, pulling you to meet him halfway across the center console to press his lips to yours. You know he's doing it to prove a point, the slow kiss weakening you. Breaking the kiss, you're only just ghosting your lips over his still searching ones, “Seungmin-”

“I like you, a lot more than I care to admit, and I-” he doesn't even open his eyes as he says it, brows coming together as if it pains him to admit it, “I want to spend all my time with you, I want to kiss you over and over until we can't breathe and I want you to want me as badly as I need you,” his nose bumps yours, the whispered, “please,” pressed right against your mouth, so close its as if it came from your mouth too.

And you can't help yourself from clinging to him, pulling him by his shirt, hands fisted in the fabric as he devours you. His hand slid behind your ear cupping your skull to get you as near as he could and still he needed you closer. With his free hand, he clicked your seatbelt button, needing it off of you. It was easy enough to follow his instructions, even the silent ones after so long of knowing each other in movements instead of words.

Pushing out of your seat you made the climb over to his side, his chair pushed back to give you room when between him and the steering wheel. Your skirt bunching around your hips, now short enough to be a belt in this position; arms wrapping around his neck as he holds your waist, keeping you steady as your knees dig into the sides of the seat. He doesn't give you much time to wait before his mouth is back on you, his control slipping as you meet him with the same need, his exploration of you turning messy in seconds.

It's when he starts to kiss down your jaw, mouth open and hot against your skin that you feel how hard he has gotten, pressed against your thigh as you roll your head back for him. He drags his teeth over your neck, kissing away the trail, groaning at the taste of you. He wants more, needs more, hips rolling up into your as if that bit of friction would fix anything. It didn't matter how many times he had you, he would need more, needed to hear you say his name like you did now, meeting him with a slow tantalizing grind back down on him.

Your nails scratched along his scalp, gripping his hair with one hand as the other wedges between you two fiddling with the button on his pants. “We don't have to,” he's gasping, the car steaming up. The snow thickened against the windshield, the wipers cut off once he had pulled over.

“I want to,” you say against his mouth, relishing in the way he gasps as soon as your hand grips him. He's never been so whiny before, vocal as you rise on your knees, panties pushed to the side as you drag his tip through your slick folds.“Tell me if you want me to stop,” but he's shaking his head, nose brushing your cheek, hips pushing up to try and catch your entrance before you can think about stopping.

“No, don't stop,” hands on your hips holding you hard enough to bruise the second he slips in an inch. “Please don't stop,”

The stretch makes you gasp, forehead to his as he tries to keep himself from pushing all the way in so fast. But you don't care, you want him as deep as he will go, as close as you can get him. Sinking down you take in the overwhelming feeling, hand falling to your stomach as you moan, “You're so-” the words won't even form anymore, brain finding it hard to make connections to your mouth now that you had him this far in.

“You always feel so fucking good,” Seungmin groans, body melting into the seat, the warmth of the heater only making the two of you flushed and easily pliable. “I knew it that first time that your pussy was made for me,” he rolls his hips finding any room that he can to give his shallow thrusts, his pelvis pressed to your clit making you blink hard. “Can you feel it?”

“Yes-” the word a confession as you find your own pace, grinding your hips, finding a rhythm that would have you finishing without much effort, but you know it's because it's him, the way he knows your body, fits you so well. His nails scratching at your clothes, finding a grip so that he can use you as leverage to rock into you, tip pressed right to your g-spot at this angle.

“You're so fucking perfect, how could I not like you, how could I not think about you and only you,” his puppy dog eyes watching you, his hair a disheveled mess, brows close together as he whimpers again. “Look at you,” his sweet mewls fill up the space, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his seat as you drag your hips back and forth on him.“So pretty riding my cock so desperately,”

“I want you to cum for me, please, please,” you can't even keep yourself up anymore, crowding his space, pressing your lips back to his as he takes over, and you know he's cumming the second he starts to tremble, mouth frozen in a moan as you catch the sound in the back of your throat. Your own climax triggered by the sight of his, by the feeling of being so full. He can't even stop himself from using your hips to ride back down on him, wanting to keep you right where you were, full of him in every way.

You wrap your arms around him, his face tucked into your neck, the light kisses over your still hammering pulse only making it flutter longer than calm down. It's not until you pull back to look at him that you see that hazy smile on his features. “Come home with me? Spend the night,”

His smile only grows, spreading across the expanse of his face until he's nodding, “I do have a key, maybe I could stay longer than just the night…” his eyes caught on the way you smile right back at him.

“As long as you want, since I happen to like you, I could keep you around for a long, long time,” both your smiles caught against each other's lips right before he's back to kissing you.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @chasingthatjjunie @possum-playground @ch4nn13luv @izzyy-stuff @jellymochii @yeoningz @filmnings want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin #stray kids seungmin #skz smut #stray kids smut #kim seungmim #bang chan #lee know #Changbin #lee felix #i.n. skz #hyunjin #han jisung

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blbyena · 2 days ago

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boyfriend!mark x reader

Fluff - 1,128 words

(Slight cursing )

You pretend to flirt with the pizza guy on the phone...

Inspired by this tiktok

It’s one of those perfect nights where all you want to do is stay in with Mark, relax, and enjoy a quiet evening. The week’s been long, and the idea of ordering pizza and watching a movie together sounds like the perfect plan.

You're lying next to mark mindlessly playing with his fingers when suddenly he breaks the silence.

“Baby, can you order the pizza tonight? I’m feeling lazy,” Mark says, his voice a little raspy from rehearsals.

You smile, grabbing your phone with a mischievous glint in your eyes. As you pretend to dial the pizza place, you can already feel the fun bubbling inside you. Mark is sprawled out on his bed, and goes back to scrolling through his phone, completely unaware of what you’re about to do.

After a few seconds, simulating to wait for the ringtones , you put on your most playful tone. “Hi! I’d like to place an order for delivery, please,” you say, sounding sweet and casual.

You start listing the pizzas, but can’t help yourself. “Oh, and can you add a little extra cheese? I love it when people go the extra mile,” you ask sweetly, glancing over at Mark, who’s starting to look a little suspicious.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. “Why are you talking like that?” His voice is low, almost whispering.

You keep it casual, trying to act like nothing’s wrong. “What? I'm just ordering,” you say annoyed and go back to pretending a conversation between you and the pizza guy.

“Oh my god, yes this is her. How did you remember me?”

Mark raises an eyebrow, and his body shifts as he straightens on the bed. His tone goes from calm to something a little more annoyed. “Are you talking to a friend?”

You smirk, enjoying his jealous reaction way too much. “Yeah the employee there, he’s nice to me. Told me I have a cute laugh last time I ordered,” you tease. “He even offered me free pizzas last time!”

Mark gets closer now, his gaze becoming sharper as his jealousy grows. “He said that?” His voice is laced with an edge, and you can see the possessiveness taking over.

You can’t resist pushing it further, your voice getting even more giggly. “Yeah, it's been a while, still with my boyfriend” you add with a cheeky smile, glancing at Mark to see how he’s reacting.

Mark’s face goes from confused to full-on jealousy. He walks over to you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something else. “What do you mean "still with my boyfriend"? He asks about that???”

You giggle, loving every second of this, but then you drop the bomb. “Oh, sorry, it’s just my brother bothering me again,” you say casually, as if nothing’s wrong, then continue with a laugh, “He’s always annoying me.”

Mark freezes, his eyes going wide as he stares at you. “Wait—your brother?” he repeats, disbelief in his voice.

That’s when he snaps. In one quick move, he snatches the phone out of your hand, his jealousy and frustration boiling over. “Who the fuck are you telling that I'm your brother ” he asks, voice tight with both confusion and disbelief.

He brings the phone closer to his ear, ready to argue with whoever was flirting with you....but the line is silent.

Mark looks at you confused before everything clocks in.

You can’t hold back your laughter any longer and start giggling uncontrollably. “You should have seen your face!” you say, still laughing at the expression on his face.

Mark glares at you, jaw clenched. “I was seriously gonna go crazy” he mutters, looking a little hurt, but mostly relieved. His voice softens. “You’re so mean…” he says pouting.

You pull him into a hug, feeling a little guilty now, but you’re still laughing. “I’m sorry, Mark. I didn’t mean to make you upset,” you say, but he’s not having it.

But Mark doesn’t respond right away. He’s still sulking, avoiding eye contact, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You can tell he’s upset, and it’s kind of cute in an annoying way.

You decide to keep playing around, your playful nature taking over. You lie down next to him, resting your head on his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Come on, baby, don’t be mad,” you say, planting small, teasing kisses on his neck and cheek.

Mark tries to ignore you, but you can feel him smiling as you kiss him. “Stop it,” he mutters, pushing you away. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

You giggle and shift, moving closer, planting another kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself,” you tease, giving him one more kiss before nuzzling your face against his chest.

Mark groans in frustration, trying to push you away, but you keep crawling closer, your lips pressing against his neck as you whisper, “Come on, don’t be mad at me anymore. You know I’m just teasing.”

He sighs dramatically, clearly not able to resist your affection. “You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters, a little grin tugging at his lips as you continue to kiss him, determined to make him smile.

Mark shakes his head, but you can tell the sulking is finally over. “You better not prank me again,” he warns, his voice still a little gruff, but there’s a playful sparkle in his eyes now.

“Promise,” you say, wrapping your arms around him tightly, knowing full well you’ll probably think of another prank to tease him with soon.

#nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #mark lee #mark lee fluff #mark lee fanfic

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dreamauri · 19 hours ago

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♪ — 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬 𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 lando norris x fem! reader (angst) fic summary . . . after a brutal fight where Yn accuses Lando of being a heartless playboy, she realizes the truth behind his shattered expression—he’s been in love with her all along. part 2 to all I've ever wanted (622words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

Two days.

It had been two days since you’d shouted at Lando, and the words you threw at him still echoed in your head like a bad song on repeat. Every time you thought about his face—how he looked at you like you’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it—you felt like the worst person alive.

Because you were the worst person alive.

You’d been friends with Lando for years. You knew him better than anyone… or at least you thought you did. But maybe you never really let yourself see the truth. The boy beneath the jokes and the charm. The one who loved you so much it broke him.

And God, you’d hurt him. Bad.

That’s why you were standing outside his apartment now, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted to break out and sprint down the hall.

You raised your hand and knocked, the sound loud against the door. “Lando? It’s me. I… I want to talk.”

Silence.

But you could hear the TV blaring inside. Some stupid show, the laugh track playing like a cruel joke. He was definitely in there.

A beat later, the TV clicked off.

You almost laughed, almost, because seriously? Did he really think you didn’t hear that?

“Lando,” you sighed, pressing your forehead against the door. “I know you’re in there.”

More silence.

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t going to let you in. You deserved that, honestly. But you weren’t leaving without saying what you needed to.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going. “I was… I was awful to you. I said things I didn’t mean, and I didn’t take you seriously when I should’ve. You’ve always been there for me, and I—” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. “I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I’m so fucking sorry, Lando.”

You waited. One second. Two. Ten. Nothing.

The weight of his silence crushed you. Maybe he’d never forgive you. Maybe you’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing in the hallway.

But then—

Click.

The door swung open behind you, and you froze mid-step.

“Yn.”

His voice was soft, but it stopped you cold. You turned slowly, your heart leaping into your throat when you saw him standing there, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a mess, his eyes puffy and red, but God, he was still Lando. Your Lando.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

Lando stared at you for a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Then, finally, he spoke.

“If you mean it…” He paused, eyes flickering down for a split second before meeting yours again. “Kiss me on the cheek.”

You blinked, surprised by the request, but then a small, relieved smile tugged at your lips. You stepped closer, your heart racing as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

When you pulled back, his eyes were still on you, softer now, but there was a glint of something else. Something more.

“And…” he added, clearing his throat, trying—and failing—to sound casual, “make dinner.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Make dinner?”

Lando shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t have anything ready for tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt lighter than it had in days. You knew damn well he just wanted you to stay longer. And truth be told, you didn’t want to leave either.

“Alright,” you said, stepping inside. “But only if you help.”

Lando chuckled, closing the door behind you. “Deal.”

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mapis-putellas · 2 days ago

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𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅/𝑽.𝑴𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒂

Just a little something for my Vivi <3

Viv hadn’t told you she was sick. You had to hear it from Jill, who casually dropped it into conversation like it wasn’t something that would make your heart clench with worry.

“Yeah, she’s been looking awful all day,” Jill had said over the phone. “Coughing, sniffling. Honestly, I don’t even know how she made it through training.”

Your grip on your phone had tightened. “She trained?”

Jill snorted. “Of course she did. You know what she’s like.”

You did. Stubborn. Independent. Unwilling to admit when she needed help. It was just your Vivi, and whilst you were used to it, it definitely didn’t mean you liked it.

“She didn’t tell me,” you muttered, feeling a little annoyed now.

“She probably didn’t want to worry you,” Jill said, voice softer. “But she looks miserable.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You booked a flight that night.

Viv was exhausted. Training had been brutal, and she felt like absolute shit. Her whole body ached, her sinuses were a mess, and her throat felt like she’d swallowed glass. Still, she’d forced herself through the day, unwilling to let something as minor as a cold slow her down. But all she wanted now was to collapse into bed and preferably sleep for the next twelve hours.

What she didn’t expect was to find you there, sitting cross-legged on her bed, arms folded across your chest looking less than happy.

She froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise. “…Liefje?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hi, baby.”

Her brain struggled to process the sight of you. You were supposed to be in Manchester. Not in her hotel room. Not staring at her like she’d just been caught committing a crime. Which, in a way, she supposed she had.

“You’re here,” she said, dumbly.

“I am,” you agreed, tilting your head. “You, on the other hand, should not have been at training today.”

Viv swallowed. “Ah.”

“Ah?” you repeated, unimpressed. “That’s all you have to say?”

Viv shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

You sighed, standing up and making your way over to her. Up close, she looked even worse. Her face was pale, cheeks flushed with fever, and her eyes were glassy behind her glasses. You reached out, pressing the back of your hand to her forehead.

“Vivianne,” you murmured, your voice softer now. “You’re burning up.”

She leaned into your touch without thinking, her shoulders sagging.

“You should’ve told me,” you said, threading your fingers through her hair and tucking it behind her ear.

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. “Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

You sighed again, but you didn’t argue. This was just how Viv was. Stubborn to a fault.

“You hungry?” you asked instead, nudging her toward the bed.

She shook her head. “Just tired.”

You guided her to sit down before kneeling to untie her shoes. She protested weakly, but you ignored her, pulling them off and then stripping off her socks too.

“You don’t have to do that,” she murmured, watching you with tired eyes.

“I know.” You pulled her legs onto the bed, tucking them under the covers before crawling in beside her. “But I want to.”

Viv exhaled, shifting so she could rest her head against your chest. “I missed you.” She murmured, throwing an arm around your waist.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head as you gently pulled off her glasses, placing them on the night stand closest to you. “I missed you too, baby.”

Her arms tightened around you, and she buried her face in your neck with a little sigh “Mijn liefje,” she mumbled.

Your softened a little, despite yourself. “Ik hou van jou, Viv.”

She hummed, already half-asleep. “Ik hou van jou, Liefje.”

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

#viv miedema x reader #viv miedema #vivianne miedema #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine #fluff #woso fanfics #woso one shot

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insidekatmind · 1 day ago

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Student- Cho Sang-Woo

Wearning: +18,smut

Request:yes!

Business class ended five minutes ago, but you’re still there, sitting in your seat, slowly sorting through your notes. You know the other students have already left, that the classroom door has clicked shut behind them.

And you know he’s still there.

Professor Cho Sang-Woo is rearranging papers at his desk, his pen running through his fingers in a casual, precise motion. He doesn’t look at you right away, but you feel his presence like an electric current in the air.

“y/n”

The way he says your name is always the same: calm, controlled, with that hint of severity that makes your back stiffen and your breath catch.

You nod, not daring to look up.

“You were brilliant, as always.” He pauses, and you finally look up at him. His gaze is steady, but there’s something different today, an intensity that makes your skin burn. “And yet, it seems like your concentration is slipping.”

Your fingers tighten around the cover of your notebook. Your heart pounds in your chest.“I’m sorry, Professor.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you. Then, slowly, he leans back against the desk, his arms crossed. “Are you sorry?” he repeats, and there’s a nuance to the way he says it that confuses you.

You nod. “Yes. I’ll try to do better.”

A small smile touches his face, but it’s not amused. It’s… something else. Something that makes you hug your legs under your desk.“I have no doubt about it.”

The silence stretches on, thick. The distant noise of students in the hallways seems far away from the tension that’s building up in here. You feel like he wants to say something else, that he’s carefully measuring his words before letting them slip out.

Then he moves.

He slowly steps away from the desk, taking a few steps in your direction. You only now realize that you are the only one left sitting, in an almost vulnerable position, while he towers over you.

You force yourself not to lower your gaze.Sang woo looks you up and down and smiles at your short skirt.

You look at him without saying a word. He smirks at your lack of reaction. He’s so close now you can almost feel his body heat and his eyes never leave yours.

His hand slowly travels up your bare knees and lands on your uncovered thigh. Sang woo leans in, his breath brushing your ear. “You’ve been a bad student, y/n. Very, very bad.”

You look at him confused. "What? Why?" you were afraid of disappointing him. You didn't understand why he said those words to you since you always behaved well and got very high grades.

He keeps his hand on your thigh, his fingers slowly tracing circles on your bare skin. His face is so close to you that you can smell his expensive cologne. “You have no idea, do you?” He chuckles, and the sound makes a shiver run down your spine.

You look at his hand on your thigh and feel a tingle in your core. Sang woo notices your reaction and his smirk widens. He knows exactly what effect he’s having on you, and he’s enjoying every moment of it. The circles he’s tracing on your skin become lazy strokes, his fingers slowly moving up and down towards your inner thigh.

He leans in further, his lips almost touching your ear. “You’ve been distracting me, y/n.” You shudder as his breath brushes your skin. “Distracting you?” you murmur, your voice soft and uncertain.

He chuckles again, his hand stopping just inches away from where you’re growing more and more sensitive. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” he says, his fingers lightly stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“You’ve been wearing these short skirts, these tight blouses, and bending over your desk every class.” He leans in closer, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. You try to say something but no words come out. You feel the heat rising on your cheeks, and you’re painfully aware of his hand on you, so close to where you want it most.

He’s so close now that you can feel his breath on your neck, his lips almost touching your skin. “It’s almost as if you were trying to get my attention,” he murmurs in your ear, his fingers dancing over your skin. “And you’ve certainly got it.”

You struggle to keep up your composure, but it’s pointless. Your body is reacting to his touch, to his words, and you can’t hide it.

Sang woo chuckles again, noticing your attempt to repress your body’s reactions. He moves even closer, his hand slipping under your skirt, his fingers gently stroking the inner skin of your thigh. “Oh, don’t pretend it doesn’t affect you,” he murmurs, his voice a delicious tease. “I can see how it’s affecting you, y/n.”

His hand comes up, his fingers gently teasing the edge of your underwear. You bite your lip, biting back a moan, feeling your body betray your most basic instincts.Sang Woo’s breath brushes against your ear and he whispers, “You’ve been so…destructive, y/n.”

His words send another shiver down your spine, your body practically shaking under his touch. You feel like you're losing control, like he has some sort of power over you.He tugs at your earlobe with his teeth and chuckles.

You can feel Sang woo's fingers going inside your underwear and entering your pussy making you moan. He smiles and you can feel it on your skin. “Here it is,” he murmurs. “Let go, y/n. I want to hear your sweet sounds" he whispers sensually while with his other hand he unbuttons your blouse revealing your bra. "black lace" he whispers, or his eyes darken. "It's for me, right?" he whispers sucking on your neck .

You shiver, the combination of his words and his touch making your body feel on fire. “Yes,” you manage to say, your breath coming out in gasps. “It’s all for you.”

He hums in satisfaction, his hands slipping under your bra, teasing your sensitive skin. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips on your neck. “You’ve been so good, y/n. So obedient. But now I want to hear you moan for me.”

His words make you shiver, the commanding tone of voice sends a thrill down your spine. “Yes sir,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sang Woo chuckles, the sound making your head spin. “Oh, you like when I call you a good girl, don’t you?” He asks, his hand running up your body, his fingers trailing over your skin. “You like when I tell you what to do.” His words make you moan softly, your body responding to his touch. “Yes,” you say, your voice cracking, “I like it when you tell me what to do.”

Sang Woo chuckles again, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “That’s right. You like being bossed around, don’t you? You like being told what to do and when to do it.”

Sang woo removes his hands from your pussy and you moan and he chuckles. "Easy babygirl, you'll get what you want" he says possessively.

Sang woo makes you stand up and drags you with him near his desk, he sits on the chair and drags you onto his lap, opening your legs and letting his hands go back into your pussy, making you moan. “Here you go darling,” he whispers.

You tremble and moan, your body pressed against his, legs spread across his lap. “Professor,” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck. “Please–” You can't even finish the sentence, words failing as you let out multiple moans-

Sang woo sucks your lip making me moan. "Call me whatever you want to call me, honey. Don't be shy," he whispers. You whimper, his words making your body shiver. “Sang woo,” you finally manage to say, your voice low and needy. “Daddy.”

He moans, the sound making your heart skip a beat. “Oh, you’re my favorite student,” he says, and it feels like a whispered secret just for you. His hands never leave your body, they roam, touch, tease. “Do you want to be a good girl for Daddy?” He asks sucking on your nipple making you moan.

You moaned loudly holding onto him as he continued to tease your nipple. “Yes daddy” you murmur longingly. He grunts, his grip on you tightening. “That’s what I want to hear,” he says, his voice a low growl. “My good girl.” He leans in, his lips and tongue finding your earlobe, making you gasp."Say it again," he prompts.

"Daddy," you moan, your voice thick with desire. "Please..." He chuckles, the sound deep and almost sinister. "Please what, darling?" he asks, his hands roaming your body, leaving trails of flames on your skin.

You gasp, your head starting to spin. "I don't-" you manage to get out before another moan overtakes you. "Please, I need-"He smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "You need what, babygirl?" he asks, his fingers tracing your collarbone. "You need to use your words."

"I need you," you finally say, your voice urgent and needy. "I need you... Please, daddy."

Sang woo smiles and places you on the desk taking off your panties, putting them in his pocket "I'll take these" he whispers and opens your legs looking at you with lust. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he looks at you, his gaze hungry and demanding. You're exposed, vulnerable, and it sends a thrill through you as you see the lust in his eyes.

Sang woo lowers his head towards your pussy and gives it a lick and moans. “you taste so good baby” he whispers before continuing to lick your pussy and suck on your sensitive clit. Your head falls back, a muffled moan leaving your lips as he touches you with his mouth. “Daddy,” you gasp, fingers tangled in his hair as you drag him further into your pussy.

Sang woo continues sucking and licking your g-spot like a man who hadn't eaten in months and had found something to fill him with. You moan loudly raising your hips and grinding her pussy on his mouth. “Sang woo” you moan.

He moans, the sound sending another shiver through you. He grabs your hips, licking you once again making you come moaning loudly. "Babygirl, you sound like an angel" he growls, moving away from your pussy but keeping his hands on your hips. You whine, your body begging, your thoughts a mess. He chuckles, enjoying your state. "Don't worry, I'm not done with you yet."

Sang woo pulls down his pants and boxers, pumping his length with his hand and teasing your entrance by rubbing, but never entering. He looks at you with darkened eyes, his grip on your hip tight. "Beg me," he says, his voice demanding. "I want to hear you beg for what you need."

"Please daddy," you moan, your body yearning for him. "Please, I need you." Sang woo smiled arrogantly, rubbing his length against your entrance and letting his tip enter you but immediately removing it, teasing you.

You moan in frustration “please” you whisper and he smiled. “Be more specific darling,” he croons, thrusting his tip in and out of you repeatedly.

"Oh... oh god..." you whimper, your mind going blank. "Please," you moan, your voice so desperate that you almost don't recognize it as your own. "Please, I need you... I need you to fill me... To make me yours." Sang woo smirks, his grip on your hip tightening. "I like the sound of that," he says, still teasing you with his tip. "You want me to make you mine? To claim you?"

"Yes," you gasp, your body trembling with need. "Please, daddy, I want to be yours. I want to belong to you." He leans forward, his lips brushing your ear. "You already do, babygirl," he murmurs, his voice sensual. "You're mine. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it." He enters you making you moan.

You gasp, your body arching as he finally gives you what you've been waiting for. “You’re so tight,” he growls, his eyes never leaving yours as he thrusts forcefully into you playing, squeezing your nipples as he fucks you.

His words, his touch - all of it is overwhelming. You're completely at his mercy, and it feels like you're on the edge of something huge, something life changing. "Daddy, please, don't stop," you whimper with desire.

He smiles going harder, slapping your nipples making you moan. Sang woo pinches them again fucking you harder. "Bitch" he moans getting louder. His words send a jolt through you. You know he's not using them to hurt you - he's using them to make you feel things you've never felt before. "More," you gasp, your body trembling with need.

"Did you just demand more from your teacher?" he growls, but there is a playful edge to his voice. He's enjoying your enthusiasm, your submission. "Yes," you breathe, not afraid to assert yourself. You know he likes it. He likes it more than you think.

He smirks and grips your hip tightly. "You're a naughty student," he murmurs, but there's no real disapproval. Quite the contrary.

You moan feeling his thrusts get harder making me come. “Sang woo” you scream, scratching his back. He moans and cums inside you, filling you. He grunts, holding you tightly. "You're incredible," he whispers, his breath ragged. You can feel his heart pounding against yours. "Absolutely incredible."

You sigh heavily, trying to catch your breath and place your hands on his face kissing him. He kisses you deeply, his hand slipping into your hair, his body pressing against yours. You can feel his possessive grip on you, the way his body refuses to let go like he was trying to imprint himself on you.

After a while of just cuddling, he slowly pulls out of you, still holding you close. He looks at you, his gaze softened, and he runs his fingers through your hair. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice tender. You smile nodding playing with his hair.

He smiles back, clearly satisfied. "Good," he says, his hand slowly tracing circles on your back. The room is quiet, the only sound your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. "You're amazing," he murmurs, his eyes on yours.

You smile, feeling a rush of affection pour through you. "You're pretty amazing yourself," you say, running your fingers over his chest. "Who would've thought that the stern, no nonsense professor could be... this?" He chuckles, leaning into your touch. "I suppose there are a lot of things you don't know about me," he says, a small smirk playing on his lip. He's back to his usual self, but you know there's a softer side to him that only you get to see.

"I'd like to learn more," you say, snuggling closer to him. "I know I'm just a student, but... I want to know everything about you." He hums, his hand on your back moving down to your hip. "You're definitely not 'just a student.'" he says, his grip on you tightening. "You're someone special to me. Someone very, very special."

You smile, feeling your heart swelling with warmth at his words. It's clear to you that his feelings are more than just a passing attraction. He genuinely cares for you, and it means the world to you.

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andy-15-07 · 1 day ago

Text

The Father's Heart

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2076| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the cozy kitchen. Y/n hummed softly as she flipped pancakes, the sizzle a comforting counterpoint to the gentle chatter of her family. Pedro sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. Their youngest, Leo, a whirlwind of energy at eight years old, was attempting to build a tower out of cereal boxes, while their middle child, Mateo, fourteen and perpetually attached to his headphones, mumbled something about needing more syrup. Elena, their eldest, sixteen going on seventeen, was the last to arrive, a vision of effortless cool even in her pajamas.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Y/n greeted, placing a stack of pancakes in front of Elena.

"Morning, Mom," Elena mumbled, giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. She glanced at Pedro, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, before grabbing a fork and digging in.

Pedro watched her, his frown deepening. He’d been doing some thinking, some serious thinking, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked where his thoughts were leading him. He cleared his throat.

"Elena," he began, his voice carefully neutral.

Elena looked up, a question in her eyes.

"Your… friend, Ethan," Pedro continued, choosing his words carefully. "He's coming over later, right?"

Elena nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, he said he'd be here around two."

"Two," Pedro repeated, the word hanging in the air. He glanced at Y/n, who gave him a subtle ‘don’t you dare’ look. He ignored it. He was a father. It was his job.

"So," Pedro continued, "what exactly are you two planning on doing?"

Elena’s flush deepened. "Just… hanging out," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"Hanging out," Pedro repeated again, the words laced with suspicion. "Doing what, exactly?"

"Dad!" Elena exclaimed, her voice rising in exasperation. "We're just going to watch a movie or something. Maybe work on our history project."

"History project," Pedro echoed, unconvinced. He knew teenagers. He’d been one himself, a lifetime ago. "What's this project about?"

"The French Revolution," Elena replied quickly, a little too quickly, Pedro thought.

"The French Revolution," he repeated, nodding slowly. "Interesting. Tell me, Elena, what was the primary cause of the French Revolution?"

Elena blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… economic inequality?" she stammered.

"And the Reign of Terror?" Pedro pressed.

Elena’s eyes darted around the room. "Robespierre… guillotine… lots of people died?"

Pedro sighed. "Elena, I’m not trying to grill you on your history project. I just… I want to know what you’re doing. I want to know who you’re spending your time with."

"Dad, I know you don't like Ethan," Elena said, her voice low.

"I didn't say that," Pedro countered, though it wasn't entirely true. He didn't dislike Ethan, exactly. He just… he was sixteen. Sixteen and full of… hormones. And Elena was his little girl. Always would be.

"You don't have to say it," Elena retorted. "I can tell. You’re always giving him the ‘look’."

Pedro knew exactly what ‘look’ she was talking about. The ‘I will disembowel you if you even think about breaking my daughter’s heart’ look. It was a work in progress, he’d admit.

"Elena," Y/n interjected gently, "your father just cares about you. He wants to make sure you’re safe and happy."

"I know, Mom," Elena said, her voice softening. "But I'm not a little kid anymore. I can make my own decisions."

"About some things, yes," Pedro said, "But some things… some things your mother and I still get a say in."

"Like what?" Elena challenged.

"Like… like who you spend time with," Pedro said. "Like… making sure you’re not getting into any trouble."

"Dad, I'm not going to get into trouble," Elena said, rolling her eyes.

"I know, honey," Pedro said, reaching across the island to take her hand. "I trust you. I do. But… Ethan… he’s a nice boy, I’m sure. But he’s still… young."

"So am I!" Elena exclaimed.

"That’s my point," Pedro said. "You're both still figuring things out. And I just… I don't want you to get hurt."

"Dad, everyone gets hurt sometimes," Elena said. "That's just part of life."

"I know," Pedro said softly. "But I don’t want you to get hurt unnecessarily. I don’t want you to make any mistakes you’ll regret later."

"I won't," Elena promised, though Pedro could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

"Okay," Pedro said, finally relenting. "Okay. Ethan can come over. But," he added, pointing a finger at her, "the French Revolution better be discussed. And," he added, glancing at Mateo, who had finally removed his headphones and was listening intently, "no funny business."

Mateo snorted. "Dad, please."

"I’m serious," Pedro said, his gaze sweeping over all three of his children. "I love you all. More than anything in the world. And I’ll do anything to protect you. Even if it means being the overprotective dad."

Elena smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "I know, Dad," she said. "We love you too."

The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a warm, comfortable silence. Y/n smiled at her family, a feeling of contentment washing over her. They weren't perfect, not by a long shot. But they were hers. And she wouldn't trade them for anything.

Later that afternoon, Ethan arrived, a shy, lanky boy with a mop of brown hair and a nervous smile. Pedro greeted him at the door, his ‘look’ firmly in place. Ethan swallowed nervously, but managed a polite "Hello, Mr. Pascal."

"Ethan," Pedro replied, offering a curt nod. "Come in."

He led Ethan into the living room, where Elena was waiting. "Hey," she said, giving Ethan a quick hug.

"Hey," Ethan replied, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink.

Pedro watched them, his eyes narrowed slightly. He cleared his throat. "So," he said, "the French Revolution, huh? Big topic."

Ethan blinked. "Uh, yeah. We have a presentation to do."

"A presentation," Pedro repeated. "Interesting. What aspect of the French Revolution are you focusing on?"

Ethan looked at Elena, who gave him an encouraging smile. "We’re looking at the role of women in the revolution," he said.

"The role of women," Pedro repeated. "Fascinating. Did you know that Marie Antoinette…"

And so began a lengthy discussion about the French Revolution, with Pedro occasionally interjecting with historical facts and anecdotes. Ethan, to his credit, held his own, demonstrating a surprising knowledge of the subject. Elena, meanwhile, seemed amused by the whole exchange, occasionally rolling her eyes at her father’s over-the-top protectiveness.

As the afternoon wore on, Pedro’s ‘look’ softened. He could see that Ethan was a respectful young man, and that he genuinely cared about Elena. He still had his reservations, of course. But he was starting to realize that he couldn't protect Elena from everything. All he could do was offer her guidance, support, and unconditional love.

Eventually, it was time for Ethan to leave. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Pascal," he said politely.

"You’re welcome, Ethan," Pedro replied, offering a genuine smile. "Just… take care of her."

Ethan nodded. "I will, sir."

He turned to Elena, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I’ll see you tomorrow," he said.

"See ya," Elena replied, a soft smile playing on her lips.

After Ethan left, Pedro turned to Elena. "He seems like a nice young man," he said.

Elena nodded. "He is," she said.

"Just… be careful," Pedro said.

"I will, Dad," Elena promised. "I know you’re just trying to protect me."

Pedro smiled. "That’s my job," he said.

He pulled Elena into a hug, holding her close. She was growing up so fast. It seemed like just yesterday she was a little girl, playing with dolls and dreaming of being a princess. Now, she was a young woman, navigating the complexities of life and love. And he, her father, would be there for her every step of the way.

Later that evening, after the kids were in bed, Pedro and Y/n found themselves alone in the kitchen, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound. Y/n was washing dishes, while Pedro leaned against the counter, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"So," Y/n said, breaking the silence, "what did you think of Ethan?"

Pedro sighed. "He seems… polite. Respectful. Nice enough."

"But?" Y/n prompted, knowing there was a ‘but’ coming.

Pedro hesitated. "But he's still sixteen. And Elena… she's my little girl. It feels like just yesterday I was teaching her how to ride her bike, and now… now she's dating."

Y/n chuckled. "I know what you mean. It's hard to believe how quickly they grow up. It feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital."

Pedro nodded, a wistful look in his eyes. "She was so tiny. So fragile. And now… she's this beautiful, intelligent young woman. And I just… I don't want anything to hurt her."

"I know, honey," Y/n said softly, drying her hands and turning to face him. "But you can't protect her from everything. She has to learn to navigate these things on her own. We can guide her, support her, but we can't shield her from the world."

"I know," Pedro said, running a hand through his hair. "It's just… it's hard. Seeing her with him… it makes me realize how much time has passed. How quickly she's growing up."

"I feel it too," Y/n admitted. "But that's a good thing, isn't it? It means we've done our job. We've raised her to be a strong, independent young woman."

"I hope so," Pedro said. "I just… I don't want her to make any mistakes she'll regret."

"She will make mistakes, Pedro," Y/n said gently. "Everyone does. The important thing is that she learns from them. And that she knows we'll be there for her, no matter what."

Pedro nodded, his gaze softening. "You’re right. You always are."

He reached out and took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Thank you," he said. "For everything. For being such an amazing mother to our children. For… for putting up with me."

Y/n smiled. "You’re not so bad," she teased. "Most of the time."

Pedro chuckled. "I love you," he said, pulling her close.

"I love you too," Y/n replied, resting her head on his chest.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the silence once again filled with a comfortable warmth. They knew that the road ahead wouldn't always be easy. There would be challenges, and heartbreaks, and maybe even a few French Revolution debates. But they would face them together, as a family. And that's all that mattered.

A few weeks later, Pedro found himself having another conversation with Elena, this time about her future. She had been accepted to a summer program for aspiring writers, a program that would take her out of state for six weeks. Pedro was… hesitant.

"Six weeks?" he repeated, his brow furrowed. "That's a long time."

"I know, Dad," Elena said, "But it's an amazing opportunity. It could really help me with my writing."

"I know, honey," Pedro said. "It's just… I'll miss you."

Elena smiled. "I'll miss you too, Dad. But it's only six weeks. And I'll call you every day."

"I know, I know," Pedro said. "It's just… you're growing up so fast. It feels like just yesterday you were asking me to read you bedtime stories."

Elena laughed. "I still like you to read me stories sometimes," she admitted.

Pedro smiled. "I know you do," he said. "And I always will. No matter how old you get."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with love and pride. She was so talented, so passionate. He knew he couldn't hold her back.

"Okay," he said finally. "You can go. But," he added, pointing a finger at her, "you better call me every day. And," he added, his gaze softening, "be careful. Okay?"

"I will, Dad," Elena promised. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Pedro said, pulling her into a hug.

He knew that letting her go was the right thing to do. It was part of growing up, part of becoming her own person. And as much as it pained him to see her go, he knew that he had to let her fly. All he could do was be there for her, waiting for her return, ready to catch her if she fell. Because that's what fathers do. They protect. They guide. And they love. Unconditionally. Always.

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mahealani06goalie · 12 hours ago

Text

"Yeah, well..." The kiss to his ankle made Danny trail off for a brief moment as the smile on his face grew. "I'm looking forward to you making me do that then." He told him about being made to cum untouched. With Pegasus basically repeating what he had said about being ready, including also calling him stud, Danny said nothing back as he just waited in anticipation until he felt his cock finally penetrate him. He threw his head back while feeling more and more inches start to fill him up. "Oh fuck you're thick!" He shouted right before receiving a kiss. "Good. Don't stop." He simply stated to the question before immediately kissing him again. Sure that wasn't completely true. There was pain, but it just barely so far. It certainly wasn't at a level that he couldn't handle yet.

Pegasus smiled and kissed Danny’s ankle. “It does and I’ll take note of that as not everybody can do that feat.” He said and rubbed his cock on his hole. He had cum without touching himself many times, but he seeing it on others was a totally different story. “And I’m ready for you stud.” He said and finally started to push inside. He felt the breach on the third time, the heat and tightness sending a huge jolt of pleasure. “Oh…bloody fuck.” He said as he pushed a few more inches into him. He then leaned down to kiss him. “Tell me how you feel ok?”

#paras: Pegasus

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aventurineswife · 1 day ago

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“To be loved is to be known”

Summary: When you call Aventurine by his true name, Kakavasha, with love and affection, it shatters the walls he’s built around himself. As he breaks down, overwhelmed by his past trauma and survivor’s guilt, you help him heal and discover the possibility of being truly loved. Through patience and support, Kakavasha learns to love and be loved in return, though the journey is filled with emotional struggles and slow-burning trust.

Tags: @bunni-v1(thank you for feeding the Aventurine fandom🙏💛💚), Aventurine x Reader, Angst, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Survivor’s Guilt, Manipulation/Control, Love & Vulnerability, First Love/Relationship, Patience, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Warnings: Emotional Trauma, References to Past Abuse and Slavery, Mental Health Struggles (survivor's guilt, emotional breakdown), Explicit mentions of Grief and Loss, Heavy Themes of Self-worth and Identity.

A/N: this was much better in my head... 🧍‍♀️

[Inspired by]

The dim light of Aventurine's private quarters cast an amber glow over the room, reflecting off the myriad of trinkets and luxurious odds and ends that adorned the shelves. He lounged in his chair as always, legs crossed, head tilted, a half-empty glass of brandy in his hand. The smile that graced his lips was one you knew well—practiced, confident, and sharp. A mask.

“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight, darling,” he said, his voice lilting with feigned amusement. “Planning something, or is the weight of my brilliance just too much to handle?”

You folded your arms, standing in the center of the room. “Kakavasha.”

The sound of his real name stopped him mid-sip. The glass hovered inches from his lips, his eyes narrowing like a predator caught off guard. The room seemed to still, the silence so heavy it was deafening.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his tone sharper now, defensive.

“Kakavasha,” you repeated, softer this time, stepping closer to him. “Your name. Not Aventurine. Not the persona you wear for the world. I’m speaking to you—the person behind all of this.”

His smile wavered, a crack forming in the facade. For a moment, he looked at you as if you’d struck him, as though hearing that name from your lips was a wound he hadn’t prepared to guard against.

“Don’t,” he whispered, setting his glass down with a trembling hand. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it means something,” he hissed, standing abruptly. His movements were quick, defensive, his hands curling into fists. “That name—that name belongs to someone who should’ve died years ago.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t step back. Instead, you moved closer, your hands reaching out to gently touch his face. He recoiled slightly at first, but you persisted, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness that shattered whatever defenses he had left.

“Kakavasha,” you said again, and this time, it broke him.

A sob tore through him before he could stop it, raw and guttural. He sank to his knees, his arms wrapping around your waist as if holding on for dear life. His head pressed against your stomach, and his body shook with the force of his crying.

“I—I can’t,” he choked out, the words barely audible between sobs. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You knelt down, your hands cradling his face as you forced him to look at you. Tears streaked down his cheeks, and his eyes were wide, glassy, and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“Listen to me,” you said firmly, though your voice was laced with emotion. “You are Kakavasha. You are not the sum of your mistakes, and you are not the monster you think you are. You’re a person—a person who has been through hell and back, but you are not unworthy of love.”

He shook his head, more tears spilling over. “I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t have to know,” you interrupted, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “You just have to let me love you. That’s all.”

His sobs quieted as your words sank in, his breathing ragged but slowing. You kissed his cheeks, his nose, his lips, each kiss gentle and patient, as though you were mending the broken pieces of him with your touch.

For a long while, he simply stayed there, his head resting against your chest as you held him. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I didn’t think… I didn’t think it was possible to feel like this.”

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You deserve this, Kakavasha. You deserve to be happy.”

The name lingered in the air, not as a weight but as a promise. Kakavasha—the man who had survived the desert, the betrayals, and the crushing loneliness—was still here. And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that he could be loved.

The road to healing wasn’t easy. Aventurine—no, Kakavasha—was a man accustomed to wearing masks, to hiding behind his sharp wit and dazzling charisma. There were nights when his fears got the better of him, when he pulled away, scared of the vulnerability that came with being loved.

But you were patient.

You were there to steady him when he stumbled, to remind him that he didn’t have to face his demons alone. Slowly, he began to open up, sharing pieces of himself that he had long buried. His laughter became more genuine, his smiles less calculated.

And one day, as he watched you reading on the couch, bathed in the golden glow of the evening light, he realized that he no longer feared losing you. Instead, he felt a quiet determination—a promise to himself that he would protect this love with everything he had.

Because for the first time in his life, Kakavasha understood what it meant to be truly alive.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #angst #slow burn #hurt/comfort #emotional healing #survivor's guilt #manipulation/control #love and vulnerability #first love/responsibility #patience #angst with a happy ending

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russo-woso · 2 days ago

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I want to make him proud || Lia Wälti x reader

Request | Masterlist | Prompt list

Warning death, grief

Summary You’re dad passes and you dedicate your goal to him

When you received the news your dad had died, your world stopped.

Your phone slipped from your hands, your body in shock.

Your father, your hero, who was a perfectly healthy man, had died from a heart attack.

Time stood still when you heard the words - your father passed away.

Your girlfriend, Lia, was in the kitchen when you’d picked up the phone.

She was carried away cooking when she heard your phone hit the ground.

“Baby? Are you okay?” She shouted through, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion when she didn’t get a reply. “Y/N?”

Putting down the knife, she walked through to the living room to see you as white as a ghost.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“He’s gone.” You whispered, your voice in complete disbelief.

“Who’s gone?”

“My dad. He’s gone.” You repeated, tears forming in your eyes.

“Baby, you’re going to have to give me more detail. Where’s he gone?”

“He passed away.”

The weeks that followed were ones filled with doom and grief.

You couldn’t believe it.

You had seen him just days before he passed. He was happy, he was healthy, he was perfect.

You remember the last time you saw him, a massive smile on his face as he reminisced some old stories from when you were growing up.

It had started when Lia spotted a picture of you as a baby on your parent’s mantle piece.

Your dad told the backstory of the picture and then more stories kept coming.

You hid your face in embarrassment as he told your girlfriends the most embarrassing stories known to man.

Even with the biggest smile on his face, you begged him to stop.

What you’d do to see that smile again.

The day of his funeral was the hardest day of your life.

It was a final goodbye to him - one that you never thought you’d have to make until years from now.

Lia remained by your side the whole way though, making it a bit more comforting.

The weekend after the funeral was a big weekend for Arsenal.

They were playing Lyon in the semi finals of the champions league.

Although you were not in the perfect mindset to play in one of the biggest games of the year, you had to.

It was a sellout - 60,000 tickets being sold already.

Despite the team telling you that it was okay to miss a match and how they didn’t expect you to play, you felt like you were letting them and the fans down if you didn’t play.

So, you pushed your emotions to the side, deciding to play the match.

As soon as you walked onto the pitch, you knew you’d made the right decision.

It was the perfect distraction took to take your mind off the grief.

The game kicked off and within seconds, you realised you weren’t just playing for the team - you were playing to make your dad proud.

You had a purpose now.

You were going to make your dad proud.

And that’s what you did.

You had played an outstanding game, but as the final minutes ticked by - the scoreline being 2-2, you wanted nothing more than to change it.

Running up and down the pitch, you pressed and pressed until eventually you intercepted a poor pass.

Within a second instinct, you started charging towards the Lyon keeper.

The ball was glued to your feet, there was no chance anyone was getting it from you.

No one was stopping you from the moment.

This was for your dad.

The ball left your foot, making direct contact with your boot as it curled around the keeper and into the bottom corner.

You fell to your knees, your body shaking from your sobs.

You looked up at the sky, kissing your hand and angling it up to the sky.

“You did it, baby!” Lia exclaimed, kneeling down next to you and enveloping you into a hug.

“I did it for him.”

“And he’s so proud of you.” Lia whispered, kissing your temple.

The girls crowded round, hugging you and patting your head.

“He’d be so proud, Y/N.” Steph said as you stood up, still looking up at the clouds.

You nodded, wiping your tears as you blew a final kiss to the sky.

Lia wrapped her arm around your waist as you walked back to your positions.

You had one mission when you walked onto the pitch and that was to make your dad proud and now you can walk off it knowing you did exactly that.

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #womens football #woso fanfics #lia wälti x reader #lia walti #lia wälti

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entitled-fangirl · 8 hours ago

Text

Another Stark.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's wife had always been able to see things that were unexplainable. for better or for worse. Definitely for worse.

Warnings: this is spoooooky, talking to ghosts, cursing, hypothermia, drowning, etc

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

.................................................................

"Feeling alright?" Cregan's voice broke the silence.

She was in her own little world like she often was. She was an odd one, often staring at dark corners or even occasionally conversing with nothing. It was like a trance, one she couldn't snap out of alone.

"Love?" He tried again, dragging a hand up her spine and rubbing at the back of her head.

She snapped out of it in a small fright.

"There you are," he smiled. His fingers massaged lightly. "Off in your dream world, hm?" At her hum of agreement, he got comfortable next to her on the cold floor. "Are you feeling alright?" He repeated. "Are they being kind?"

'They' were the spirits she often spoke to in these dark corners. Cregan had a small doubt the first time she spoke about it, worrying for her mind. But after she had told him something they had told her that she shouldn't have known, he realized just how much she could see.

And occasionally, the spirits were unkind. They didn't have the ability to do anything, rather, hurt her mentally.

So, asking if they were being kind was a fair question.

"Hm, I think so," she answered.

"You think so?" He could listen to her talk forever.

"I think so."

"Tell me more. Please. Tell me about any of it. I want to hear you."

She looked back to the shadows, almost getting lost in a trance. "He wants me to go with him."

"Hm?" He tried to ignore the way panic moved up his spine. "Go where? Who does?"

"He does," she said, gesturing to the corner. "He wants me to go."

"Love, where?" He said, sitting forward with more concern. "They've never asked you to go anywhere before." He peered over to the dark area as if expecting to see something himself. He never does in these situations.

"He doesn't like when you stare."

A breath left Cregan's lips, a physical show of his walls wearing down. This had to be the most frightened he'd been for these situations.

Often times, there were easy ways to ease her mind. Like a few nights ago-

"Cregan," she softly whispered, pushing on his shoulder to wake him. "Cregan."

He woke with a start, jumping slightly at her nervous breath. "What is it?"

"Tell her to go away."

He was used to odd things like that. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest and lifting his head, vaguely yelling at something to 'fuck off.'

She slept peacefully after that.

"He doesn't like when I stare?" He drew out each word, wanting to catch her meaning.

"He doesn't like you."

Fuck, he breathed. "Who is it?"

"He looks like you. He said his name is… Bennard."

"My love," he redirects sternly. "Listen to me carefully." He takes her hands in his, speaking when her eyes finally find his. "You must stop talking to him. I want you to ignore him."

"But he looks so much like you-"

"-I know," he cooed, "I know. It's natural for him to look alike. He is my uncle. But Bennard is dangerous."

"The uncle who usurped you?"

"Exactly."

She was entirely correct in her description of Bennard. His father, Rickon, had always commented how alike the two looked. They were northerners through and through.

"He's so angry-"

"-Naturally, love. He tried to take the North from me and I had him imprisoned." He waited a moment before coming up with an idea. "Let us retire, hm? You must be exhausted."

"The sun is still out."

"Not for much longer. C'mere."

The two left his solar, not before Cregan could look back one more time with the most defying glare he could muster. As if his uncle would be able to see the absolute hatred in his eyes for daring to speak to his wife. "You'll forget about him in the morning, my sweet wife. I'm sure of that."

…

But the morning was not so quick to come.

Cregan grumbled, slightly woken from sleep as he blindly reached out to pull his wife closer.

But the bed was empty.

There was still warmth to the furs and linens she'd just been on. She hadn't been gone long.

He sat up with a slightly concerned groan, brushing away his hair and rubbing out the sleep from his eyes.

She was nowhere to be found.

So he stood, throwing on an acceptable tunic to be out in the halls of Winterfell. And when he found the nearest guard, he inquired about her.

"She was seen leaving the castle last I saw, my Lord."

Oh fuck. Cregan's worst nightmares were coming to fruition. "In a trance?" He didn't want to ask but he knew he had to.

The guard nodded.

That means she wasn't properly dressed for the cold weather that laid outside the doors. He'd last seen her in her favorite shift he'd pulled from the bureau.

That was nothing near warm enough for her out there. The sun still had an hour or two until it would rise. He needed to hurry.

He stomped back into his chambers, moving as fast as he could to dress. Boots half laced. Cloak more on one shoulder than the other. Hair askew. He didn't care. He circled back around to grab her cloak.

He barely got his gloves from a servant before he'd ran out to the stables.

…

He rode throughout the Godswood, his head on a swivel as he yelled out for her.

He luckily had a bit of a trail of her bare feet in the snow. It was his last resort to getting her back.

She only ever snapped from her trances when someone else brought her back. It made him all the more determined.

After a while, he realized where she was being led.

The pond.

…

"Y/N!" He screamed as he dismounted his horse.

She was entirely entranced, standing on the edge of the frozen pond.

He approached carefully, like trying to near a frightened animal. He took slow, slow, steps, the snow crunching under his boots.

Her feet were completely bare, the skin red. No doubt she has hypothermia. "Love," he breathed, stepping a bit closer. There was only a few feet between them now. Surely, he could grab her if he was quick enough.

But she took a step out onto the lake.

"No, no, no," he cursed, stepping to the last bit of dirt he could before reaching the lake. He stretched out, trying to grab her arm before she got too far, but he was inches off. He took the smallest step onto the ice, which made cracking sounds under his boot. The ice was rather thin at the edge. He looked out to the center, seeing that it was far from being frozen over.

She was sure to fall through at any minute.

"Wait," he tried again. "Love, wait." It hurt him physically to watch her inch closer to her death.

He had only a few choices. Risk both their lives by rushing onto the lake and grabbing her. Or wait for her to die on her own.

And he wouldn't let that happen.

Especially when she began to journey further.

He'd had enough, stepping out onto the ice. The sound of cracking ice hardly deterred him from getting a few steps out.

But the ice caved through. His leg fell in, the ice cold water seeping through his pant leg. He caught himself from fully falling in, sitting in concern that more ice was sure to break after it.

When he decided to try again, he got up onto his knees and slowly stood. The ice cracked again, traveling down the pond towards her. Under her feet.

The slight shift in weight snapped her out of her trance. Like waking from a nightmare, she looked around. Her legs shook with realization. She took a step back to turn around but her legs gave out. She fell onto her knees and the cold began to make her numb. "Cregan?" She cried.

He held out a hand to attempt to reassure her. Though, it needed just as much reassurance himself. "Stay there. Just stay for a moment." His eyes were glued to the winding split in the ice that could continue at any moment. "I need to think."

"I didn't mean to," she began to sob, her body shivering. "I didn't… he told me to. I thought…"

"Calm yourself. Don't go into hysterics," he firmly commanded. His head tilted as he tried to ignore the stinging of the soaked fabric against his leg. "My uncle?"

She sniffed. "I thought it was you. You look so alike."

If Bennard Stark was still alive, Cregan would skin him. "I understand." He groaned. "Here's what I want you to do. You're going to stand. And you're going to walk to me."

"No-"

"-You're going to walk to me," he said even firmer. "Can you do that?"

She choked through another sob and nodded. Everything was numb and standing would be difficult. But she was determined to get to Cregan. She managed to stand on shaky legs, though stepping would be another problem. Her head perked up to the center of the pond like her name had been called.

"No," he broke though. "Ignore it. Only listen to me."

She was already on the edge of being whisked away again, her voice getting dreamy, "But he said-"

"-I don't care what he said."

It was a tone Cregan so rarely used that when in play, it caught the attention of everyone around him.

Which snapped her back to. "Sorry," she slurred.

He shook his head, holding a shaky hand out. "Just come here. I need to get you warm."

She managed a few steps, shaky as hell, but she'd done it. The cracking sound under her kept the panic in Cregan but the slow closure of the space between them began to soothe it.

"Almost," he smiled forcibly to keep her calm. "Almost there. Good."

But one step caused a shift in the frozen lake.

Cregan panicked, determined to get her to him before they were bound to plunge into the icy water. He stepped forward with a clunky boot, which finally broke it though.

She fell in.

He was frozen for a moment, utterly lost as he watched the ripples in the water fade.

She was gone.

Oh fuck. She was gone.

He dropped down by the place she fell. His arm reached in blindly, trying desperately to grab her. Any part. To feel her beneath his palm. "What have I done?" He whispered to himself. "What h- What have I done?"

Preparing to fully go in himself, his hand finally grasped her. He pulled immediately.

She came to the surface, her body in completely shock.

He pulled her out, holding her to his chest desperately and pushing away from the broken ice with his feet until he deemed it safe enough.

He held her in his lap, panting hot breaths against her neck in relief that he'd found her. The water began to slowly seep through his own clothing but he didn't care. He was desperate to warm her, even if that meant sacrificing some of his own warmth.

Her lips were an odd shade of grey, her skin faded from its usual lively tones. It sickened him.

He rocked her slightly, muttering under his breath small praises that she was still with him. That she was still breathing.

…

"I thank you for your work," Cregan smiled at the septon.

He hated The Seven. Didn't believe a word of the teachings. The Old Gods were the only gods as far as he knew.

But maybe their priests had an ability that he didn't. Like cleansing castles. They surely seemed to think so.

He wouldn't truly know until his wife woke.

But the septon had promised to expel all demons, ghosts, and anything alike from the grounds of Winterfell.

Who was he to deny an offer like that?

Anything to get his uncle as far away as possible.

"Of course," the septon nodded. "It's an honor to be trusted by a Stark. The Seven smile on you."

They fucking better, he thought. "How kind."

"Even now, Cregan Stark, they've chosen to bless you."

He was getting pretty done with other worldly things for a while. "That's nice. Someone, please walk him to his room."

"I mean it," he continued, even as a servant politely steered him away to the guest quarters. "All seven regard you highly."

He walked away, physically shaking his head to push the nonsense from his mind. That septon was so adamant about it. It planted a seed of doubt in the northerners mind. Bless him? What does that m-

"Milord. Lady Stark is awake."

Cregan's jaw went a little slack. Blessed, indeed. "T-Thank you. I'll go there now."

…

"Feel alright?" He asked even now, days later. It felt like a mantra at this point.

"I told you, 'm fine," she sighed, curled up in the furs with a bowl of soup in her lap.

"I know you have. Can't help but worry. You can't blame me, can you, pretty girl? Hm?" His hand smoothed over the curls in her hair from the pillow. He could stare at her all day like this. Comfortable, clean, content, alive.

"He just looked so much like you," she remarked, still not over the scare from days before. "Like you, but older."

His hand moved down to cup her cheek, rubbing the skin affectionately. "I'd rather you wait for me to age then try to join that one so soon."

It was his soft attempt at lightening the tension. And it worked.

Her lips quirked up. "Maybe."

"Maybe? What if I said I kicked him out? Banished him forever?"

She was growing more amused now. "I'd say you're a liar."

He leaned in, laying the softest of kisses to her lips. "Then I tell such truthful lies, my love. For I've banished all that ails you. Perhaps I'll banish the snow next."

She never did see Bennard Stark again in Winterfell. Or anything else for the matter. The dark shadows were just that. Dark shadows. Nothing more.

And if she willed it, Cregan would scare the darkness off next.

...............................................................

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jedisupernova · 2 days ago

Text

reuniting with seong gihun

notes minors dni contains fem aged up reader (same age is gihun), always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but truly anyone can read, takes place in the midst of his pursuit of finding the salesman, ANGST (self deprecation, selfishness, mentions of hardships, death, failed relationships, suppressed emotions, mentions of infertility, includes arguments; this does not have a happy ending), dynamic between reader and gihun is childhood friends who reconnect in later adulthood, some made up lore to build said dynamic, mentions of nightmares, violence, smoking, sickness, slow burn maybe? i'm trying something new, and smut (mutual masturbation) after trusting someone for the first time in a long time mends part of his soul, but for how long, and at what cost?

requested? no, this is an original idea! i can't be normal about anything and how underrated he is in his own show is diabolical. anyway this one is long. please request something if you'd like or stop by the ask box or dms to say hello! i love a man with big brown eyes whose real good at looking sad. enjoy!

you always looked forward to every other saturday because it meant you had the day off. you took this time to sleep in before heading to nearby markets for your weekly grocery run. it was right after lunch time that you were perusing coriander so fresh you could still see water droplets on its leaves. just before you were to ask the older woman who ran the stand for the price, a familiar face swept past your peripheral vision.

you looked over your shoulder, seeing a man dressed in an unzipped jacket and talking rather quickly into his phone. he looked around the street corner like he was lost, a passing car letting you hear only fragments of what he was saying: "—station? which one?" you were about to return to your business when he faced in the direction of your gaze entirely. you hadn't seen that face in years . . .

he hung up the call, now typing with fervour. without thinking, you started walking: "gihun? seong gihun?" your voice was soft, approaching him with an air of caution you couldn't explain. he looked up, face tense with something beyond stress. "yes?" "it's me." you said your name. "we—we went to grade school together? my ... my parents owned a shop just down the street from your mother's." why did every syllable feel more embarrassing than the last, and why did your voice get quieter with every word? you were certain that you were looking at the gihun you grew up with—who could forget those distinctly emotive brown eyes, or those ears that stuck out and were made fodder for incessant teasing from your classmates? but gihun's expression didn't move an inch, his eyebrows knitted together in the slightest of confusion. but it was merely momentary, because when you were uttering apologies, his eyes widened with belated realization. "yes," he thought aloud, his tone was still oddly serious. "i taught you how to tie your shoes."

your expression blossomed into utter elation, lips separated in shock. he so casually swept the dust off of a shelf of memories you forgot even existed, making you mentally regress to that afternoon during p.e. who knows how many years ago. "y-yes!" you nodded. "i wore velcro shoes until i was eleven!" another memory came to the forefront: "we used to trade cassettes during lunch! we argued so much over the british ones. who was it again? david bowie and—" "—duran duran." said gihun. "duran duran!" you repeated, beaming. "oh my ... when was the last time i listened to them." you pondered aloud.

warmth crept onto your cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth: "i remember you and sangwoo styling your hair like theirs." a breath left his lips, chest tightening, his eyes betraying him as they quivered in abrupt grief. "you wore so much hair gel it blinded me in study hall. i wonder where sangwoo is now. i haven't heard much since he graduated from snu. are you still friends today?"

your question was objectively harmless. there was absolutely no way for you to have the faintest clue of the atrocities gihun's been forced to witness; the painful guilt he carries; the nightmares that carve the abysses underneath his eyes; the debilitating anxiety that fills his head with endless noise even in the eerie quiet of his deserted motel. he nods, forcing a tight, small grin. "we did stay friends." he says bravely, his eyes looking more familiar than ever.

the genuine smile you give in return was added to his self-anointed list of reasons why, at the end of his life, he would not die a peaceful death. it was another thing he would laboriously mewl over in the afterlife, looking up at the rest of the world, shackled to the deepest, darkest pits of eternal regret.

"that's good to hear." you say. "how're you doing, hm? you've cleaned up well from when we were in our twenties." you quipped playfully. through the scattered shells of his soul littered throughout his body, his innocent self was still somewhere in there, because he subconsciously looked for an out to ease his internal tension, letting out a chuckle at your remark. those vibrations in his chest felt foreign after these past two years, but that murky remnant of his past self welcomed the change, no matter how minute it was. "i've been better." he responded.

"yeah?" you asked. "if it makes you feel better, i'm glad i ran late today. because i got to see an old friend after a long time." gihun glanced at either of your hands—no ring. "have you met anyone?" he asked. you nodded, understanding what he meant. "i did." you say. "he left me when the doctor told us i couldn't carry." your eyes widened, unsure of why you were suddenly so honest. "i don't know why i just—" "i'm so sorry." gihun cut you off. his hardened expression turned shocked, even appalled. you recouped, wanting to look past this: "it's okay." you shake your head, metaphorically dodging the memories of your marriage counselor telling you to not 'to deny your own personal wounds as it'll seep into the companionship.' "it was a long time ago, gihun. how about you? did you meet someone?" he nodded, sympathy glistening across his retinas. "we separated shortly after our daughter was born."

"seong gihun, a father?" you grinned. "anything's possible." the ringing of his phone diverted both his and yours attention away. "i'm sorry for keeping you. you looked like you were in the middle of something—" "no, no. it's fine," gihun shook his head. "here, give me your number. i'll call you." he didn't know why he did it. he failed to stop himself declining the phone call from the loan shark he hired to head the search for the salesman, let alone handing you his phone to type your number in. was the impulsiveness of his past self also crystallized, emerging at this very moment? his discreet vow to blend into the shadows seemed to have crumbled in these past five minutes, giving in to his complex feelings: your sweet demeanor made him feel like a normal human being, and he wanted more of it. for the first time in a long time, seeing someone from his past didn't end in complete anguish. or perhaps it was the gleam of sadness that washed over your eyes as you spoke of your ex-husband, inflating his subconscious savior complex. even so, after you exchanged polite goodbyes, walking off in different directions, he mentally kicked himself for compromising your safety concurrent with unabashed intention of calling you that very evening. through any stage of his life, through the gambling and the scheming, it seemed selfishness remained his kryptonite.

for you, it was a hell of a lot to take in. at some point, it felt as if a prank was being played on you. it was one thing to offer sincere condolences for his late mother, or be sorry that his daughter lived so far away. but ... children's games that ended in murder? masked guards with triangles, circles, and squares hiding their faces? a handsome, well-groomed man that tenderized his face over a game of ddakji, in the middle of a train station? sure, you would miss a lot of someone's life after not seeing them for nearly three decades. but ... but this? it was properly outlandish. crazy, even. but over that hushed dinner, sat in a corner booth, the scent of sizzling samgyeopsal on the grill increasingly nauseating, it was too detailed to be a lie. he pleaded nonverbally for you to believe him—through the desperate glossiness of his eyes. you affirmed your belief in the same wordless manner, visibly nodding. you almost threw up when he handed you a business card, the three aforementioned shapes on one side, a random assortment of numbers on the back.

gihun brought you to his motel that same night, barren and lifeless besides white noise of the warm-toned, aged ambient lighting on the first floor and the tinkering of various ceiling fans with rusted hinges. you took in the six monitors mounted on the wall in front of his bed, equipped with live block-to-block security camera footage of his immediate surroundings, the metro transit map tabbed meticulously, and the calendar with past dates crossed out in thick red marker, pages of months previous mixed with takeout containers lodged in the corner trash bin. you quietly followed him upstairs, seeing his hidden stash of weaponry as he explained his recruitment of underground crime groups he's known since his gambling days. you didn't utter a word, not even when you lastly saw the mountain of cash stacked on a random bed in a random room. it stared at you as you did it—blankly.

he broke the silence. "this is where i've been these last three years." he said. he turned to look at you. "i ... i understand that it's a lot." his voice grew quieter. he swallowed, feeling shame brewing in his chest. "i just—i just felt like telling you. i don't know why. i understand if you don't want to know me—" "—i want to help." you said. his eyes widened. "what?" "i want to help you, gihun." you looked at him. he was bewildered. he shook his head, dumbfounded. "no, i think you misunderstood—" "—i did?" you cut him off. "you brought me here because i believe your story, didn't you? what did you expect then, exactly? for me to take my conviction away, like you say those masked soldiers did to those people who didn't stand still enough, or broke their dalgona? you tell me all of these crazy stories, your pain is so visceral that it makes me nauseous with guilt, and you want me to walk away? huh? what is it, then? what did you want!?" you hadn't anticipated your voice to rise, but were yelling by the end, your irritation stuffing the room.

he took your verbal berating silently, avoiding eye contact and shoulders lowering. "i don't ..." his voice trailed. "i don't want you to get hurt." "you gave up the right to protect me when you gave the impression sangwoo was still alive." you spoke firmly, voice now leveled. a breath of defeat slipped through his teeth. "you should've never called me." you said. "you should've done what everyone does: offer to get lunch to be polite, but never actually do anything. you shouldn't've called. i shouldn't've answered. i shouldn't've have shown up tonight, and i should've walked away the moment you started talking. you've given me no choice but to stay."

the silence was deafening. he looked up upon hearing the skid of your shoes against the floor, coming face to face with your softened expression. it was strangely disarming, feeling goosebumps travel up his spine."you were rid of me for thirty years. it's only right we make up for lost time." you said. his gaze didn't falter. it was his turn to affirm his belief of your wordless plea. he nodded, "okay."

you stopped by the motel in the early morning before work, listening to him comb through whatever new strategy he was going to run by his men that day ("what do you think? does this sound efficient?") and in exchange for making you miss your train, he drove you to work before parking at his usual spot. his guilt of bringing you into all of this felt stronger some days than others, showing in your not hearing from him for a couple days at a time. until you squashed that like a bug, dialing him in the middle of your lunch break: "... hello?" "why haven't you called me?" "i ... i've been busy." "you don't have time for a one minute phone call? thirty seconds?" "no, no. that's not what i meant—" "—i'm coming to the motel tonight."

and like clockwork, at nine pm, you showed up on the security camera. his phone vibrated: I am outside. when he unlocked the door, you walked past him without uttering a word, b-lining to his room. he did not immediately follow, purposefully hovering at the entrance after locking it back up securely. he walked with a lowered head, peering into the doorway some moments later. he was taken aback by the sight of you unloading your tote bag, nose tickled with the scent of freshly brewed stew, steaming rice, and side dishes. "i've brought tupperware. you're not eating takeout anymore." you don't look at him, hanging your bag on the back of a chair after fishing out utensils, sitting down with a small huff.

you looked at him. "are you not joining me?" gihun walked into the room, but fell short of sitting down at the table. "how long ... how long have you been cooking?" he felt stupid for asking the question, but the gesture left his mind blank. he felt atomically undeserving. "i got off work early." you responded curtly, plating your food. gihun didn't say anything, making you look up at him again. "it's going to get cold, gihun." your softened tone gave you what you wanted, watching him sit down across from you with muted satisfaction. you ate together in silence, nothing but the gentle clattering of plates and a quiet "thank you" when passing dishes rivaling the white noise of the air conditioning.

"from now on," you started, bringing your bowl to your lips, finishing off the last of your serving of stew. "you will update me everyday. i will bring food for us. if you forget about me, i will haunt you in the afterlife." "understood." he muttered, avoiding eye contact, pretending to look for a piece of meat in his stew, ignoring the one showing itself plainly on the left side of his bowl. his bottom lip quivered; he tightened his mouth. his arms started feeling weak; he inhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his foot under the table. but then a ragged breath rattled out of his diaphragm, his shoulders shuddered, and his vision went blurry; he was a goner. he sobbed into his hand. it sounded a lot like a coughing fit, so you initially thought the food hadn't gone down smoothly. but his defeated, muffled mewls into his palm and sunken shoulders said otherwise, sending you to your feet.

gihun instinctually turned towards the feeling of your hand on his shoulder, crying into your stomach. his hands pulled at your jacket, making you stumble, but you caught yourself. "f-forgive me, please. i won't be able to live with myself. i haven't been able live with myself for a long time." you looked down at the top of his head, unsure of what to do. you brushed his hair back with your fingers—not sure if it was crossing a boundary, but it felt wrong to just stand there—he only cried harder, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you so tightly as if you were a lifeline. "you—you make me feel normal." he said, breathing in short gasps. "after all the sins i've committed, you've—you've shown me atonement is possible." he lifts his head, eyes reddened, cheeks wet. the imagery of the moment was almost religious; if you listened closely, a distant artist began hammering at a marble slab. "b-but i'm not deserving of mercy." he shook his head, his hands coming together, visibly pleading. "leave me. i've hurt too many people. i can't hurt you next."

you wiped his tears. "you already hurt me when you didn't call." you said. "you already hurt me when you pretended sangwoo was alive and well." you reminded gihun, his head sinking in shame. your hand traced his jaw, lifting his head to look up at you. "you don't get to hurt me again by acting like you're alone in this." your voice faltered to a whisper. gihun's fingers ghosted over your wrist. "listen to me—" "—no, you listen to me." you cleared your throat. "we met that saturday for a reason. you let me in tonight for a reason. we're sharing a meal for a reason. stop lying to yourself." you said. "i can handle myself. i've been through a lot. i don't know how many sins you've committed, but even the devil gets a second chance. you should know, you've looked down the barrel of his gun."

gihun tsked. "save your prayers, gihun. just let me have the peace of knowing i'm helping a friend." he sucked in a shaky breath, sinking his face into his hands. "what have i done?" he whispered. "no one deserves to be alone as long as we both have." you retort. silence fills the room, making way for the words to settle into his psyche. goosebumps arise along his spine at the return of your fingers brushing his hair back. you take a step forward, his forehead brushing against the same place he wept on seconds before. "the least i could do is stay," you spoke quietly as if someone would overhear, even if you two were alone. "even if it's for a little while." as embarrassing and hypocritical as it felt to him, gihun gradually wrapped his arms around your waist. his touch hovered, however, only for you to pull him in, letting him know it was okay.

he got the message. his eyes closed, a long breath escaping his lips. you would've missed what he said if you weren't listening closely: "please do." he said, voice low, tone weakened. "please stay the night. there's—there's a room close to mine. down the hall." "i will." you assure without hesitation."what're friends for, hm?" you grinned. gihun let go. "i'll go—" he cleared his throat, voice gravely. "i'll go wash my face." he gestured to the bathroom behind you, rising from his seat. you returned to yours, "when you come back, have more food. you look sunken in." "i will." he muttered.

gihun closed the sliding door, inhaling through his nostrils, wiping a rogue tear with his knuckles. before he turned on the water, he looked over his shoulder, peering through the translucent palm tree imprint adorning the bathroom door. he caught a glimpse of you re-plating his food, leaned over the table, carefully pouring more stew; a hefty pile of rice on his plate; the side dishes pushed towards his seat. his bottom lip quivered, quickly looking away and tugging the right knob, the faucet pouring. the water ran and ran, but his eyes were stuck on his reflection in the mirror. he felt nauseated by the sight of his glossy eyes, deepened frown lines, and pathetic expression: worthless, contradictory, complacent.

seeing himself felt revolting. not even a mother could love this face after all i've done. he thought to himself. how would he know? he found his mother lifeless on the floor when he came home, eternally impairing her with the gripping chokehold of disappointment routinely tightened by her deadbeat son throughout the last years of her life. what would she think of her son now, a secluded loner who lives off of blood money, whom watched his best friend die right before his eyes, hired criminals to do his bidding to further involve himself in a fight that feels too big, and on top of all that has looped in an innocent woman into all of this? and for what, comfort? a semblance of peace? gihun splashed his face haphazardly, drying off with a towel hastily. he turned the faucet off, staring at himself again: "own the consequence." he whispered to himself. "it's all your fault."

you stayed at the motel even if it was against your better judgment, such as having work earlier than usual. gihun stirred awake at the rustling outside of his closed and locked door, reaching over and squinting at his phone screen: 5:37 AM. his senses clouded by exhaustion, he didn't realize just how quickly he recognized your footsteps, climbing out of bed without a second thought. his voice startled you, even if it was quiet: "what're you doing up so early?" he asked. "you don't have work for almost three hours." "i go in earlier today," you weren't sure why you were whispering anymore. "and i forgot something at home. i'm sorry for waking you up, gihun. go back to bed." he left the doorway, coming back with his jacket and shoes on, keys in his pocket. "let's go. i'll take you home, then to work." "no!" you protested, shaking your head and waving your hand. "i've caused enough trouble waking you up." "i'm already here," he said, taking your purse and carrying it in his right hand, his left gently ushering you alongside him. "let's go. you'll be late."

you shared cigarettes after dinner, the emptied tupperware long forgotten on the small table some feet away. you blew the smoke out the window, watching it disappear into the night. the click of gihun's lighter caught your attention, gaze lingering whilst he inhaled. you smirked to yourself: "i kicked this habit right before i started trying for a family." you said, bringing the cigarette between your lips. "i guess you're as bad an influence you say to be." you quipped, exhaling. "high school gihun would ask if he looked cool doing it." he muttered, holding his between his lips, putting the lighter back in his pocket. "he would. and i'd tell him he does." you affirmed with a nod, flicking ash into the tray lining the windowsill. "he would also ask for you to not tell his mom, even though he stole those cigarettes from her shop. then, two days later, he'd ask you for one." you chuckled, leaning towards the window and blowing. gihun shook his head, "what an annoying kid." "funny." you corrected him. "you were funny. aware, but also clueless. caring, too."

"i was shameless." he murmured lowly, blowing his smoke. you tsked un-approvingly, "stop being so brooding. now that's annoying." he looked at you as if you detested his entire family lineage, eyes widened in an expression fit for schoolyard bickering. "i'm not being annoying, i'm being real! hey—" he said, pointing his cigarette at you. "you're the one being annoying, just going against whatever i say! you've been doing this so much lately! on wednesday, when i offered to buy dinner because you've been working so late these days, and you said to me 'hey gihun, i have fifteen more years until i'm eligible for elderly welfare. i can cook just fine.' you could've just said either yes or no!" he waved his hand to accentuate his point, continuing: "and last week when you told me five times to stop wearing the same three shirts on rotation, and i told you i have more than that but there's no need because i sit in a car all day, and you said 'you're more dedicated to an outfit than the president is to the oath of office.' where do you even get this stuff?" he questioned, bewildered, pointing his cig to his temple. you nearly drew blood from your lip from attempting to contain your laughter. "and i wasn't stealing from my mom when i was that young! at least be honest about that." hearing him accentuate his vowels in the midst of his frustrated rant—a habit he's seemingly had his entire life—made your face feel warmer than before, a wide smile appearing whilst laughter finally rang out of you; you'd unpack the former later.

"okay, okay." you nodded, your free hand coming to rest on his arm as a way of both giving in and telling him to calm down. "was it my mom you stole from, then?" you joked, unable to hold your laughter at the look on his face. "you can tell me, gihun. i'm sure the statute of limitations is up by now for theft." "you're impossible." he muttered, shaking his head, bringing his cigarette to his lips. "hey. hey," you said, arm traveling up to his bicep, "i'm just kidding. i know you didn't steal." he stayed silent until he couldn't. "jungbae used to take his father's cigarettes. that's what i smoked." "okay, okay. i believe you, no need to be emotional." you said that on purpose, an upside down grin molding your face at his expression, suppressed laughter clouding your lungs. "how am i emotional for just telling the truth! hey, you can't just lay the bait and expect me not to take it!" "are you really this unable to take a joke?" you questioned. "wow, gihun. you take our role as elders more seriously than anyone our age." you remarked with faux indignity, hiding your grin behind your hand, inhaling. "impossible." he muttered to himself, turning away from you to face the window. your hand fell to your side, glancing at his cigarette between his lips before gazing out the window yourself.

silence washed over the room. after a few minutes, you put out your cigarette in the ash tray. you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. "i know it's hard, but lighten up." you began. "we just had a good meal. our shit will pass smoothly in the morning." gihun turned his head, looking at you with those routinely emotive brown eyes, too capacious for his own good, gaping at you. you thought you knew what he was going to say, but he scoffed, looking back out the window, a hint of a chuckle leaving his diaphragm, a ghost of a smile on his face. "poop jokes? at our age?" he shook his head, inhaling. upon his exhale, he struck gold: "you're so full of shit." both of you turned to each other with widened eyes, an open smile of surprise on your face: "a pun!" you called out, pointing at his chest. "you just said a pun!" "i'm not inept." he said. "of course not." you agreed. "just stubborn." you grinned, hearing him scoff.

"you may not be the seong gihun i remember entirely," you said, watching him extinguish his cigarette. "but you're certainly a seong gihun that'll be hard to forget." your words weigh unexpectedly heavily, suddenly bringing up the inevitable next step when gihun confronts the salesman. it's long been established as you two have talked about it before, albeit more hesitantly these days, even if it didn't start that way. in the beginning, it was treated with zero sugarcoating; basic fact; common sense—he's going back in there and no one can stop him. however, over these last few months, it's not as if the end goal has changed, but its honest, unforgiving nature has become increasingly visceral. it lingers in the air like an unwanted draft, but you're scared shitless to get up to close the window, fearing something bad might happen if you leave your bed. it was overtly irrational, a perfect concoction of contradiction and avoidance; even at your big age. it made you feel sixteen again, narrowly evading your crush in the busy school corridor, but stealing every possible glance during your shared class. wait . . . hold on . . . did you just use the word . . .

"i don't plan on forgetting you." gihun cut your inner monologue off. you were taken aback. his gaze is unrelenting, even if his eyes give away his own surprise at his words. your mouth moved, but no sound followed. your mind was completely and utterly blank. gihun felt it too, considering you always had something to say at any given time. that's how you made your way back into his life; upended his routine; granted him a better sleeping schedule; made a technicolor life seem possible again; filled his aura with something other than regret and disdain. his life felt—even if it was only momentary—not like it was unfolding to the beat of a ticking metronome, but in peaceful silence, like now. there was no room for hurtful memories, intrusively incessant conflicting feelings born out of his festering trauma, or the hefty responsibility to avenge those lost that he attributes to his own faults. there was room for only you. you.

gihun turned away, flustered. he suddenly wished he never put his cigarette out, yearning for the scent of nicotine to distract him from the discomfort he felt now—a feeling he was sure you shared, too. "i'm sorry." he muttered, so quiet it nearly blended in with the noise of the air conditioning kicking in. you stepped forward, locking your arm with his. he turned his head, glancing at you when you laid your temple against his bicep. he feels one of your hands gingerly rub his arm, saying something neither of you had the guts to verbally. his posture was stiff, unsure of what to do, but he didn't think for an iota of a second to step away or nudge you off. he felt something inside him begin to thaw, or maybe it slowly had been this entire time. "tonight is the first time i've heard you laugh since we met again." you spoke. your tone was so hushed it made gihun feel as if you were the last two people on all of earth. you two stood in silence, looking out the same window; listening to the distant cares drive by; the meow of a stray cat; the air conditioning shutting off. too afraid to move his gaze—and frightened by how hot his face felt—gihun slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, slipping it into yours. it took him a moment to mount the courage to intertwine your fingers, and another to lay his temple against the top of your head.

something shifted after that night. how could it not? your apartment collected dust with how you practically lived at the motel, other than to cook. gihun awoke before you did on days you had work earlier, intentionally setting this alarm no matter the time he fell asleep the night before. you stayed in his car a little longer than usual when he dropped you off, really pushing that five minute grace period you have to clock in on time, even if those extra few minutes were spent in flustered silence or repeatedly glancing at how close your hands were on the center console. every time you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, you hoped it was him; elated if it was indeed his name in your messages, and an eye roll if it was an email or the news. gihun found himself sitting up in his seat when your text came through midday (Going on lunch in 15 min), uncomfortably tugging at the collar of his shirt. he cleared his throat when you sent your usual follow up (Free now), staring at the call button next to your contact name. what am i going to say? he thought to himself, only to realize how ridiculous he sounded. gihun pressed the button hastily, bringing the phone to his ear with an irritated huff. since when did i become sixteen again?

on the evenings where you're running late for dinner, gihun is in your room at the motel, tidying it. he didn't want to face the fact that he lingered in your space because it was precisely that: yours—or in more truthful words, he just really missed you. it was where your energy remained a constant, even through the poorly-lit space and stuffy air. it felt irrational to miss someone he would see in a matter of hours, but he could not help it. he distracted himself with fixing the folded corner of the thin duvet; smoothening a stubborn wrinkle on a pillow case; replacing a faulty lightbulb; cracking the window open just enough if it was particularly humid that day. if you still hadn't arrived afterward, gihun sat on the edge of your finely made bed, waiting idly. he sped down the hall upon reading I'm outside, hushing your flurry of apologies with a gentle "it's okay. i only just came home, too."

gihun was no stranger to nightmares. he had them often, tossing and turning in bed, waking up in a cold sweat or with a prolonged headache that followed him into the day. over time, he got better at lulling himself back to sleep, harnessing the mantra of it's not real as best he could. but one night . . . it was too tangible, tactile, even. filled with villains of his past, ghosts of mistakes, ominous reminders of the uncertain future. he knew he was in a dream, but his subconscious was at war with his conscious efforts to wake up—throwing him in a very frightening limbo. he awoke with a sharp gasp, his body riddled with sweat and coughing abhorrently, throat heinously dry. this was the most severe dream he's had in a while. gihun tried to ground himself by whatever means his mangled mind could think of: steadying his breath, feeling the fraying blanket with his fingertips, trying to remember that mantra ... but his senses felt electrified, the visceral fear of the nightmare still fresh.

his eyes shot open when he heard a knock at his door. he stilled, unsure whether he'd imagined it. some of his rationale had returned, but not entirely, because when there was another knock, he quickly got out of bed, grabbing the gun on his nightside table. that dream really must have done a number on him, because he didn't look at his monitors and moved based on assumption—halting upon hearing "gihun?" your voice laced with concern yet gentle, ear pressed against the door. you knocked again. "gihun? are you awake?" you asked. "is everything okay in there?" his shoulders sunk in relief. have i lost my mind? he thought to himself. he put the gun back, momentarily deferring his disgust over his rash actions, cracking open the door.

he swallowed, hiding his grimace at his still aching throat with a quick swipe of his forehead. "good evening." he said rather monotone, trying to mask as light-spirited but executing it meekly. "i'm okay. i had a bad dream." "i heard you—" you gestured down the hall. "i heard you from my room, gihun. you sounded like you were in pain. i was worried that, that—" "—i'm fine." he nodded, trying to assure you. before you rebutted, he asked "what time is it?" whilst rubbing his eyes. "two in the morning." you answered hurriedly. "look, gihun. you're drenched in sweat and you're breathing so hard. i know this wasn't some ordinary dream." you say. "was it ... was it about them? the men in masks, the games?" gihun's hesitant pause was your answer. "i'm okay." he said again. "i'm sorry for waking you up. go back to bed." you tsked. "still so stubborn, even when he's sleepy." you eyed him, seeing his glistening face. "okay," you gave in. "i'm down the hall if you need me." a pause. "you're not alone in this." you reminded him, walking away and returning to your room. his gaze lingered in your general direction for a moment before closing his door.

he tried to fall asleep, but found himself stuck, only able to stare at the ceiling. gihun's mind ran a million miles an hour, feeling short of breath if he focused on that for more than ten seconds. he looked at his phone for the fifth time in three minutes: 2:47 AM. sleep felt nowhere in sight. his sweat had mostly subsided, heartbeat leveled, but his mind remained riddled. if he closed his eyes, they would open right back up. your proposition played in his head like a broken record, but like anyone his age, his pride stood in the way. it's not only that he didn't want to seem weak or have an insecure grip on self-sufficiency, but also seeking comfort still felt foreign to him. it was another symptom of circumstance, both of the past three years and the last four months. gihun felt undeserving, foolish for pursuing such a thing when he's so close to throwing himself back into a world running on nothing but adrenaline and fear.

gihun laid on his left side with a stern huff, closing his eyes, trying so desperately to feel that lilting tug of sleep, even if he had to pretend. he did all of this to protect you and himself. to protect the inevitable, to crystallize his oath of taking down those bastards once and for all. but when he looked at his phone, seeing it was now 3:16 AM, he suddenly felt thirty-five again: coming home horrendously late after another taxing day at the factory, muscles weak and his will even more so. his wife wasn't home, having been at her relative's house the past few days after an argument they had. he laid atop the bed the best his sore muscles allowed; he hadn't enough strength to shower or even feed himself. he got up less than four hours later, freshening up as best he could in an eerily silent house, ignoring the grumble of his stomach as he boarded the public bus.

it was one of his loneliest moments. he didn't know why he thought of that specifically, considering the divorce, custody battle, and moving back in with his mother was a different low point entirely. his eyes opened to the darkness. the silence felt similar, the shame even more so . . . gihun got up, taking his pillow and blanket with him. he knocked twice, pressing his ear against the door, only for it to creak open. it must have been left open. he stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. the layout of your room was the same as his, so he had no problem navigating the dark room. he quickly laid his pillow on the floor next to your bed, closing his eyes after unfolding his blanket. you were awake, overhearing his shuffling into the room. "gihun?" he gasped: "you scared me." he whispered back, hand on his chest. "why are you on the floor?" you asked. silence lingered. "i wasn't—i wasn't sure if it would be okay." "get on the bed, gihun." unbeknownst to him, you were awake for the past hour and some change waiting; having moved purposefully to lay on one side of the bed.

your face felt warm, eyes squeezing shut and nestling into your pillow when you felt the weight of the bed dip behind you. even though your backs faced each other, you thanked the universe that no lights were on in the room. gihun laid as far on his side of the bed as he could; not enough to warrant worry that he would fall off, but enough to thwart his fastening heartbeat he felt come increasingly close to his throat. or so he thought, because he stuttered with his next words: "you—you left your door open. don't ... don't do that. someone might come in." a beat. "you did." was all you said. barely ten minutes later, both of you succumbed to the white nose of the air vent, gihun's quiet snores and your steady breaths filling the room.

a week later, you walked into your apartment, setting bags of fresh groceries down on the kitchen counter. you heard your text tone go off in the midst of searching your cabinets for the usual pots and pans you used to cook—a piercing rattle reverberating through the immediate space when you dropped a small pot onto the stove, reading the text from gihun: 1 do not come. you stared at the text in horror, inner monologue clustered and borderline indecipherable—did he find him? how? when—yesterday it was another dead end—and lunch was smooth, too—how could have things changed so quickly? where is he—do not come? is he at there, at the motel? he sent this seven minutes—did he confront him there? how did he even find him there? how did he even— how did he even get inside? your eyes flickered back to the 1—a code you two established the night you took your wordless oath to help him in his endeavor ("it's quick to type. the 'one' we're looking for, the 'one' chance we have.") gihun sent the other three words to deter your stubbornness under the glimmer of the neon pink motel sign he didn't turn on himself, further punctuating the sentiment of imminent danger.

"how ... how long do i wait for?" you whispered to yourself. you paced back and forth, gnawing at whatever skin was left on your lips, moving to your nails after they felt raw. you didn't process your stomach rumbling more time went by; another hour passing on the clock, nor did you pay mind to how your loafers continuously pinched the back of your ankles, too occupied to remember to take them off. your phone rang close to midnight. gihun hadn't realized how quickly you picked up his call: "gihun!? what happened? is everything okay? are you okay?" "i'm safe." he said. "i am okay." he let out a breath, hearing yours on your side of the line. he began to explain: "we found him an hour after lunch. we tailed and tried to corner him, but he was too quick. one of my men are dead, and he used to other to find me at the motel." "n-no." you said weakly, shaking your head, horrified. "he was in my room." gihun continued. "he challenged me to a game of russian roulette. i won. he's dead."

you hadn't the faintest clue what that game was. but that did not matter. "d-dead? just—just like that?" your voice was quiet, eyes glossy. "after searching for these three years, he's gone just like that?" these people were so fucking odd. no matter how many times you reeled over the details, anecdotes, of whatever you learned, their ominous nature left you with an uneasy stomach; an urge to look over your shoulder at any given moment. it was consuming you these last six months. you couldn't imagine how it's been for him for the past few years. gihun nodded, despite you not being able to see. "yes." he affirmed. "he gave me what i needed. there's a card with a date and address for a halloween party, i think, since i searched it up and saw its a club. that's where the leader of the games will be. we've started planning what we're going to do—" "—that's—that's two weeks from now." you thought aloud. "yes." said gihun, nodding again. here came the part of the conversation he'd been avoiding: "i need you to ... i need you to stay at your apartment. just for tonight." you were deeply offended. "what? are you crazy?" you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows. "absolutely not. you listen to me, i'm coming—" "—no, listen to me." he cut you off. "it's a mess at the motel. i can't—" he huffed, shoulders sinking a little. "i can't do that to you."

you understood what he meant. "okay." you sounded hurt, but agreeable. you leaned on the kitchen counter, elbow rustling against the grocery bags. "okay." you repeated, running your hand over your face, clearing your throat afterward. you realized this wasn't gihun acting as if he was alone in his endeavor, but asking nonverbally for your belief in him. "i'll stay here. i trust you." "thank you." he responded in a whisper, overcome by a hefty wave of relief. "just for tonight. i promise." he specified once again. "i know." you said. a moment of silence washes over before gihun speaks. "i'll take you to work tomorrow." he said gently. "do you go in at nine?" "seven." you correct. you look over your shoulder, seeing it was nearing one in the morning on the oven clock. "i didn't realize how late it was. i haven't even showered yet." "me neither." he responded, glancing at the time on his car's dashboard. "i'll be at your building at half six. is that okay?" you nodded, despite his not being able to see. "yes, that's okay."

silence washed over the call. "thank you for trusting me." he said. "thank you for trusting me too. goodnight, gihun." "goodnight." he quickly hung up the call, tossing his phone onto the empty passenger's seat. a shaky breath left his lips as his eyes watered, fingers harshly rubbing his closed eyelids. "fuck." he muttered under his breath. when his vision cleared, he turned his head, looking out his car window to your apartment building. he stared and stared, eyes flittering up and down the various floors, trying to spot yours with any hint; a lamp turned off, a curtain closed, anything. some part of him wanted to stay in his spot until he was to pick you up, and another irrationally hoped you'd walk out of the building, like a lovesick teenager who's lost all reason. but eventually, gihun's hand reached for the gear, putting the car in drive, gradually pushing down on the peddle.

those two weeks were a stilled, prolonged goodbye. your face and muscles felt heavy as if you were already in mourning, but your brain remained defiant. he's too stubborn to let those people kill him. you told yourself, pouring creamer into your coffee at work. he's not stupid enough to die. the later half of october rolled out. with each passing day, you slowly lost the strength to cross out the dates on the calendar in his room. gihun would be a fool to not see the growing cynicism that deepened your eye bags, the perpetual frown on your face during dinner, or the avoidance of eye contact. you woke up too easily these days, gihun often hearing your shower head long before your alarm went off. he wasn't sure if you even set an alarm anymore, but it was enough to deduce you weren't getting much sleep. what was once a witty back-and-forth when reviewing the day's plans for his recruits, became a subdued, one-sided conversation where you looked at the whiteboard with an unreadable expression, offering a monotone "sounds good" in the end. as halloween drew closer, your midday texts lessened. gihun reached out—Are you going on lunch soon?—only to come to terms with his hurt upon reading your response: Busy day. I'll see you at dinner. your eyes watered, bottom lip quivering when he texted back: Okay. No problem. you clicked your phone off, turning it face down. you pushed away your half-eaten lunch, losing your appetite. a ragged breath left your diaphragm, tears threatening to leave your waterline. no one else was in the break room, so the consequences of suppressing your emotions thankfully beared no audience. but you felt exposed nonetheless, confronted by the fact that you couldn't bear to lose gihun, but you had no choice.

the motel was eerily silent the night before halloween. the plan was concrete, reviewed ad nauseam over the last couple of weeks. dinner had wrapped a few hours prior, the tupperware packed away in your tote bag hanging on the back of a lounge chair in your room. you didn't dare look at gihun. in fact, your eyes stayed down the entire time, speaking minimally other than to ask to pass a side dish, or offer him more rice. your quivering lips were hidden well behind your utensils, or taking a drink of water. gihun was just as quiet. not passive, but quiet. he didn't muster the courage to say anything. he might not be the most gifted in expressing his emotions, but he was aware enough to read the room and know it wasn't the best time to bring up the inevitable. he knew he couldn't leave you alone. he couldn't, not without saying something.

so there he was, some time past eleven pm, knocking on your door frame. "are you awake?" he asked gently, even if your nightside lamps were on, apparent that you weren't asleep. you peeked over your shoulder. "yes." you answered, returning your temple to your pillow. gihun walked into the room, back facing you as he sat on the edge of your bed. he had enough gall to keep you in his peripheral vision, but fell short of looking at you directly. "what did i tell you about leaving your door open, hm?" he asked, trying to sound sharp, but succumbing to tenderness. "anyone can walk in." "you aren't just anyone, gihun." you said oh so delicately, enough to have him turn his head completely, eyebrows turned up sympathetically. you saw his eyes on you in your periphery, but avoided his gaze, keeping yours on your palm running back and forth along a small spot of the thin duvet.

"i—" gihun reached into his pocket. "i made you a key for the motel." he leaned over to his right, setting it down on your nightside table. "if you ever need anything," he glanced in your direction, the strength to look at you fleeting. "take as much as you want. you know where the room is." you didn't say a word. your palm stilled. his gaze fell to the duvet, too, his hand gliding across the wrinkles. "like i said before," his voice was low. "i don't plan on forgetting you—" "—gihun, stop." you interrupted. "i don't have the strength for this."

silence. he tries again: "i'll come back." he spoke warily. "i'm going to come back." "please." your voice fell to a whisper. "i can't take it." your chin hovered above your chest from the length you went to avoid his eyes. you felt fragile as porcelain, every single utterance of this conversation chipping away at you without remorse. gihun doesn't try again, internally frustrated with how easily he felt defeated. silence wins again, but not for long. he continues tracing the duvet's wrinkles, inching towards to your hand with every swipe. his hand comes closer and closer, until he slows. you watched his fingers gradually hold yours. gihun doesn't apply pressure, but he stays there. he keeps them in his grip when he moves to lay on his side, facing you. "at least look at me." he whispered, pleading. "i can't." you sounded so defeated. his eyes glistened, gripping your fingers properly now. "i can't regret my decision now. not when i'm so close." his eyes shined under the warm-toned light of your lamp. "don't make me regret my decision. please."

your head rose, meeting his eyes. he looked his most familiar: a deep somberness etched in the crevices of his face, his eyes perhaps the most poetic of all. they looked so soft, so gentle; as if a look of malice could never come close to tainting them. he could try his damn hardest, feel the most visceral of anger, but he could never look truly dissatisfied, forever unable to mask his true desire for comfort. for love. a small grin tugged at gihun's lips. "there you are. i missed you." he was barely audible, almost as if he mouthed the words. without thinking, he moved his head onto the pillow, not realising how close you two were until it was too late. it was like a strange instinct, the way he leaned in. he couldn't stop himself; not when the quietest of gasps escaped between your teeth, or his heart thumping so harshly his chest felt it was going to burst, or when his lips hovered admittedly awkwardly above yours. the kiss was light, almost nonexistent, until gihun leaned forward a little more. the tip of his nose brushed past yours, bringing his lips against yours wholly. his nose lightly dipped into your cheek when he kissed you again. before you could show any semblance of reciprocity, gihun abruptly pulled away.

"i'm sorry." he said. "i shouldn't have ... i shouldn't have done that. i'm sorry—" "—it's okay." you shook your head, panicking slightly. you slipped your fingers out of his grip, using them to make him look at you. "come here." you say. he follows, molding his lips with yours once again. the kiss was one of fervor; relocating misplaced frustration into that of palpable yearning; two souls who came together by chance after decades past; an atomic understanding of each other's pain, yet accepting you'll never truly know what's its like to live the other's life; a long-awaited embrace of the unknown, succumbing to the desire—no, the need to be loved.

gihun's lips felt soft, contrasting with his stubble rubbing against your chin and upper lip. it made you pull him closer, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, eyebrows turning upward at the sound of your muffled whimper. your hand left his face, taking his hand and laying his palm atop your clothed breast. he took the hint, kneading it with just the right amount of firmness, but not without moaning lowly into your mouth. his pointer and middle fingers pulled the collar of your sweater down, breaking the kiss mind-numbingly slowly before trailing down to your neck, past your double chin, settling on the faint stretch marks adorning your shoulder. your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, an encouraging hand in his hair as your chest nearly collided with his, back arched in bliss.

you brought yourself back down to earth, hand reaching past his chest, undoing his belt. you scrambled to undo the button and zipper, escaping into his briefs. gihun let out a guttural moan into your warm skin, embarrassingly (to him) hard in your hand, breathing hard through your slow strokes. "h—h-ha ... h—ngh!" he tried to contain himself by peppering kisses onto your skin, but ended up bucking his hips up into your soft palm. you fastened your pace, fingers wrapped securely around his girthy cock, his precum wetting your hand. gihun shuddered, mouth agape and face burrowed into your clothed chest, fingers limp on your shoulder. you bit your bottom lip as you continued your ministrations, thighs rubbing together for any sort of friction. a whimper rattled out of his diaphragm when you began pumping only his tip. "i'm g-gonna pass out!" he whined. he gasped sharply when he felt something stir in his abdomen. "n-no, no—w-wait!" he suddenly moved, laying his head next to yours on the pillow. "w-wait! s-stop! i'm—" his body reacted before he did. gihun's nose brushed against your cheek, his mewls and grunts making your eyebrows knit together in a fit of awe and sexual drive you hadn't felt in years. hot spurts of cum coated his briefs and your inner wrist. you gradually came to a halt, overhearing his labored breathing.

you leaned in, softly reconnecting your lips. even in his clouded haze, gihun kissed back with intent. his hand found the hem of your pants, leaning closer to you, your free hand holding his cheek, deepening the kiss. you turned your head towards the ceiling with a sharp inhale, effectively breaking the kiss, however, when his fingers dipped between your folds. goosebumps arose on your arms underneath your sleeves, a soft hiss brewing between your teeth. "your hand is cold." you whispered. his nose pushed against your cheek, lips pressing chaste kisses onto your supple skin. "i'm sorry." he said. "i can ... i can stop." "no, it's okay. it's okay." you say breathily, closing your thighs around his wrist. gihun's jaw dropped at the sight."it'll warm up. just—just keep going." you tell him. "fuck!" his voice fought so hard to stay quiet, coming out hoarse.

your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed. it was only every few swirls of his finger did a small gasp leave your slightly swollen lips, feeling him come closer to your clit than before. gihun was so fucking close to where you needed him to be, but not quite there. his unintentional teasing concocted the subtle yet apparent slosh of your wetness as your puffy lips encased his middle finger. you arched your back a little, hoping it would slip him into place, but to no avail. you reached for his head, fingers slipping into his hair. "gihun," you swallowed, mouth dry. "a little h-higher." "where? here?" his cock was hardening in your hand again, blurring his logic, trailing kisses up to your temple in his misunderstanding. "your hand, gihun. your f-finger." "right, right." he quickly realized. "i'm sorry."

the pad of his middle finger inched higher. the light of heaven was now in your sight. you opened your legs to allow just enough room for his wrist to fulfill your next request: "a l-little deeper, gihun. a little—f-fuck!" your gasp echoed off the walls. your hand left his hair, coming to cover your mouth, eyes barely open to look down at his hand in your pants. your wetness was blatant, the sticky sound making his cock stiffen and your vision blur. "g-gihun!" you whimpered, feeling him rubbing unrelentingly your sweet bundle of nerves. every swipe tightened the muscles of your inner thighs, toes curling in your socks. "k-keep going! keep going!" you pleaded helplessly, voice stuck at a whisper.

gihun pressed his forehead against your temple, eyes cast below with no intent of looking away. "f-fuck." he muttered under his breath, mouth agape at how he worked you. his mind became mush, marveling over your warmth and intoxicating softness. "please." he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of how you would feel wrapped around him. his shame made him feel juvenile, embarrassed by how his thoughts were as sexually erratic when he was 21 to his now 51, but not enough to stop him from grinding his cock into your loosened grip. "p-please," he whispered to himself. "god almighty—hngh!"

you began pumping him again, your other hand going back into his hair, turning your head and kissing his lips. it was one of newfound hunger; quick yet deep; quiet but stuttered through moans and hushed whimpers. suddenly, a knot formed in your abdomen, threatening to unravel. you broke the kiss. "i'm close." your tone was so vulnerable, like you would trust him with the world. gihun opened his eyes, taking in how beautiful you looked under the lamplight, the sheerest coat of sweat glimmering off your skin. "are—ngh!—a-are you?" you asked. he felt your breath brush against his cheeks, his forehead atop yours, nodding. "y-yes. we can finish together. c'mon." he kissed your cheek and your temple. "o-okay," you said breathily, head turning towards the ceiling, feeling his lips rest against your skin. "i trust you."

before gihun could register it, you unraveled. your moans were so delicate, so gentle, descending into shudders rattling out of your chest; back arching, eyebrows turned upward in ecstasy. "i—i!" you whimpered, the feeling of his finger continuously circling your clit through your unimaginable orgasm making your sinuses loosen, tears prickling even in your tightly shut eyes. "yes! yes! y-yes!" you chanted like a prayer, pumping him whilst you rode out your high. gihun was an incoherent mess through his second orgasm, his sweaty forehead sticking to your cheek, spilling onto your wrist in finality. he felt depleted of all energy, dizzy for those first few moments whilst you laid beside each other in your respective post-orgasmic hazes, your joint-labored breathing outdoing the room's air conditioning unit.

his hand slowly pulled out of your pants, yours slipping from his briefs when he turned to lay on his back. gihun's eyes closed, lulling his heartbeat with every deep breath he took. even though your body had stilled—eyes closed, tongue running over your dried lips; trying to bring yourself back down—something stirred inside of you. your body had its release, but your heartbeat fastened for a reason you did not want to acknowledge. in fact, there could not have been a worse time than now. you hastily wiped the tear that had fallen during your orgasm, your face contorting into a near sob, almost giving in to the reality that you convinced yourself you've long accepted. but you loathed it so much, so viscerally that your temples vibrated with anger; resentment; vitriol, even. all those missed phone calls, lying texts, quiet dinners, avoidant conversations . . . now here you were, suffering the consequences the night before he's set to leave.

am i really going to cry after an orgasm? really? you thought to yourself. you knew it wasn't the truth, but you were internally fighting tooth and nail to not yield to the suffocating devastation consuming your lungs like smoke at the moment; breath stuttering through your nostrils, chest convulsing whilst you held back the tears. but then, you felt his hand ghost past yours when he fixed his posture in bed. all hell broke loose.

gihun's eyes widened when he heard you cry. his hand did not hesitate to ride up your arm; a firm, yet gentle tug at your shoulder in an attempt for your attention. "hey," he spoke softly. "what happened? is everything okay?" you cried even harder, bringing your hand to your mouth. gihun's knuckles wiped what he could reach, turning on his side to face you. his big brown eyes looked to you with the same devastation your body was currently expelling. "was it something i did?" he whispered tragically. he was afraid he overstepped a boundary tonight, the intensity of it all hitting you suddenly. but that couldn't be farther from the truth. if only you could stop crying to tell him.

you turned to look at him, pawing weakly at his chest to somehow ground yourself enough to speak. the attempt proved to be worthless, the warmth of your tears lulling you into a state of incoherence. gihun's hands came up, holding either side of your face. "what is it?" his voice was low, laced with concern and perpetual shame. "what happened, hm? you can tell me." he encouraged, fingers wiping your fresh tears, palm softly encasing your cheek afterward. "i can't stand to see you like this. please, tell me."

"i-i'm so sorry i've been so distant!" you exclaimed, your tears added an unintended tone of urgency. you looked into his eyes, shaking your head. "i'm so sorry i've b-been so mean!" "no—" gihun dismissed gently, pulling you into his chest. he wrapped his arms around you; one hand smoothening your hair, the other holding onto your hip. "it's okay. you have nothing to apologize for." he meant every word. gihun never once questioned why you acted the way you did. he's anticipated this from the moment he asked for your number that early afternoon several months ago. out of all the unpredictable variables that have unfairly cast themselves into the trajectory of his life, he could always count on his selfishness to rear its ugly face in the end. whether it be debt, addiction, or hurting the ones he loved—he bears the consequence. but some part of this makes it feel worth it, as murky as it is. "it's okay. it's okay." he hushed your cries. gihun kissed your temple tenderly. "there is nothing to be forgiven." he told you when your tears subsided, holding onto you even tighter. "you haven't done anything wrong."

after a while, you slowly sat up. gihun too, albeit cautiously, watching you wipe underneath your eyes with the back of your hand. you let out a long breath, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "i've always been such an ugly crier." you muttered. gihun exhaled through his nose, grinning. "i can never predict what's going to come out of your mouth next. no matter how hard i try." you grew flustered, an upside down grin tugging at your lips. "you missed thirty years of my life." you said. "of course you'd be a little lost."

gihun couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. comfortable silence washed over the room. your palm began to swipe back and forth on the duvet again, but your eyes were on him. avoidance wasn't in the realm of possibility anymore. it hurt, but you felt ready. "you can't die, gihun." you spoke, voice quiet, as if volume would shatter the sanctity of your oath. you looked at him as if you were the only two beings on the entire earth. "i have more food to make." his gaze did not waver. "i won't." he responded, equally gentle. "i have more to eat."

two days later, you unlocked the door, stepping into your apartment. you kicked your shoes off without a moment's hesitation, setting your purse down on the kitchen counter. the rustle of the plastic bag in your hand almost overshadowed the vibration in your pocket. fishing your phone out, you rolled your eyes at the work email notification. something regarding an ongoing project, or an upcoming meeting—you could have cared less. "it's nine fucking pm. are they this incompetent?" you muttered as you walked to the living room, clicking your phone off and setting it down on the coffee table.

the plastic bag, surprisingly, was not filled with fresh vegetables and your other go-to ingredients, but takeout. you untied the knot, opening the styrofoam containers filled with freshly-cooked fried chicken and tteokbokki, respectively. "shit," you said to yourself, getting up from the couch and scurrying to the fridge, bringing back a can of sprite to accompany the meal. you ignored the cabinet housing your tupperware, not even permitting your oven, which stored your pots and pans, in your peripheral vision. for now, and for your sanity, they were dead to you.

you ate your meal in silence. the crunch of the chicken, chewiness of the rice cake, and the fizzing of your soda kept you company. your phone lit up with emails, the news, reminders to pay bills, your paycheck hitting your bank account; you didn't waver. you did what you vowed to do for the next days, weeks, or maybe the next thirty years: waiting. for something. anything.

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten

#squid game #squid game season 2 #seong gihun #seong gi hun #squid game imagine #seong gi hun imagine #seong gihun imagine #seong gi hun x reader #choi su bong #gihun imagine #gi hun imagine #gihun #squid game x reader #squid game smut

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diamonddaze01 · 1 day ago

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Fake it Til You Make it [TEASER]

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | teaser wc: 1.2k genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // the biggest of hugs and kisses to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this for me! this is a continuation of morning rush (not required to read this, but might help with some context!

join my taglist here <3

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 1 day ago

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Marriage Problems Chapter 4

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon. Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling. Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives. Can they get their spark back? Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings: language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky quietly walked inside the house. What was usually his sanctuary now felt like it held impending doom. He and Y/N were just barely starting to get on a better footing with each other. They were supposed to go on a date tomorrow night. Why did something like this have to happen now? He trudged up the stairs slowly, the fear and trepidation making him feel dizzy. He opened his bedroom door, finding Y/N sitting on their bed reading a book. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Hey Buck. How was the party?” she asked sweetly.

Bucky smiled back at her hesitantly. “It was, um, fun, at first,” he said. “Good to catch up with Steve.”

“What do you mean ‘at first’? What happened?” Y/N asked, setting aside her book on the nightstand.

Bucky closed the door, walked to her side of the bed and sat facing her next to her crossed legs. He reached for her hands, and she met him halfway, letting him hold her hands as he kept his gaze down. “Something…happened,” he whispered.

Y/N’s hands squeezed his. “What happened? You’re scaring me, Bubbas.”

Bucky’s heart felt like it was going to explode. She called him the pet name he hadn’t heard in a long time, but he was also going to possibly hurt her right afterwards. He met her gaze. “A girl from work came on to me tonight,” he said.

Y/N blinked. “Okay,” she said.

“I told her no, but then she…she kissed me,” Bucky’s voice cracked as he stifled a sob.

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she stared at him for a good long while. Bucky felt like he was shrinking under her unyielding stare, but he didn’t dare look or pull away. He felt her try to pull her hands out of his grasp but he tightened his hold. “No, please,” he gasped. “I…I didn’t want it. She just did it, and I froze because I was in shock, but I pushed her away.” Y/N’s eyes started to fill with tears. “Pretty mama, please,” Bucky begged, shifting toward her as his own tears started to fall. “All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is you. Please, you have to believe me.” She shut her eyes tight and shook her head, fighting back her own cries. Bucky let go of her hands and cupped her face in his hands. “Y/N, please. Please please please, I’m so sorry. I should have walked away sooner, I should have said no louder, I shouldn’t have frozen. My love,” he kissed her cheek and she sniffled sadly. “My pretty mama,” he kissed the tip of her nose. “My everything. Baby, please.”

“I believe you,” Y/N whispered. Bucky pulled away just enough to look at her. “I do,” she reassured him. “I just…I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stop envisioning it and…I’m feeling a lot of very conflicting things right now.”

“I understand,” Bucky nodded. “I am, too. I’m so angry, and I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel afraid to tell me,” Y/N said, looking at him sadly. “I know I haven’t…I haven’t been very, good to be with for a while now–”

Bucky huffed a watery laugh. “We’ve been in a weird spot lately,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”

Y/N sniffed again and sighed heavily before smiling timidly at him. “Me neither,” she promised.

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Can I ask for something?” he whispered.

“What?” she whispered back.

“I-I need to get it out of my head,” he said. “I need your lips to be the last on mine. It just doesn’t feel right. Please,” he angled his head, his nose nuzzling her nose and his lips hovering over hers.

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered at his closeness, and when he met her gaze he saw the desire there that he hadn’t seen for a while. Her eyes flickered across his face, then she slightly nodded. That was all the permission he needed, and he leaned in and gently kissed her. Y/N slowly kissed him back, her lips featherlight against his. But within a few seconds she suddenly reached out and gripped his shirt in her fingers, pulling him toward her harder, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Bucky whimpered, his hands moving to the back of her neck then down her back. Their combined breathing got heavier, pants and sighs filling the room as he hoisted her up and into his lap, having her straddle him as he licked into her mouth, tasting her tongue with his own.

Y/N’s hips started to grind on top of him, and he shuddered at how good it felt to have her on him like this again. “Can I have you, pretty mama?” Buck whispered, kissing down to her neck and nipping at her ear. “God, please let me have you.”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Please Bubbas.”

He groaned at the pet name then flipped them over so she was on her back. He quickly stripped her of her pajamas and underwear, pulling his own clothes off in record time before hovering over her, his hands exploring her like she was brand new. And in a lot of ways, she was. “I’ve missed you,” he said as he kissed down her chest to her breasts, giving them plenty of attention after not seeing them for so long.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Y/N whispered, her fingers running through his hair and scratching his scalp the way he liked.

It sent shivers down his spine and he smiled against her skin. Bucky and Y/N used to have a good sex life, making time for each other and taking care of each other regularly, so it was strange for them to not indulge in one another for so long. This felt like their first time all over again, getting reacquainted with the way her body had changed after three kids and the beginning stages of aging. Bucky wasn’t as fit as he used to be, either, but Y/N’s hands still felt him all over as if he was the most handsome thing she’d ever seen.

Bucky’s kisses slid down her body until he reached her pussy, and he situated himself on the bed so he could wrap his arms around her thighs and spread her wide open for him. “I haven’t, um, shaved for a while,” Y/N said suddenly, sounding hesitant.

“I don’t care,” Bucky shook his head, smirking at her before he dipped his head down and started eating her out. Y/N gasped, her hips twitching and bucking against his face. His grip on her thighs tightened, not letting her squirm away from him. Y/N’s hands were shaking by her sides, and at a particularly fast flicking of his tongue against her clit she reached down and gripped his hair in her right hand, her left hand resting against the side of his face, randomly scratching at his beard.

Bucky reached one hand back around from her thigh, bringing it up to her pussy. His fingers rubbed at her lower lips as he focused his mouth on her clit. She was already becoming so wet for him that he smiled as he prodded one finger at her entrance, slowly pushing it all the way in until he was second knuckle deep. Y/N whined quietly, and it made him feel proud at getting a noise out of her, something so involuntary and primal. He slowly added a second finger inside her, lapping at her clit and her lips. He was slow and gentle in his movements in and out of her, curling his fingers just lightly inside as his other hand guided her hips gyrating on his face and his hand.

He hummed against her, pulling a shudder through her whole body, her legs shaking over his shoulders. Bucky sucked on her clit harshly, his fingers picking up in pace. Y/N’s hips bucked against his face, and his arm still wrapped around her leg moved up to hold her down over her hips. “Cum for me, Y/N,” he groaned.

Y/N stiffened, her fingers nearly ripping at his hair as she slapped a hand over her mouth and moaned, cumming all over his fingers. Bucky licked up everything he could, prolonging her orgasm for as long as possible as he lazily pumped his fingers in and out of her a while longer. He finally came to a stop and pulled them out, sucking them into his mouth as he sat up and situated himself between her legs.

“Fuck, Bubbas,” Y/N sighed. “Holy shit…”

Bucky leaned down and kissed her, letting her taste the last remnants of herself on his lips. “You did so good, pretty mama. So good for me.” He leaned back up and gripped his cock in his hand, stroking himself and then slapping his cock against her clit, making her jerk and moan. “How do you want me, love?”

“Like this,” Y/N said, looking up at him pleadingly. “Just this, please.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky smirked, running the tip of his cock through her slit. “I’ll do whatever you want. What does this pretty little pussy need?” Y/N’s hips shook as he nudged her clit again. “Does it need to be filled?”

“Yes!” she whimpered.

Bucky couldn’t wait any longer. It had been too long, and after getting to taste her and have her at his mercy now, his cock was throbbing in need. “Alright, pretty mama,” he said lowly. He aimed himself at her entrance, then slowly started pushing in. They both winced at the tightness and the stretch, and Bucky could tell she hadn’t been masturbating or doing anything to take care of herself for a long time. “Fuck, love, so tight,” he hissed. “Jesus, it’s been so long. You haven’t done anything? At all?”

Y/N shook her head, looking embarrassed. “I was just…too tired. Too busy.”

Bucky whimpered. Not only had they taken advantage of Y/N and all she did for them, but she had given up taking care of herself in multiple ways to keep up with the demands of their family life. He leaned down and started kissing and licking at her nipples, helping to stimulate her. “I’m so sorry, pretty mama,” he murmured against her skin. “You deserve the world, and I couldn’t give that to you–”

“No,” Y/N said, pulling his head up as he finally slid all the way in. She kissed him sweetly, running her fingers through his hair. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for all of us. I was trying to help take on the rest. But all I did was end up burning myself out.”

Bucky nuzzled his nose against her cheek, kissing her all over her face. “I’m still sorry,” he murmured. “Can you forgive me?”

Y/N’s chest shook on a sob as he rolled his hips into her. “I forgive you,” she whispered, her lips trembling.

Bucky sighed as he held her close, continuing to kiss her everywhere he could reach. “Thank you. Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered back, not trusting his voice. He licked and sucked at her neck as his hips picked up the pace, but still thrusting into her slowly. He wanted to take his time, to feel her and indulge in her. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his back, her nails scratching down his shoulder blades as he pushed into her as far as he could. Her hot, panting breaths huffed over his neck and shoulder, her sweet little moans and whimpers tickling his ear, and he swore he’d never heard anything more beautiful in his life. After a torturous amount of time for Bucky to hold off on his pleasure, he could feel her pussy flutter around him. “Fuck, you gonna cum, pretty mama? Yeah? Cum all over my cock while I fill you up?”

Y/N shivered, nodding frantically as her hands moved down his back to his ass, her fingers digging into the cheeks of his ass and pulling him into her harder. “Bubbas…Bubbas please. Bucky…”

“You want it harder?” Bucky smirked, pulling away just enough to look at her, staying within inches of her face. “You want me to fuck you hard, love?”

“Yes!” Y/N squeaked. “Fuck me harder. Faster!”

Bucky positioned himself slightly differently and held her tight. “Whatever you want, mama,” he said, then started thrusting fast and hard into her.

Y/N gasped, her mouth falling open wide. She hugged him tight again, trying to hold in any loud moans so they wouldn’t wake up the kids. “Oh my god!” she loudly whispered.

“That’s it, Y/N, take it! Show me you forgive me, love. Show me you forgive me with your cum,” he grunted.

Y/N started shaking uncontrollably, then choked on a sharp gasp and stiffened under him. Her head wrenched back and before she could scream Bucky kissed her hard, swallowing her noises as she came. Her pussy clamped down impossibly hard on his cock, her cum drenching his hips and the sheets below, her nails digging into his back. The mix of pain and pleasure spurred Bucky on as he fucked her through her orgasm then finally came deep inside her, pumping her full like he said he would, his own loud groan being covered by her kiss.

Y/N twitched from the rippling pleasure, and Bucky slowly broke the kiss, his lips grazing across her face and down her neck. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re amazing,” he whispered. “Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you, my pretty mama. My love. Shit…” he shuddered as her pussy fluttered around him with the aftershocks of her orgasm. “You feel so good. God, I love you.”

“I love you,” Y/N murmured, her hands softly rubbing his back, soothing out the scratches she caused. “I love you Bubbas. Love you…I’m so sorry–”

“I’m sorry, too,” Bucky said, kissing her lips. “But we can work through it, right? Together?”

She smiled at him. “Yeah. You and me against the world, right?”

He smiled at their little mantra they used to say to each other all the time. “You and me against the world.”

@cjand10 @sebastians-love @sherwoodforesttales @shanksstrawhat @sagexsenorita @abaker74 @vunblr @doodle-with-rhyrhy

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #chapter 4 #father!bucky barnes #mother!reader #married couple #bucky x reader

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tteotlma · 1 day ago

Text

Sugar and Skin

4. Fractured Focus || Previous - Next

A late-night encounter lingers in the quiet hum of the shop, a step too close and a touch nearly made, leaving behind something unspoken—something that refuses to fade.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (4.6kwc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of smoking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions a/n: pls forgive me if some of the phrases are repetitive... i dont know how else to word and reword the same motions sometimes ((babes im so sorry for the wait.. it's been crazy... I started training at my new job.. i quit that job.. I saw hugh jackman in new york city, fell behind in school work so i had to catch up and then i got a new internet crush... so it's been CRAZY anyway..)) enjoy!!

The shop was unusually quiet for an early afternoon, the faint hum of the fridge muffled through the walls of the back room. Bucky sat in his station chair, feet propped on the black recliner stretched across from him as he leaned back, a sketchbook balanced on his lap. The pen in his hand moved slowly, purposefully, trailing delicate lines across the page.

He wasn’t even sure what had drawn him to this particular image. At first, it had been a simple twig, then small berries began to take shape, clustered tightly together. His usual sketches were bold and heavy—intimidating designs for ink that would sit on someone’s skin forever. But this? This was… different.

The soft red ink shaded each berry into a round plump form, almost glistening on the page. Leaves sprouted from the stems, broad and delicate, with the faintest etchings of veins running through them. Thorns lined the thin branches, sharp and deliberate, giving the otherwise soft drawing a quiet angst.

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly as he added detail to the sketch, his focus sharp yet relaxed. The raspberries, though he never called them that in his mind, seemed to grow beneath his hand, as if they were waiting to spill from the page. His hand lingered over the image, caught up in the small folds of a leaf and the way the weight of the fruit bent the stem.

“You know,” Steve’s voice broke through the stillness, startling Bucky just enough for his boot to slip from the bench. He straightened, quickly closing the sketchbook with one hand as his sharp blue eyes flicked up toward his friend.

Steve stood at the counter, arms crossed, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “I’ve been reading up on insubordination,” he began, feigning seriousness as he leaned casually against the counter. “And technically, I’m your boss, which means when I send you to get my stuff and the stuff is given to you, I expect you to bring everything to me.”

Bucky sat up straighter, his boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. “I do,” he said defensively, his tone clipped. “I did.”

Steve’s grin broke free, his feigned seriousness dissolving. “Relax, Buck. I’m kidding.” He waved a hand, stepping away from the counter. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet and you’re already giving yourself away.”

Bucky gave him a sharp look, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied with a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook still tucked under Bucky’s hand. “What’ve you been working on?”

“Nothing important,” Bucky said quickly, but Steve ignored him, leaning over to tug the book free.

Steve flipped it open before Bucky could protest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the page. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Bucky repeated, annoyed.

Steve tilted the book toward him, tapping the edge of the page. “This isn’t your usual style.”

“No shit,” Bucky muttered, grabbing the sketchbook back and closing it with a snap.

“Relax,” Steve said again, his grin softening. “It’s good. Just… different. Almost delicate.” He raised a brow, but didn’t press further, stepping back toward the counter. “Anyway, don’t forget to grab my coffee tomorrow, thanks.”

Bucky scoffed, watching as Steve disappeared into the back room. When the shop fell silent again, he glanced down at his sketchbook, the edges of the raspberries still vivid in his mind. With a quiet sigh, he leaned back in the chair and flipped the book open again, his pen hovering over the page.

The raspberries stared back at him, vibrant against the soft cream of the paper. Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the page once, twice, before letting it trail back to the delicate stem, adding another small thorn.

—-

The shop had emptied out hours ago, leaving only the quiet hum of the fridge and the soft scratching of Bucky’s pen against paper. The raspberries on yet another page had taken form in a way that felt almost absentminded, the delicate shading of each berry and the sharp, spiked edges of the leaves coming together without much thought.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the clock. It was late. Too late to still be here, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He exhaled sharply through his nose, flipping the sketchbook shut with one hand before running the other through his hair.

He needed air, maybe a cigarette, probably both.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on as he made his way toward the door. The air outside was crisp, the streets quiet save for the distant hum of a passing car.

And then—

The soft scuff of a shoe against pavement made him glance up.

She was standing a few steps away, caught mid-stride under the dim glow of the street lamp.

Bucky froze.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The light above buzzed faintly, bathing her in warm hues against the dark backdrop of the street. She clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter, her fingers flexing against the worn leather as if she hadn’t quite expected to run into him either.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the smoke from his lips curling faintly in the cool night air.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.” She said, voice quiet.

“Neither did I.” He finally said, voice low and rough from hours of silence.

A pause.

The silence stretched, thick and unyielding. It wasn’t the comfortable kind, but neither of them seemed to want to break it too soon.

Bucky shifted his weight slightly, exhaling another slow stream of smoke. His fingers twitched against the worn leather of his jacket, debating what to do with his hands. He could feel the way she was watching him—cautious, curious, like she was trying to decipher him.

His voice came quieter this time, more curious than anything. “Didn’t think this was your usual route.”

She took a slow step forward, fingers flexing against the strap of her bag. “Oh, I just wanted to run through some stuff with Steven if he was still here.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward the darkened tattoo shop behind him, then back to her. “You just missed him.”

A beat of silence passed, thick with something unspoken. She nodded, lips pressing together like she was weighing whether to say something else. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t press, instead he just watched, his empty hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket as the air between them stretched.

The distant sound of a car rumbled through the street, headlights sweeping past them for only a second before disappearing around the bend. The glow of the streetlamp flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows across the pavement.

Bucky’s gaze flickered down, catching the way she rubbed her fingers against the worn strap of her purse —a nervous habit, maybe. His own fingers curled inside his pockets.

The stillness felt heavier than it should’ve, settling in his chest like a weight. He exhaled through his nose, then brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. The tip flared in the dark, smoke curling around his face as he held the breath for a moment before releasing it into the night air.

“You smoke a lot?” Her voice cut through the quiet, soft but pointed.

Bucky flicked his eyes down to the ember at the tip, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, considering. Smoke curled lazily in the space between them. “Depends on the day.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, like she was turning the answer over in her mind, weighing it.

Bucky brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another long drag, letting the burn settle deep before exhaling slowly. The air between them clouded with it, thinning as it drifted up toward the streetlamp’s glow.

“One of those days, then?”

His fingers twitched.

Bucky looked at her—really looked at her—his gaze tracing the way the dim light softened her features. She wasn’t looking at him, not fully, just watching the ember flicker, waiting for an answer.

He inhaled again, slow, the nicotine further grounding him.

Then, he let out a short chuckle almost a scoff, low and almost to himself. “You could say that.”

She shifted on her feet, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag. The words seemed to catch in her throat before she finally managed, “Actually, do you think maybe I could just… leave something inside for Steven?”

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t move. “Yeah?”

She nodded quickly, a little too quickly, and gestured to the folder tucked in her bag. “It’s just—uh—it’s nothing urgent but—. Just some things I drafted for him for that thing you guys are doing.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to the folder, then back to her face. She wasn’t looking at him—not directly. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she messed with the folder in her bag, like she was feeling the weight of the silence just as much as he was.

He exhaled through his nose, slowly, then shifted his stance. “Yeah, alright,” he murmured, reaching beside him to pull the door open. “Come on.”

Bucky watched as she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping toward him, her movements quick but deliberate.

She slowed just as she neared him, close enough that he could see the way her breath caught, the faintest hitch in her chest before she steadied herself. Her eyes dragged up his frame, lingering for just a beat too long before finally meeting his gaze.

As their eyes met, Bucky exhaled slowly, the cigarette perched between his lips, smoke curling between them in the narrow space. His free hand held the door open, fingers curling around the edge as he leaned into it, using the frame as lazy leverage. The glow of the tip cast flickering shadows across his face, the low light making his sharp features even sharper, the silver glint of his nose piercing catching faintly.

She hesitated for another second, her fingers twitching against her elbows as her arms crossed her chest. His gaze dipped slightly, just for a fraction of a breath, before flicking back to hers. He didn’t say anything, just watched her, the slow pull of smoke filling the space between them like something tangible.

Then, with an almost reluctant exhale, he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his features as he dragged his tongue across his lower lip. The motion was slow, almost thoughtless, but she caught it—her eyes flicking to his mouth for just a second too long. His gaze met hers again, amusement glinting beneath the surface.

“You gonna go in,” he murmured, voice low, “or we just gonna stand here?”

Her breath hitched, just barely, before she shifted, stepping past him into the shop.

Bucky didn’t move from the doorway right away. He lingered just long enough to watch her falter in her steps before stepping further into the dim shop. The scent of her—something warm, something faintly sweet—brushed past him, but he didn’t let his gaze linger.

Instead, he sighed slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it into the little tray by the window. His steps were unhurried as he followed her inside.

“You know where his desk is,” he muttered, nodding vaguely toward the back. The soft click of the door seemingly echoed in the vacant shop

“Right. Yep.”She moved without another word, sneakers scuffing lightly against the hardwood as she disappeared past the main workstations.

Bucky stood still for another second, fingers flexing slightly at his sides before he exhaled through his nose and trudged to where he sat earlier. Staring at the discarded papers strewn throughout his area, he sighed again shrugging off his jacket. The leather slid off his arms in one smooth motion, and he tossed it lazily onto the back of his chair.

Then, as if none of this was anything, he sat down.

His eyes flicked to the sketchbook, still open to the crimson crops decorating the pageg. The red ink bled into the page in soft gradients, the delicate shading giving them weight, depth. He hadn’t planned on sketching them again, but somehow every time his mind came up empty, the shape of sweetness had come easy, his hand moving without thought, refining the curve of each berry he drew, the way stems wove together, thorns barely visible but always there.

His fingers hovered over the edge of the paper, the pen tapping idly against the margin. He wasn’t really thinking just tracing lines, smoothing out shadows, letting the motion guide him. The act itself was grounding, something to focus on, something to fill the quiet.

Bucky exhaled slowly, dragging the pen along the edge of a leaf, darkening the veins, sharpening the points where the thorns curled. The thorns had come later, after the berries, after the delicate lines and soft shadows. He didn’t know why, exactly—just that the drawing had always felt unfinished without them.

The shop was quiet. Too quiet.

The soft shuffle of footsteps barely registered until he felt a presence at his back.

"You've been busy."

The words were soft, spoken just behind him. Close.

Bucky stilled.

His fingers flexed against the pen, grip tightening slightly as the voice settled over him—quiet, but not uncertain.

He didn’t turn immediately.

Instead, he let the weight of her presence settle, let the space between them shrink just enough to be fully noticeable.

Then, slowly, he angled his head, catching her in his periphery.

She was standing closer than expected, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her gaze flickering between the scattered sketches on the desk before landing on the one beneath his hand.

Bucky stared at her, waiting.

She nodded toward the page. “Didn’t take you for the delicate type.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not.” He spoke too quick for his liking.

“Mm.” The sound was quiet, skeptical.

But she didn’t step away. Instead, her attention slowly dropped, shifting away from the sketchbook. It was subtle, something no one would notice unless they were really looking at her. Unless they were paying attention.

His gaze tracked the way her eyes flickered downward, no longer fixed on the paper but on him.

Her eyes traced the ink along his forearm, the dark lines and sharp, angular designs shifting over his skin as he involuntarily flexed his fingers. His tattoos were nothing like the sketches that were strewn about the room. They instead were stark, intricate, built from jagged lines and interlocking symbols that looked almost mechanical in their precision. They sprawled up his arms in bold, geometric bands, twisting and branching in patterns that mimicked circuitry, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt like a secret map etched into his skin.

And she was still looking.

Bucky felt the way her focus kept drifting back, like she was trying not to, like she was searching for something else to land on but every time, her eyes traced the same path. His fingers, then his hands, and then arms, the way the veins ran just beneath the surface of his skin.

She swallowed.

“So,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, like she was only speaking to fill the space. “You, uh… sketch a lot?”

Her eyes flicked up briefly to his then to the book beneath his hand, like she was forcing herself to focus on the book in front of him instead of the way his biceps flexed slightly when he shifted in his seat.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, not answering right away, just watching her.

“I mean, I guess that’s obvious,” she continued, fidgeting slightly where she stood, fingers twitching against her arm as she still had them crossed loosely against her chest. “Tattoo artist and all.” She quickly glanced at him. The motion was quick, barely there, but Bucky caught it.

He caught all of it.

His tongue flicked against his lower lip, slow, measured.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, voice still hushed, and rough around the edges.

That should have been the end of it. She should have nodded, maybe said something about how it made sense, how he was good at what he did, then gone back to whatever excuse she had for still standing there.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her fingers flexed against her arm again, her weight shifting like she was debating something before finally nodding toward his sketchbook.

“This one’s…” she started, “not what I expected.”

Bucky’s brow twitched, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rested against his book.

She was still looking.

Still filling the silence.

Bucky dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. Her focus flickered between the sketchbook and his arms, like she was trying to settle on one or the other but couldn’t quite manage to stick the landing.

Instead of calling attention to it, Bucky let the silence stretch, watching the way she fidgeted slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Not nervous—just… preoccupied.

Her eyes flickered to the sketchbook again, as if reminding herself why she was standing there in the first place. “It’s just different from what I thought you’d draw.” Her voice was even, casual, but the way she kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest gave away that she wasn’t as relaxed as she sounded.

Bucky tapped his pen lightly against the edge of the book, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her gaze darting across the page. “I guess I figured it’d be more like…” She hesitated, searching for the right word… before her eyes drifted again not toward the sketch, but to him.

“You know,” her gaze traced the length of his fingers where they rested against the edge of the sketchbook, absentmindedly running his fingers against the edges of the paper.

“Like the kind that…” her eyes then traced higher, following the veins that cut sharply along his forearm, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. The intricate lines of his tattoos stretched over the muscle, shifting subtly with every small movement.

“That…?” Bucky tucked his lower lip between his teeth, trying to hid his enjoyment in whatever was happening in front of him.

Her attention lingered on his bicep a sec, then trailed upward again, sweeping over the broad plane of his chest, the way the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over it, dipping just slightly at the collar to reveal the edge of what seemed like the same tattoo.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes flitting up—finally—to meet his.

Bucky was still watching her.

She immediately cleared her throat, and stood straigh shifting her weight.

“I-I’m sorry it’s been a long day, I think I’m losing my train of thought.”

Bucky didn’t miss the way her arms tightened against her chest, the huff of air she let out blowing a few stray strands of loose hair from her face. He watched, eyes tracking every small movement, as she reached up to push the hair back behind her ear, her fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

Then she took a step back.

His gaze followed her as she leaned against the edge of the metal dresser behind her, shifting slightly until she was fully braced against it.

And then—

His jaw ticked.

He didn’t mean to look.

Didn’t mean to notice the way the hem of her jeans hugged the soft curve of her thighs, how the fabric subtly creased and pulled as she shifted her weight back against the dresser. It was brief—just a flicker of movement—but Bucky felt something twist in his chest.

His grip on the pen tightened, fingers flexing against the smooth barrel, accidentally leaving a violent mark across the page.

His brain felt like it stalled for half a second, before jolting back into motion, forcing him to drag his eyes away.

He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders like it would shake off whatever strange pull had settled over him. The shop was too quiet, the air thick with something unspoken, and Bucky suddenly hated how aware he was of everything—the faint scent of sugar and vanilla clinging to her skin, the soft hum of her breathing, the way she had caught her bottom lip between her teeth for half a second before releasing it.

He needed to say something. Needed to break whatever this was.

“You figured what?” he asked, his voice coming out lower than he intended.

Her brows lifted slightly, like she had forgotten what they were talking about. “Huh?”

Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the sketchbook. “You said you figured I’d draw something different.”

“Oh. Right.” She let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking back to the page—though her posture was a little stiffer now, like she had caught onto the shift in atmosphere. “I just meant… I guess I thought your style would be more bold. Darker, maybe.”

Bucky hummed, his grip relaxing just slightly on the pen. “Most of the time, it is.”

She tilted her head, considering that. “So what made you change?”

He hesitated, the pen stilling against the paper.

For a second, he thought about lying—thought about brushing it off as nothing, as a mindless sketch, as something without weight.

But the raspberries stared back at him, delicate and vivid, surrounded by the sharp twist of thorns.

“Dunno,” he murmured finally, voice quiet, unreadable. “Just happened.”

She hesitated just a moment longer, adjusting the strap of her bag again, fingers gripping it as if she needed something to ground herself. “Artists,” she finally said, the word a soft exhale, laced with something almost amused, almost fond.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her hands, to the way she flexed her fingers against the strap, before dragging his eyes back to her face. He didn’t say anything, just watched as she shifted, as she took the first slow step toward the door.

“It’s getting late. I should go.”

Something about the way she said it made something in Bucky’s chest press tight—like it was the natural conclusion, the only logical ending to whatever this had been.

Still, before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, he was standing.

She noticed immediately.

He moved without hesitation—quicker, smoother—and as he straightened to his full height, the shift in his posture made her steps falter just slightly. Her head tilted up, her brows twitching in the faintest flicker of surprise.

His fingers flexed briefly, then curled into his palm.

"Um…" He cleared his throat, fidgeting just slightly. "Sh—should I take you home?"

Her breath caught, just a fraction. Her fingers twitched against the zipper of her sweater.

Bucky felt the words sit heavy in the air between them, waiting.

She blinked at him, like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly.

He forced himself to hold her gaze, suddenly wondering what had even prompted him to ask. The words had left his mouth before he’d fully thought them through, hanging between them, heavy and uncertain.

“I got my bike out back,” he added, quieter, as if that somehow explained everything.

She stared at him for half a second longer, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, Bucky thought she might actually say yes.

But then her lips parted, and a dry, almost amused lilt colored her voice.

“Your bike?”

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, nodding once. “Yeah.”

Her fingers flexed again, then curled into her palm. “And you think I’m just gonna get on the back of it?”

His brow twitched, but he stayed still. “Why not?”

She held his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes before she let out a slow breath. “That’s not a good idea.”

Bucky’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. “Why not?”

Her lips parted like she had an answer, but whatever it was never made it past her tongue. Instead, she just exhaled again, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. “It just isn’t.”

His jaw shifted, considering her for a moment, before he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod. “Alright.”

Something in her posture eased, but only just.

Still, neither of them moved.

“Really,” he opened the door for her, stepping halfway through, his frame filling the doorway. “It’s not an issue.”

“No, really–”

She moved, and suddenly, they were in the doorway, the narrow space between them forcing them chest to chest. Closer than either of them had prepared for. The narrow space between them barely existed, her breath catching as she realized just how little room there was to step past him.

“Oh, Um..” Her voice coming out rushed. “Sorry i didn’t mean… I wasn’t—” and then as if second nature, her hand lifted. Maybe to steady herself, maybe for something else. But the moment her fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt, just barely, she froze.

Bucky did too.

“Paying attention…” She drawled out, staring at the stretched fabric over his chest. The touch of her hand was fleeting, but it sent something sharp through the space between them, something tense, something neither of them knew how to speak on.

She pulled her hand away quickly, like she’d been burned, like she hadn’t meant to do it at all.

“U-um—thank you,” she murmured, quieter this time, a little breathless, a little uncertain as she cradled the hand that touched him to her chest. Like she had been hurt. She stepped fully through the doorway.

Bucky’s eyes flickered down, watching the way her fingers curled slightly against her palm. Something about it made his chest tighten, made his jaw flex, but he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

Not until she did.

“Maybe next time," she murmured, "Goodnight, Bucky.” She smiled at him softly before turning in the opposite direction, and heading back towards her store.

Maybe next time.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, his pulse thrumming in a slow, steady beat against his ribs. He didn’t know why he was still standing there, watching her walk away, or why the sound of his name on her lips sent something sharp and unfamiliar through him.

His throat worked around the weight of whatever the hell this was.

He could have said goodnight. Could have given her a nod, a grunt—something easy, something that wouldn’t feel like stepping into whatever was settling between them, thick and unspoken. Instead, he just watched as she disappeared over the bend of the sidewalk.

The door groaned softly as it swung back into place, the brass bell giving one last muted chime.

Bucky stood there for a moment longer than he should have.

Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for the lock, twisting it into place before dragging a hand threw his hair and around his jaw.

His other hand tugged at the fabric of his shirt, the ghost of something warm against his chest making the material feel too tight all of a sudden. Like it had shrunk in the last thirty seconds.

Bucky rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms stretching them down his sides, but it didn’t shake the feeling.

With a quiet sigh, he turned back toward his station, eyes drifting over the scattered pages, the open sketchbook. The raspberries stared back at him, vivid and red, surrounded by sharp, curling thorns.

Bucky dragged his tongue over his molars, then reached for his pen, twirling it once between his fingers before setting it down.

He should go home.

He would.

Eventually.

But for now, he sat back down, flipping to a fresh page.

And, without thinking, he started to draw.

—

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience w/ this chapter huhuhu~ please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

Literally your comments are hilarious

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