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heavenlybodies333 · 21 days ago

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Dr. Reid, You’re Jealous -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

“I’m sorry—who is going undercover with me?”

Spencer looks up from his files just in time to watch your brows knit in disbelief. You’re leaning against the briefing table, half-draped in your blazer like you might throw it off at any moment and dramatically quit.

Hotch doesn’t flinch. “You and Reid. You’re the most natural fit for the couple cover. He knows the tech better than any of us, and you’ve got experience with high-profile corporate clients.”

You blink. “And the pretending to be in love with my coworker part?”

Morgan chokes on his coffee. Spencer’s ears turn a little red. “I—I’m capable of performing relational mimicry.”

You swivel your head toward him, eyes narrowed. “That was romantic,” you deadpan.

“Okay, fun,” you continue, pacing now. “So the plan is: I wear a dress, flirt with the possibly sociopathic billionaire with a missing-women problem, and Reid plays my adoring arm candy?”

“Sounds accurate,” Rossi says without looking up from his notes.

“I don’t even like Reid.”

“I’m right here,” Spencer mutters, flipping a page.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you have any experience pretending to be someone’s boyfriend?”

His brow furrows. “Statistically, if you factor in false identities during undercover operations and the barista at Quantico who referred to me as her ‘sweetheart’—”

“Oh my god.”

“You’ll both be fine,” Hotch cuts in. “We’ve got a target window of 72 hours. He attends the conference mixer tonight. That’s your first contact point. Reid, brush up on his published work in neural tech;” he turns to you, “I’ll have Garcia send you the guest list and wardrobe expectations.”

“I want hazard pay for having to fake-laugh at Reid’s jokes,” you mutter.

“Don’t worry,” Morgan grins. “We’ll be recording everything.”

You spend most of the jet ride bickering.

"Try to look less like a federal agent," you say, watching him scribble in the margin of the file.

"I am a federal agent."

"Yes, but we’re undercover. So maybe don’t say things like ‘spatial-temporal geographic profiling’ at a cocktail party.”

"Fine. Then maybe don’t wear heels that make you look like you’re hunting for a husband.”

You blink.

Morgan coughs loudly. “Shiiiit.” Your eyes narrow. Spencer won’t meet your gaze. Not until you kick him in the ankle under the table. “Say that again?”

He glances up. “Nothing.”

The suspect—Jonathan Keene, tech CEO, 42, recently divorced, charm level: unsettling—is playing host at an industry gala tomorrow night. You’ll be there, arm in arm with Spencer, to feel him out.

Literally, if you have to.

You’re in the elevator of the Ritz-Carlton when it hits you that this is your actual job. Spencer stands beside you, suitcase in one hand, Bureau briefcase in the other, looking like a nervous grad student trying to cosplay James Bond. He’s in a suit that fits way too well, hair slightly messy, tie loosened to project "casual tech genius" energy. You hate how good he looks. You hate him a little, honestly.

He glances sideways. “I know you think this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, no,” you hum. “I think it’s a terrible idea.”

“I can pull it off.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Can you?”

He bristles. “Is there some reason you find this particularly impossible?”

“Just that you blush when the barista accidentally touches your hand.”

“I don’t blush.”

“You’re blushing right now.”

“That’s a circulatory response to temperature.”

You smirk. “Right. Not attraction.”

You check in under fake names. You share a suite. Two rooms. One bed. Of course.

Garcia’s voice chirps over the coms in your ear as you step inside: “Try not to hate-fuck each other before the suspect dinner tomorrow night, please.”

“Garcia,” Hotch warns.

“I didn’t say don’t! I said try!”

Spencer looks like he’s going to throw himself off the balcony. You step into the suite and immediately know you're screwed. The whole room is ridiculous—sleek marble floors, fresh orchids, mirrored bar stocked with real crystal decanters. But it’s the bed that holds your attention: one king.

"Well," you mutter, dropping your bag, "this is subtle."

Spencer hovers awkwardly by the minibar. “I’m sure it was just a booking error.”

You cock a brow. “Garcia doesn’t make booking errors.”

You grab the bigger suitcase—the one with your cocktail dress—and brush past him toward the bathroom.

"I’m taking the first shower. Don’t fall in love while I’m gone."

“I—what?” The door shuts on his confusion.

Two Hours Later

You’re pressed against Spencer Reid’s arm at a high-profile tech mixer, your back aching from the arch of your heels and your smile straining from the force of your faked flirtation.

Jonathan Keene hasn’t looked away from you in fifteen minutes. He’s laughing, sipping bourbon, saying things like “Tell me more about your platform interface design” while obviously staring at your chest.

Keene’s laugh is just a little too loud.

You can feel the weight of his eyes dragging over your neckline for the fourth time in as many minutes, and if you didn’t have a job to do—and if you weren’t currently pretending to be madly in love with the most awkward genius on Earth—you’d knee the guy in the balls and call it a night.

Instead, you smile like you’re charmed. “Oh, that’s fascinating,” you purr, fingers curling lightly around Spencer’s arm. You feel him tense, his jaw twitching.

Keene tilts his head. “And what about you, Dr. Reid? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Spencer’s smile is tight. Controlled. He doesn’t like being called out—especially not by someone with a Rolex and a neck tan.

“I find it more productive to observe.” His voice is crisp. “Listening tells you more than talking does.”

Keene raises an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you’re not the jealous type. Your girlfriend has quite a way with people.”

Spencer’s arm shifts under your hand. He laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “She’s persuasive,” he says coolly. “It’s part of her charm. I’m used to it.”

Your stomach twists. It’s almost real, the way he says it. Like it’s not part of the act. You glance at him sideways, watching the tension in his jaw. You know that look. Reid’s annoyed. Jealous, even.

Which is perfect.

You lean in close and whisper against the shell of his ear, loud enough that only he hears: “Careful, Doctor. You’re starting to sound like you mean it.”

Keene excuses himself—something about drinks and board members—and finally walks away.

You exhale like you’ve just escaped a car crash, letting your smile drop the second his back turns. Spencer doesn't move. He’s still tense beside you, his body hot and tight where your arm threads through his.

You glance up. “Relax.”

He doesn't look at you. “I'm relaxed.”

“Sure,” you mutter, sipping your champagne. “You’re vibrating with serenity.”

“I’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

“Fishing?” You smile slowly. “Oh no, Doctor. I was casting with precision.”

He exhales hard through his nose, finally turning his head. “You enjoyed that. Flirting with him. Letting him look at you like—”

You cut him off with a smirk. “Like what? Like he wants to fuck me? Yeah, that’s kind of the point.”

Later that night

You stumble back to the suite just after midnight, the heels in your hand and your patience long gone. The mixer was exhausting, Keene was touchy, and Reid was moody the entire damn time. It would’ve been easier if you hated him. If you didn’t like the way his hands felt on your waist when you laughed too loudly, or the way his fingers twitched every time Keene got too close.

“Do you think I was too much?” you ask as you unlock the hotel room you and Reid are “sharing.” You toss your heels by the door and flop onto the couch, sighing dramatically. “My back hurts. Carrying this case, this team, this whole fake relationship.” He doesn’t answer.

Which is a very Spencer Reid way of saying I’m angry.

You look over your shoulder. He’s standing rigid by the door, you raise your eyebrows raised. “Something wrong, Reid?”

His tie is off. Fingers working his collar loose. Jaw tight. “No.”

You toss your bag on the bed. “Spence?”

He finally blinks. “It was unprofessional.”

You blink, mock-offended. “I was charming. Convincing. He practically invited me on his yacht.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Spencer mutters, pulling off his blazer. “It was unnecessary. The plan was to observe him. Not seduce him.”

You smile, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Dr. Reid…” You let it hang in the air. Teasing. He glances over, exasperated. “…are you jealous?”

His jaw twitches. “No,” he lies. “I’m focused.”

You grin. “You’re sulking.”

“I’m analyzing.” He starts to pace. “He exhibited classic narcissistic behaviors, and you fed into his ego.”

You fake gasp. “So I was playing my part?”

He narrows his eyes. “You were enjoying it.”

"That’s rich coming from you. I had to watch you let some AI investor in a backless dress show you her Bitcoin portfolio for ten straight minutes.”

He takes another step closer. “That was necessary.”

“Oh? Were her boobs full of evidence?” That stops him.

He narrows his eyes. "Why do you always do this?"

“Do what?” you ask, innocent as sin. You don’t let him finish, stepping in even closer. "You know what would really sell this fake relationship, Dr. Reid?"

He finally looks at you. "What?"

You smile. "Act like you actually want to fuck me."

His hand pauses halfway to his undone tie, fingers curling loosely in the silk.

“Excuse me?” His voice is quiet.

You step closer, toeing the line of his personal space like you’re daring him to push you back. “You heard me.”

His gaze flickers—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again—“This isn’t funny,” he says tightly.

You tip your head to the side, smiling slow and sweet. “Did I say I was joking?”

“Keene thinks you’re my boyfriend,” you murmur, taking another step closer. You’re close enough now to see the faint flush creeping up the column of his neck. “If we’re going to sell this, you’re going to have to act like one.”

“Act like I—” he starts, then cuts himself off with a sharp inhale.

You smirk, stepping closer until there’s barely a breath between you. “You heard me, Doctor. Unless you want Keene to sniff out the act tomorrow, maybe you should practice.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. “Practice?” he repeats softly, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it.

“Mm.” You tilt your head, letting your eyes drag lazily down his chest, to the place where his shirt collar gapes slightly open. “You’re stiff as a corpse around me. If we’re supposed to be a couple, you need to convince me you want me. Convince everyone else too.”

“You’re—” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re enjoying this.”

You let out a laugh, “I enjoy seeing you squirm, Reid. But mostly, I enjoy not getting killed on assignment because my partner can’t even fake attraction.”

That does it. His jaw tightens, and his hands curl into fists at his sides. “Fine,” he murmurs.

Before you can respond, Spencer’s hand snakes out, gripping your wrist and tugging you flush against him. “Let’s practice then,” he says, low and deliberate. “So you can stop doubting I can do my job.”

It’s uncharacteristic—he’s never been this bold. You force a laugh to cover the way your pulse leaps. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

“Adaptability is a survival trait,” he murmurs, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes.

“Mm. And this is just… acting?” you ask, almost daring him.

“Acting,” he echoes, voice husky.

You could pull away now. You should pull away. But instead, you tip your chin up, lips brushing his. “Show me, genius.”

He kisses you, it’s not awkward or hesitant like you expected. It’s deep, uncalculated—like he’s been thinking about this for far too long. His fingers flex against your spine, tugging you closer, and you let out an embarrassing little noise against his mouth.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathing hard. You blink up at him, dazed, still tasting the mint on his tongue, still feeling the phantom press of his hands on your hips. Spencer doesn’t move, his chest rising and falling fast. For once, his face gives nothing away—not a single nervous tic, no awkward deflection.

“Well?” he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking between yours.

Your heart skips a beat. “Well,” you repeat, forcing levity into your tone even as your knees threaten to buckle, “I’ve had worse first kisses.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re… manipulative,” you shoot back, stepping out of his hold with a smirk that feels brittle at the edges. “Kissing like that? People might think you actually want me.”

His lips twitch, almost a smile. “Maybe that’s the point.”

You freeze, but before you can respond, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He turns away sharply, shoulders stiff, and snatches it up.

“Reid,” he says, all clipped professionalism now.

You sink onto the bed, still trying to calm your racing pulse.

The next morning, You wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Spencer typing furiously on his laptop. He’s already dressed—suit jacket off, tie perfectly knotted. You’re still wrapped in a hotel robe, hair a mess from tossing and turning all night.

“Morning,” you mumble, padding toward the minibar.

“Morning,” he echoes, not looking up.

You raise an eyebrow at his focused expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve been up all night.”

“Of course not,” he says too quickly.

“You’re lying.”

He finally glances at you over the top of his screen. “I was… preparing. Keene has an extensive network. His company just announced a partnership with a private security firm—one that’s been implicated in trafficking cases before.”

“Which means he’s more dangerous than we thought,” you finish for him.

“Exactly.”

You sip your coffee, studying him over the rim of the cup. He’s back to being Dr. Reid now—precise, calculated, a fortress of logic. But you remember how his hands felt on your skin last night. You remember the look in his eyes right before he kissed you.

“So about last night,” you start.

“It was professional,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “Necessary for the cover.”

You raise a brow. “Sure. Totally professional to kiss me like I was the last glass of water in a desert.”

His ears flush red. “I didn’t—”

“Relax, genius.” You smirk. “I’m not about to catch feelings or anything. Just… don’t make it weird tonight when we’re back in character.”

He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t make things weird.”

“Spencer, existing is weird for you.”

That earns you a sharp look, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching.

The yacht’s upper deck is shimmering with golden lights, violins humming in the background as champagne flutes clink. Spencer offers you his arm as you approach the gangway.

“Ready?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You glance up at him, catching a flicker of something intense in his gaze. “Are you?”

“Always,” he says, but there’s the slightest tremor in his voice.

As you step onto the deck, Keene’s eyes light up.

“Ah, my favorite couple!” he says loudly, striding over.

Spencer’s hand tightens on your waist instinctively, and you lean into him with a sweet, practiced smile. “I was just telling Dr. Reid,” you say airily, “that you’re the most gracious host.”

Keene smirks, gaze flicking between the two of you. “Oh? And what was his response?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you in, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to your temple. “That you’d better keep your hands to yourself,” he says coolly, and Keene laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“I mean you’re a vision,” Keene purrs, eyes sweeping over your dress like he’s cataloging every inch. “How do you manage to stand out in a room full of models and billionaires?”

“Practice,” you say sweetly, keeping your voice light even as you feel Spencer go rigid beside you.

Keene chuckles and turns his attention to him. “Dr. Reid. You’re lucky to have her.”

Spencer’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m aware.”

Keene’s hand slides from your back to your arm, his fingers brushing your bare skin under the pretense of guiding you toward the bar. “Why don’t you let me steal her for just a minute? I’ve got a vintage scotch I think she’ll love.”

Before Spencer can respond, you slip your arm from his grip with practiced ease and let Keene lead you away. You can feel the weight of Reid’s stare burning into your back.

At the bar, Keene orders two drinks, his hand grazing yours again as he passes you a crystal glass. “So tell me,” he says, his voice low, “what does a brilliant, beautiful woman like you see in someone like Reid? He seems… tightly wound.”

You laugh, the sound a little too sharp. “Maybe I like that. Besides, he’s smarter than anyone in this room.”

Keene’s smirk is predatory. “Smart doesn’t always mean satisfying.”

You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. Across the deck, Spencer’s fingers are white-knuckling the stem of his wine glass. You can see him tracking every movement Keene makes, every time his hand brushes too close to your hip or shoulder.

When Keene insists on giving you a tour of the yacht, Spencer takes one step forward before stopping himself, his lips pressed into a thin line.

You let Keene guide you down a gleaming corridor lined with polished wood and gold fixtures, his voice a low murmur as he points out rooms and artwork you couldn’t care less about. You make sure to lean back against a doorframe at one point, laughing a little too loudly, knowing full well Spencer can see you through the open archway across the deck.

When you return to the main lounge, Spencer’s nowhere in sight.

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, setting down your glass with a saccharine smile. “Powder room.”

Keene’s eyes rake over you one last time. “Don’t be long.”

You slip away, catching sight of Spencer’s familiar figure vanishing down a side corridor. He’s walking fast, his shoulders tight, hands clenched at his sides.

You follow. “Reid!” you hiss, picking up your pace.

He doesn’t stop.

“Spencer.”

You catch up with Spencer halfway down the corridor, your heels clicking against the polished teak floors as you grab his elbow.

“Reid, what the hell?” you hiss.

He jerks his arm out of your grasp—You step in front of him, blocking his path. “Oh, no. You don’t get to storm off like the scorned lover you’re pretending to be.”

“I’m not storming off,” he says tightly. His eyes flick up and down the hallway before settling on you, dark and glinting in the low light. “I’m giving myself thirty seconds to not put Keene in a chokehold in the middle of his own goddamn yacht.”

Your lips twitch. “Oh? I thought you didn’t get jealous.”

His jaw flexes, the muscle feathering under his pale skin. “This isn’t jealousy.”

You fold your arms, leaning against the corridor wall like you have all the time in the world. “Sure. And I only wore this dress because it’s comfortable.”

Spencer’s eyes flicker to the dress in question. He swallows hard, as if realizing too late that looking was a mistake. “This is about the case,” he insists, his voice low and tight.

“Mm.” You glance toward the party down the hall. “So when Keene’s hand was on my lower back for—” you check your nonexistent watch, “five entire minutes, that was fine?”

His jaw clenches. “It’s not fine. But I can’t jeopardize the operation because my partner doesn’t understand how dangerous he is.”

“Mhm. Sure.” Your lips curve in a slow, dangerous smile.

“Do you enjoy it?” His voice is quiet now. He’s staring down at you, his posture rigid but his expression anything but calm. “Letting him touch you like that? Letting his hands on you?”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sharp edge in his voice. And then—because you can’t help yourself—you grin. “What, like this?” Before he can stop you, you press your palm lightly to his chest, trailing it slowly down over his tie until your fingers ghost over his belt. He tenses, jaw tightening.

“Keene does like to touch,” you murmur. “Maybe I should let him pull me into one of those little side rooms and see how far he’s willing to take it.”

Spencer grabs your wrist before you can move further, his fingers curling tight enough to make you gasp—not from pain, but from how sudden it is.

“You didn’t have to let him touch you.”

You arch a brow, your voice dripping with saccharine venom. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer I didn’t do my job?”

His nostrils flare. “Your job isn’t to get pawed at by a man who—” He cuts himself off, jaw locking tight.

“Go on,” you murmur, taking a measured step forward until your shoulder almost brushes his chest. “Say it, Reid. Let’s hear what you’re really thinking.”

He exhales slowly through his nose, the sound shaky. “I think,” he says carefully, voice low and tight like it’s been locked behind his teeth for days, “if you let him put his hands on you again, I might kill him.”

“That wouldn’t be very professional,” you say, almost breathless.

His mouth twitches. “Neither is kissing you in a federal briefing room. Or watching your dress ride up every time you sit down. Or pretending not to care when every man in that room wants to fuck you.”

One hand braces against the wall by your head. The other curves around your waist—possessive as fuck. You gasp as his thigh presses between yours, anchoring you against the wall, and he takes the sound like a reward, leaning his head down to meet yours, his soft lips meeting yours.

His mouth trails down your neck, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before he sucks—hard enough to mark, and God, you want him to. You want everyone at this goddamn party to see the evidence of his need. Of yours.

You drag his tie loose and unbutton his collar, desperate to feel skin under your fingers. “We should be careful,” you mutter against his mouth, though your hands say otherwise—already sliding beneath his dress shirt, across the firm plane of his chest.

He huffs a laugh, hoarse. “You just offered to let a suspect drag you into a closet.”

You grin. “Only because I wanted you to do it first.”

His fingers reach behind you, tugging the zipper of your dress down fast, efficient—of course he’s fast at undressing, everything with Spencer is faster than it should be.

Your dress drops to the floor with a hush of silk.

He stills. You’re standing in nothing but sheer black lace—garters, stockings, and a barely-there bra.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. His hands find your waist, “Still pretending this is about the cover?” you taunt, voice shaking now. He lifts you—your back hits the marble counter of the sink with a sharp gasp.

He drags your panties down and shoves them in his pocket like he wants a souvenir. His hand slides up your thigh, "Already wet?" he breathes. "That didn’t take much."

You whimper. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," he mutters.

You glare. “You’re such an ass.”

“I’m the one with my fingers inside you,” he says mildly, lips brushing your ear. “Might want to watch your tone.”

You tighten around him, deliberately. His breath catches. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you murmur.

“Oh,” he says softly. “I’m finishing it.”

His fingers curl, finding the spot that makes your hips jerk. You muffle the moan against his shoulder, nails digging into the meat of his bicep.

“Say it,” he whispers, fucking you slowly, rhythm building. “Say you want this.”

“I want this,” you choke out. “Fuck, Spencer, I—”

He’s stripping you before you can form another insult. Pulls his belt off with one hand. Unbuttons his shirt with the other.

His mouth is still on yours when he lifts you again—this time with less restraint. You’re half-naked and gasping as he spins you toward the counter, bending you forward over the smooth marble. The coolness of it shocks your bare thighs and jolts a whimper out of your throat.

Behind you, Spencer makes a low sound—nearly a growl. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, kicking your legs open with his knee. “Shouldn’t tease me if you can’t handle what comes next.”

“Try me,” you hiss, breath fogging the mirror. “Prove it.”

He pushes in with a low groan, one hand bracing at your hip, the other sliding up your spine, flattening you to the counter. You moan—loudly—and he groans again at the sound, like he’s trying not to lose it too fast. He starts to thrust—deep, slow strokes that make your thighs tremble, the angle hitting something inside you that feels almost criminal.

“You like being watched?” he growls in your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure to make your pulse spike. “You like him looking at you like that, thinking he has a chance?”

You moan, nails raking down his chest. “I like that it pissed you off.” You try to shoot back another retort, but he pulls out almost entirely and slams back in before you can speak. The breath stutters from your lungs as your fingers claw at the edge of the counter.

He wraps your hair around his fist, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat. His teeth scrape your shoulder. His hips piston into you, hard and deep, hitting that perfect spot with cruel accuracy. You’re unraveling already, legs trembling, vision blurring.

He groans, thrusts erratic now, chasing release like he’s chasing air. You shatter again around him, and he follows you over the edge with a gasp and a quiet, broken moan of your name.

Silence crashes over you both, thick and stunned. His forehead drops to your shoulder. You're still trembling. Eventually, he eases out, helps adjust your dress, fingers gentle now. His voice is quiet. “We’re still undercover,” he says, trying to be clinical. Trying to compartmentalize.

He straightens your dress for you, palms lingering a second too long on your hips. He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“We’re still undercover,” he repeats, voice lower this time, like maybe if he says it softer, it won’t feel like such a lie.

You laugh once, breathless. “Yeah. Sure. Just practicing, right?”

Spencer finally looks at you—really looks at you—and you know he sees it. The way your pupils are still blown wide. The bite mark he left blooming just above your collarbone. Your lipstick smudged from the heat of his mouth.

“Right,” he says. But his throat bobs.

You tug your panties out of his pocket with a glare, slipping them back on slowly just to be a menace. “So that’s how you practice?” you murmur. “If that’s what you’re like when you don’t mean it…”

He steps back, like putting space between you will somehow help his brain reboot. “This doesn’t leave the assignment,” he says. “It can’t.”

Your chest tightens. “So what, we just go back to pretending?”

His jaw ticks. “It’s what we’re here to do.”

You turn toward the mirror and fix your hair, swipe your thumb under your lip to erase the smudge. You’re still flushed. “You’re a good liar, Dr. Reid but not that good”

He flinches like you slapped him, but you don’t give him time to respond. You open the bathroom door and step out into the golden noise of the yacht’s main deck, head high, voice sweet.

“Sorry about that,” you purr to Keene, who’s still near the bar, holding two drinks.

Spencer trails behind you, silent and burning, hand resting carefully—almost possessively—on the small of your back.

“Everything alright?” Keene asks, eyes narrowing between the two of you.

You smile. “Just needed a reminder of who I’m going home with tonight.”

a/n: slut me out

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kitimeq · 8 months ago

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-ˋˏ ༻❁ surprise encounter 🤍 sylus 秦 ❀༺ ˎˊ-

❀˖°pairing: sylus x reader

❀˖°summary: You’ve been playing love&deepspace ever since the game came out and it became your comfort place now. You like all of the boys, but you have the highest affinity with sylus, who had your heart in a grasp ever since the beginning. Who would’ve thought that he shares the sentiment? And after your monthly absence from the game, he decides to pay you a little visit and finally confess to all of it (and maybe kind of try to kidnap you in the process too oho).

❀˖° tropes: fluff, angst to fluff, fluff to angst to fluff? fluff to angst to fluff to angst to fluff???? idk angst with happy ending!

❀˖°word count: no idea, it goes on for days sorry. (7k!!)

❀˖°warning!: i apologize for any mistakes, i am not a native speaker of english!! if you see any errors you can write me a dm and i will correct them for sure ♡ and i think it gets better later! i can’t write for shi, especially the beginnings, and the second part was fueled by my delulu so it is probably much more fun to read 🤍

•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙

You liked days like these: quiet days, lazy ones, when you didn’t have any errands to run, meetings to attend, or people to please. You could just stay inside for the whole day, reading your favorite books and playing cozy games, spending your time however you wanted. Today was Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work until Monday and you decided that you finally deserved to have some rest after the last couple of weeks of almost working yourself to the bone due to the amount of the assingments you had to complete at work. You often had to stay after hours or work from home to complete everything in time. Your work was not usually that challenging, but there were certain times of the year when everyone at your job had their hands full and when it happened, you were almost completely cut off not only from your social, but also personal life. However, you never complained, because you actually liked what you were doing, and even if the occasional hard times were inevitable, your work brought you so much fun and satisfaction.

And today was a good day! You finally finished everything you had to do, so you could go back to your favourite game. You didn’t have time to play recently due to the amount of work, up to the point that you didn’t even bother to check in to grab some stamina. Usually, love&deepspace was an important part of your day - you logged in there at least twice a day, completed every task thrown your way and had a blast doing so, but these couple of weeks were so hard for you that you almost forgot about it completely. But even if you were too busy, you thought about the boys from time to time, as well as about the events that you were probably missing out on. You really hoped that if some new events had taken place during that time, that they did not involve Sylus, because if you had missed them, you would be slightly devastated.

Sylus was your favorite. Ever since the beginning, there was something about him that caught your attention. You downloaded the game after his announcement and haven’t looked back since. You played with other boys as well, but your time with Sylus was always the most memorable. Not only was he extremely attractive in your eyes, as well as the eyes of other players around the world, but you also understood his character, adored his little jokes and mannerisms, and could safely say that he made your life a little more exciting. You knew that it probably sounded lame to someone who didn’t play such games, and you were aware that he wasn’t real, but you enjoyed yourself regardless. In your real life, you had some experience with men and were pretty popular among them; however, you never felt comfortable enough to form more serious romantic relationships.

Here, with Sylus, you didn’t have to worry about such things. You were aware that he was only a game character and maybe that was why you were so honest with him from the very beginning. You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, misstreat you or make you miserable - he was created in a way that was supposed to make your playthrough enjoyable so you didn’t have to worry about your responses in the messages for him or your real life reactions to everything he said or did. You could just be yourself. And you loved how freeing that felt.

That is why you felt so excited ever since you woke up. Because you knew that today you could finally go back to playing l&d, and you could meet up with your Sylus after so much time apart. You quickly did your chores, spent some time on self-care to slightly relieve the fatigue from the weeks before, you put on your favourite cozy outfit and finally clicked the ”enter game” button.

And there he was. Sylus was standing in the cafe, wearing his extremally attractive biker outfit and you caught yourself sighing dreamily at the sight of him. You missed him so bad, you missed the little memories you shared and the sound of his voice. You missed playing kitty cards with him, catching plushies together and even looking for that bastard Tobias again and again. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at him.

“Hi Sylus, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” You said cheerfully, feeling kind of dumb for it but you couldn’t help yourself. You often talked out loud to him during your playtime.

You watched him blink slowly once, then twice, and you started to think that there was something wrong with the server because his response should have already been uttered. But then the look on his face changed. At first, he appeared really shocked and relieved, but then a little frown appeared between his perfect little eyebrows.

“Where the hell have you been?” He responded quickly and it shocked you. You didn’t know that they could swear in the game, but after connecting some dots you figured that it had to be included in the special responses after the player was away for some time.

“At work mostly, been so busy lately but now I’m back and ready to defeat some Wanderers!!” You fist bumped the air above you, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

You also noticed that his expression stayed the same. He was silent, looking at you through your phone screen with bewilderment, and he looked almost hurt. In an attempt to provide some comfort to him, you swiped your finger gently through his hair and across his cheek. However, when you touched his cheek, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your finger, which made you widen your eyes in surprise. Was that always a thing? Was he always so responsive to your touch? It had to be a new feature; you didn’t remember him being so lively.

“Next time you decide to leave me without a word, I think I’m going to take more drastic measures, sweetie” He said while opening his eyes. You couldn’t help but notice he did look different than usual. More… realistic? Even the way in which he moved his body looked so smooth.

“If not for Mephisto, I would have worried sick about your safety. You can't do this to me every time you have more work than usual; you have to visit me, even if it's just for a minute. I won't exaggerate when I say that I almost went insane after the first week of your cruel silence” And at that you were completely stunned. Should he talk this much? He never talked this much. And how could he know that you had more work than usual? Was that a lucky guess on the studio’s side?

“That’s so weird…” You whispered and touched his hand to trigger some kind of reaction that would appear more usual than what was happening right now.

“Is that your way of catching me off guard? If you wanted to hold my hand so badly kitten, then you would have visited me sooner. I will not let myself be distracted by your cute little behavior” He raised the hand you touched and crossed his arms at his chest, while continuing to frown. And you were still so, so confused.

“Promise me that you won’t leave me again, I know where to find you now.” You raised your eyebrows and bit your lip gently. You started to feel a little bit out of place, you knew that he was not real, but he sounded kind of scary. His voice was demanding, and the part about him finding you? You shivered involuntarily.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue, kitten? Or did you finally understood the selfishness of your actions?” Sylus continued and you opened your mouth in awe. “Promise. Me.” He said slowly, his gaze unnerving. Suddenly you heard a series of loud caws outside on your balcony. The sound made you jump in place, and you dropped your phone on your bed. Was that a freaking crow?? Outside your apartament???

You quickly picked up your phone and cursed softly. You were going insane. You got scared just because the game had an update you did not know about. You almost wanted to laugh at how stupid that was. Almost. Because Sylus walked up to the front of your phone screen and spoke to you again.

“Why are you hesitating? Are you really planning to leave me again?” You swore you never heard him so hurt.

“No!” You said before you could think.

“No?” He answered immediately, which scared the hell out of you. “I am not sure I believe you. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being away from you anymore.” He took two steps back and closed his eyes.

That was when the game crashed. Your phone appeared to be broked too, after the colourful lines appeared on the screen, flickered a couple of times and the whole screen turned black. You threw the device away from you and your heart started beating so fast you could hear the blood pulsing in your ears. You were so confused and genuinely scared. Was there an update that switched the genre of the game to horror? You were stunned.

And then you heard the knock.

You almost jumped out of your slippers. You brought your hand to your heart in order to calm yourself down and you started taking slow, deep breaths. It’s just a game. It’s just a game. Besides, how did Sylus, of all people, managed to scare you so badly? You adored that character, and you should know that he was prone not only to exaggeration, but also to intimidating behavior. That was literally one of his characteristics. So you forced yourself to calm down and opened the damn door, because it was probably either a mailman, or one of your friendly neighbors, and here you were making a scene like some kind of a delusional psychopath.

One. Two. Three.

You opened the door, and at first all you could see was a huge cloud of black mist. You closed your eyes in order to keep the mist from clouding your vision and then you felt wind pushing you gently further into your apartament. You heard the door close and the sound of the key turning in the lock. Everything happened so fast. And when you opened your eyes your knees almost buckled.

Sylus.

Sylus was all you could see. He was standing in front of you, in your own apartament, looking so out of place that you wanted to laugh. The first thing that you noticed about him was that he was huge, you couldn’t really see past him, and the more you looked at him, the more real he appeared to be. Soft-looking silver hair, rugged skin, that perfect nose and those piercing eyes. They looked into yours now, and at first they seemed to be searching for something, and after one quick second they visibly softened. You could also see how his handsome, oh so handsome mouth started to display his signature little smirk. And that was when you started to tremble.

“W-wha—” You tried to say something, anything but your mouth was not working. You have never been so confused and scared in your entire life. “Who—W-who are—” He was starting to close the distance between you and that is when the panic finally took over your body. You flinched and went to take a step back, but you slipped on your soft carpet.

Yet you didn’t fall. You felt the gentle caress of the mist that managed to caught you before you hit the ground, and it streightened your posture so that now you stood tall in front of the man.

“Careful kitten, I do not think that falling on four feet applies to you.” He spoke out loud for the first time and the voice was so familiar to you. It was the same, deep, husky timbre that you loved to hear, the same voice that made you squeal in happiness, that lulled you to sleep countless of times. You couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my god, am I dead?” He laughed softly at your reaction and looked at you through his lashes. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh but it is. I knew that I would find my way to you, I just needed time.” He said and tried to close the distance between you, but you didn’t let him. Every step forward he took, you took one back. “It was so hard to find you. But after you disappeared without saying a word I think I got desperate.” Something flashed in his eyes. You recognized it as determination.

He stopped walking when he noticed that you were getting too close to the balcony. He straightened his posture, and you almost released a gasp. He was huge. And he was real. Alive and so, so real, that you had trouble breathing. You were so scared, but at the same time, so happy to see him, that your body didn’t know how it should react. You just looked at him, taking him in, trying to assess whether it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, or if it wasn’t some random man breaking into your apartment and your brain had created a new, fantastic defense mechanism. But no, the longer you took him in, the more similarities you managed to notice: the scar in the corner of his eye, his unevenly clipped fingernails, strong but dry hands, olive skin, slim lips, long, slightly furrowed eyebrows. The not-so-hidden gentleness in his gaze as he was taking you in himself.

“It’s really you.” You managed to breathe out.

“You’re so beautiful.” He answered and his voice was slowly starting to make you feel these familiar butterflies. “So, so magnificent.” He continued. You felt your cheeks heat up and he seemed to drink that reaction in. “Will you talk to me more? You sound angelic. I did not think that you could sound even better than you did through the phone but I guess you will never fail to surprise me, sweetheart.” He did not move an inch. He just looked at you, and you still didn’t know how to react, but you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it was not a weird dream. He was here and he didn’t appear to have bad intentions. At least you wanted to believe that.

“You’re still trembling. Are you really that scared of me?” He pressed his lips into a line.

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m just not sure what is happening. I had no idea you were… real.” He laughed softly at that.

“You wound me, kitten. Is that your way of unleashing your little claws?” He continued with a small smile on his lips and you couldn’t take it. He looked… stressed. And you thought that was new for him. You spend so many hours playing with him in l&d but you have never seen him so stressed.

Everything that came out of his mouth was slow and precise, not a word was spoken without a purpose. However you could see by his appearance that he was uncertain.

“Of course I’m real. And all the time we spent together is real too. Was it so wrong of me to expect that you would be at least a little bit happier to see me?” He was starting to look hurt. But not angry, not displeased. More concerned than anything, and that was when most of your worries started to disappear. He was your Sylus. He really was.

“I am happy to see you. I really am.” You said truthfully, the fear slowly dissolving. “What are you doing here? How did it happen?”

“When you left me, I was worried to death. I had to come see that you were alright for myself.” He said, not taking his eyes off of you. “I found a path between our worlds, and first I sent Mephisto after you. And that was how I knew you were fine, just busy.” He started explaining slowly and put two fingers at the bridge of his nose. This gesture was so familiar that you felt a slight pang in your chest. “Which l understand. But you stopped visiting completely and I panicked that I lost you. And that you lost your interest in me. And when you logged in today I guess I just lost control over myself.”

“I had to see you. I had to feel you. I needed to know that you will never leave me like that again. But how could I be so sure if you thought I was not real, sweetie?” His voice carried a hint of a ridicule. He smirked slowly and you allowed yourself to relax. You spend so much time with him on your phone, that you knew when he really needed reassurance. And it was the first time you saw him being so honest about his own feelings.

You decided to step closer to him and his eyes widened slightly. His body tightened because of the sudden change in proximity, and when you gently touched his hand bringing it to your mouth, he appeared to be rendered speechless.

“I would never leave you, Sy. At least not without saying goodbye first. You are my safe space, remember?” You said quietly and smiled at him brightly, reminding him of what you had written in your game bio. And then you brought his knuckles to your lips and placed a soft kiss upon them. His hands were much warmer than you expected them to be. They felt harsh, but gentle.

The next thing you heard was a soft grunt and you felt yourself being suddenly lifted in the air. You yelped and found yourself pressed against his big, solid chest. Sylus hugged your body to his by wrapping both of his arms around your torso, and when he realized that you weren’t comfortable, he put one hand under your thighs and brought your body to his by your waist. You let your arms wrap around his neck and squeezed, and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale your scent and his breath became rigged, as if he could not contain his excitement. You also became familiar with his scent. He smelled so manly and comforting, you could catch some notes of wood and leather, and something surprisingly sweet.

“You smell divine. You’re so soft, so warm.” He breathed against your neck and you felt goosebumps spreading throughout your whole body. You were so embarrassed, you felt like you needed to release some tension.

“I did not expect you to be so open with me. You’re usually the teasing type.” He chucked deeply and put his forehead against yours, while closing his eyes. Your cheeks burned. You couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream.

“There will be a time for teasing you, kitten.” He rubbed his forehead against yours slowly. “Right now let me enjoy you for a bit. I can’t believe I finally got to see you.” He squeezed you harder to him. You reciprocated the hug with all you had. You were actually kind of scared that your grip was too hard, but he seemed to bask in it. “Communicating through that small device was not nearly enough for me. I could always see you and I heard your little responses to everything I was saying. But it took me some time to figure out how to change some things up.” Your eyes went wide at the mention of your reactions, you knew that a lot of times there were beyond embarrassing, but you decided your blush to speak for itself. But what truly caught your attention was how he managed to appear in your home.

“Change things up?? You must have made such a mess, will it really be okay?” The concern in your voice made him look up and find your eyes with his. You were now looking at his beautiful red ones, so full of adoration and determination. You could see that the consequences of his actions did not matter to him at all.

“Sweetie, I would gladly burn the world down for you, even if it meant that I could see you just once.” You swallowed audibly and proceeded to shy away from his piercing gaze. You started to feel unworthy of such attention, you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly made him care about you to such extend. “Fortunately for everyone, the process did not involve starting an intergalactic war.” He smirked slowly, his eyes finding your lips and staying there for much longer than necessary. “Yet.”

You chuckled at that and proceeded to bury your fingers in his hair, stroking the strands with care. They were so soft to the touch, they reminded you of silk. He closed his eyes and let you touch him to your heart’s content. Your hand quickly found its way to his forehead, and then to his cheek, stroking the skin delicately. You couldn’t believe how someone so handsome could really exist.

“See something you like, kitten?” He said and nuzzled into your palm, pressing a kiss right there. “You will have all the time in the world to touch me when we arrive in the N109 Zone.” He seemed so peaceful, so content with himself, but the mention of the N109 Zone stopped you in your tracks. You tensed visibly and he opened his eyes, noticing the change in your posture.

“The N109 Zone?” You asked puzzled. “Are you taking me away for a weekend?” You took your hand from his face and he used his Evol to bring it back to his cheek. The mist around your fingers felt weird, but not unpleasant.

“For a weekend? No, no.” He locked his eyes with yours, his head slowly closing the distance between you. He licked his lips and looked at your mouth once again. “I am taking you away for forever.” And before his lips managed to touch yours, you flinched. Your hands quickly pushed him away and the panic returned to your features.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said. Pack your bags if you believe there is something that I cannot provide for you quickly enough, and we will be off shortly.” He said matter of factly, kind of annoyed by the distance you decided to put between you. “Luke and Kieran have already prepared a room for you, although I think that you will have more than enough space for your belongings in mine.” His eyes brightened with excitement that you unfortunately could not share. Instead, you lightly pushed his torso, making him lower you to the ground grudgingly. His brows were once again furrowed.

“I can’t go with you Sylus. At least, not for forever”

“You can. We can stay together for the rest of our lives and no one would have any objections. I took care of everything.” He reached to grab your forearm and stroked it softly with his thumb. He was so sure of everything he was saying that you could feel how much he let himself get lost in his fantasy. It did make you feel wanted, loved even. But no matter how happy you were that he was real, and apparently shared your feelings, you couldn’t agree to his plan.

“No, Sylus. I need to stay here, I have built my whole life in this place.” You could feel how much your words shocked him. He was looking at you so puzzled as if he didn’t think that you declining his offer was even an option. “I can’t leave everything that I managed to achieve, I really am content with my life, despite how complicated it can be.” You said truthfully. A part of you wanted to go with him, to feel safe and cherished for, for the rest of your life but you knew that was not realistic. You wanted to achieve more, you wanted to have your own life and your own space. You needed to be independent, to feel that you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself and your own needs.

“I do not understand. Don’t you want to be with me?” It pained you how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. And you hated the look on his face - it made you feel like you were betraying him.

”I do want to! Oh my god— I really, really do want to Sylus. I don’t think that I can live without spending time with you anymore.” You smiled at him, and took hold of his huge, rugged hand. “But I can’t live with you in the N109 Zone. I can’t leave my whole life behind.” And the fact that he wanted to make you do that somewhat scared you. Made you feel distressed.

“I see.” He sounded deep in thought. Then, he broke the eye contact for a second, looked at his hand in your hold and before you could even react, he grabbed your body gently with his Evol and picked you up. Your whole body was above ground and although you felt secured, you looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” You wanted to get free from the hold of the mist, but it was impossible with how tight it was. “Sylus, you have to let me go.” You tried not to panic, you knew that you weren’t in danger. But he looked relentless, unforgiving as if his mind was already set in stone.

“No. I can’t. Not now when I finally got to have you.” He looked up at you, with his eyebrows still furrowed, and you could hear a hint of a growl in his voice. “If you do not wish to go with me, I guess I would have to take you by force.”

It was then that you felt a sense of panic. You knew him, and you knew that if he wants something, he always gets it. It just did not cross your mind that he would ever go against your own wishes.

“No. No, no, no, Sylus, please calm down.” He narrowed his eyes and stood motionless before you, his face devoid of almost any emotion. Almost, if not for the desperation shining through his watchful eyes. “You cannot take me away. At least not for now. But I will do anything you ask me to! You can also stay here for some time, and visit me whenever you want to, I swear, I would be so happy to have you.” You just needed him to listen. You knew that you could change his mind, he always listened to what you had to say, he just needed a little bit of persuasion. Maybe he didn’t even think about alternative options?

“And I would make you happy in the N109 Zone with me.” You laughed with disbelief. He was completely missing your point. You decided to once again yank your hands from the grasp of his mist, and then hissed with pain when it did not loosen up its hold. “Your struggle is futile, please stop, I do not wish for you to get hurt.” He was annoyed with you and your disobedience. He did not think that you would have any objections, he started loosing his cool.

“You would never let me get hurt.” You answered, wanting to assure yourself of it as well. You didn’t like how commanding he sounded.

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his voice. “Yes, you know I would stop at nothing to protect you.” His gaze never wavered from yours. He truly thought that what he was doing was for the best. And you just had to let him know how wrong his approach was.

“Yes! Yes I do know that! Because I know you, Sy.” You started to sound as if you were pleading. Deep down it scared you, send uncomfortable shivers down your spine. “I know you, and I know that you also know me.”

He placed his hand on his heart.

“And I adore every single piece of information. And I still wish to know you much, much better.” You tensed when you noticed that his right eye was starting to glow. You did not know if that was intentional, or just a trick of the light.

“Then you MUST know how much this life means to me. How much I like my stupid job, and how much I love the people that are here for me. My friends, my family.” You noticed that your reasoning started to get to him when he clenched his fists and avoided your eyes for a second. “And you have to know how much it would hurt me if you were to take me away from them.” He appeared taken aback. It seemed that his longing for you clouded his judgement, and now he started to notice the faults in his plan.

“But I cannot stand to be apart from you anymore, sweetie.” In normal circumstances that would be so touching to you. But nothing about this situation was normal, and you guessed you just had to show him how normal looked like.

“You won’t be. You can visit me anytime you want. Stay for how long you want.” You wanted that too. So bad.

“But that is not ENOUGH.” It was the first time you heard his raised voice and you started to tremble. His outburst must’ve thrown him off guard too, because he wavered and the grip he had on you loosed. You acted instinctively. You freed yourself from the mist and started to run towards your door. And although he was stunned by your reaction, he quickly teleported so that you ran straight into his chest. His hands grabbed yours in order to protect you from falling due to the impact.

He gently caressed your now slightly red forehead and sighed loudly. You could hear that he was hurt. You cried out from frustration.

“If you really thought that you could run away from me then you must be a total fool.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and lifted your chin up with his finger. “Usually I like playing cat and mouse with you, but I do not like the fact that you appear genuinely scared of me right now.” He hugged your waist and brought you closer to him, lowering his head at the same time. “And that you tried to run away from me when I only want to offer you my protection.”

“It doesn’t sound like protection, it sounds like imprisonment.” You used strong words, but you sounded so small. You did not know what to do with him, you were so scared. ”I’m just scared. I tried to run away because you scared me, Sylus.” You sounded desperate for him to understand you. To look past his own clouded vision.

“You do not have to fear me. I just want what is best for you. For us.” His grip on your waist tightened, and he also proceeded to grab your wrist.

“No. You only want what is best for you. You are not listening to me. I do care about you Sylus, but I cannot leave this place.” You tried to stand your ground but you two never argued before. It was an unfamiliar ground to you, especially when it was the first time that you had a conversation in person. Everything felt more intense and dangerous when you remembered the extreme measures he was always willing to take to achieve his goals.

“You can. And I will make you leave.” He almost growled and a cloud of black and red mist surrounded both of you, and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes.

”Sylus, no, please, I don’t want to. Please, just listen to me, please.” And it was at that moment he started to came into his senses. Your quiet voice and your eyes full of tears made his breathing stop. It was the first time he was seeing you react like this. He hated how broken you sounded. How small. “I’m so scared, Sy, please stop scaring me.” Your voice sounded choked and you could feel that the tears started streaming down your face. Every single one physically hurt him. It was your first meeting and he already made you so miserable. He wanted to scream. “Please.” You tried once again and it shocked you that it finally worked on him.

He tensed and released you from his grip. The mist also dissipated as he took a step back from you. You could hear him breathing deeply.

“I cannot do this." He sounded panicked. “I did not want to scare you, and I cannot listen to your little broken pleas. They break my heart.” He hidden his face in his hands and curled in himself. He felt as if someone pierced his heart with a knife and twisted it. He could not bring himself to look at your beautiful heartbroken face again. “They really do. Please, just stop crying. You won.”

You sniffed softly and touched your wet cheeks. You tried to calm yourself down, he finally listened to you.

“It does not feel so good this time for some reason.” You answered, referring to your Kitty Card battles. You wanted to relieve the tension somehow. You knew that he didn’t want to hurt you, you understand that he lives in a different reality where danger awaits everywhere. You could understand why he wanted to have you beside him at all times. But it scared you how insistent he was, how brutal and final. “Do you really understand why I got so scared?”

He nodded helplessly. “I won’t steal you away. Not when I know how much you despise the idea of spending the rest of your time with me.” You noticed how hard he was pressing his hands to his face and you grabbed them in your own. He let you uncover his eyes and you saw how much it hurt him to let you go.

“Oh, Sy.” You whispered and hugged his hands to your chest. “You know that’s not the reason.”

“Stop calling me that. It drives me crazy.” He breathed and met your eyes. “You drive me crazy. What am I going to do with you? How can I make sure you are safe now?” You took his hands and made him follow you into your bedroom. You sat on your bed and urged him to do the same. This way you could finally talk with him more comfortably.

“Sylus, we have to talk about it.” You squeezed his hands and he looked at yours and took notice of how much smaller they were in comparison to his. So fragile, so breakable. He couldn’t stand it. His whole body longed to protect you. “I do not despise the idea of spending my time with you. I just can’t randomly leave everything I know and love. And this world is different from the one you know, we have our dangers but no one wants my head.” You explained to him slowly. “There are no Wanderers. No protocores.” He looked conflicted.

“I already know that sweetheart. I do. But when you disappeared for such a long time I couldn’t help but think that something bad happened to you” he gritted through his teeth. “I nearly lost my mind looking for you everywhere. It was terrifying, that thought in my mind and the idea that I would never have another chance to speak with you. To see you.” He touched your forearms and brought you a little closer to him. “And when Mephisto found you safe and sound I thought that I never want to feel that fear, that helplessness again. And the only way to do that is to keep you beside me at all times. To guard you with my own body and soul.” He took your hand and rested it on his chest. You could feel the fast and steady rhythm of his heart. You could feel his desperation, his complete devotion. And it almost made you tear up.

“I-I’m so sorry that I made you worry this much.” He studied your face with intention and you shake your head. “But I didn’t even know that you were real. I really thought it was just a game that made me feel less alone and now…” You swallowed audibly. “Now I know that everything I built with you during our time together was very much real and I’m still having trouble to wrap my head around it to be honest.” You smiled at him softly and he nodded with understanding.

“And then you came in and wanted to kidnap me to a world much more dangerous than mine where I do not have my close ones and—”

“I did NOT mean for that to be a kidnapping I though that you shared my sentiment, and also wanted to spend some time—”

“SOME time?? Sylus you wanted me to switch literal worlds and live with you in your freaking villa in the middle of nowhere—”

“I live in an apartment that has a fantastic location, mind you, and you would feel so comfortable in—”

”Apartament??? You cannot possibly be a freaking leader of Onychinus and live in an apartment complex, are you being serious with me right now??”

“Have you ever heard of a saying that the darkest place is under the candlestick, kitten? Besides there is no one in the whole N109 Zone that would pose an actual threat to me—” He cut off when he met your eyes full of laughter, and then he heard that beautiful sound. You burst into giggles right in front of him and you touched him by the bicep and brought his forehead to yours. He couldn’t help but chuckle too, understanding the absurdity of the situation. Feeling your forehead against his, hearing your adorable chuckles and inhaling your sweet scent made him feel so at peace that he closed his eyes to embrace the moment completely. He couldn’t believe that he almost ruined your relationship by being so selfish.

“I missed this. This back and forth with you” You said and he chucked deeply. “I really am happy to see you, Sy. And I swear that we will be able to talk and spent time with each other more often now. And actually see each other in person.” He nuzzled into your face more and you caught his smirk by the corner of your eye. “We can stay in touch at all times, so that you won’t have to worry about my safety so much.”

“So bossy, kitten.” He answered, but the small smile did not leave his face. He couldn’t make it go away even if he tried. “Forgive me for scaring you earlier. I was not thinking straight. I was just so elated to finally have you in my arms that I let my selfishness get the best of me, and for that I’m sorry. I did not want to ruin our first meeting, sweetie.” You hugged him by bringing your arms around his chest and he closed his eyes drinking in the proximity. You were too small, too adorable, too attractive for him to take it. Too honest. Too lovable. Made just for him to adore. To protect.

“You did not ruin anything.” You said into his shirt, hugging him tighter. “I understand you, Sylus. And I like you a little selfish if it means that’s what brought you to me” He smiled into your hair and reluctantly let go of your fragile frame. He touched your chin and delicately lifted your face up to face him. His eyes were once again drinking you in, committing every single one of your features to his memory. He sighed contentedly.

“Selfishness was not the reason of my visit.” You could see how his eyes softened and you felt your chest squeeze. You brushed his cheek, loving the way how he seemed to relish in your touch. His eyes wandered to your lips: pink, plump and so inviting. “Adoration was. The complete love and devotion that I have felt for you for quite some time now.” You gasped quietly and opened your lips slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Sy—”

“And I guess a little emotional push was what made me finally find my way to you, my beloved.” He half-whispered, leaned in, and pressed his lips to yours, locking you in a sweet, passionate kiss that went on and on, seeming to deepen with every minute you spent in his embrace.

*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*

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honey-pages · 8 months ago

Text

Hex Machine - Viktor x Reader

Description -

Viktor makes a machine to cheat human exhaustion.

1.9k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. Fucking Machine. Spit. Dom Viktor. Light Choking. Dirty Talk. NSFW.

There was a rather sheepish knock at your door. You were puzzled, you were not usually disturbed at night. Viktor, your boyfriend, was busy working on something that he wouldn’t reveal to you, and your friends hadn't made any plans with you this evening. You slid on your slippers and walked through your hall to answer the door. You opened it to Jayce. He looks startled at your answering and is flushed pink. That’s strange, he must have some urgency.

“Viktor needs you. In the lab. He’s uhm, finished making your surprise.” He stammers.

“Jayce, you look red, are you okay?”

“I helped him make it; I didn’t realise it was for-.” He replies, “I thought it was a drill.”

You are thoroughly confused as you say your goodbyes to Jayce and close the door. You hurriedly undress and redress and head outside, carried by your curiosity. You take the fastest walk to the lab, knocking on the door once you get there. There’s a few more seconds of silence than usual as you wait for the door to be opened from inside. There’s a mechanical whirring sound coming from within which pauses and ceases as you hear footsteps approaching. The door opens.

“(Y/N)! Jayce sent you. Yes, good.” Viktor ushers you inside, sliding a hand around your back, perching his palm on your waist. He grins widely.

In the middle of the lab, covered with a large blue sheet of fabric is some strange contraption.

“Viktor, what is this?” You ask, a little bewildered. It is larger than you expected and takes up the majority of the lab.

“It’s a surprise. A rather large one, which I am sure you will be very fond of. Guess.”

“…a drill?” You test the waters.

Viktor scoffs and stifles a laugh, “Jayce got to you first, hm.”

He approaches the cloaked object and reaches out his arm to swipe its cover away, somewhat like a magician. With a swoop the fabric falls to the floor. You still have no idea what it is.

“It’s a-?” You attempt, not wanting to disappoint in your misunderstanding.

Viktor looks amused.

“It’s my most wonderful creation and you can’t even tell what it is?” He smirks. “You’ll understand once you are in it”

“In it?”

“Undress yourself.”

“Right here in the lab?”

“Are you curious Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yes.”

“I repeat, undress for me.”

You did as you were told, slowly and intentionally seductive as he watched you intensely. You removed your clothes layer by layer. You enjoyed it when he was quite stern with you, you liked it when he took control.

“This is the hex machine. “He proudly announces.

“…the hex machine?” You giggle.” Viktor that name...”

“You won’t be laughing when I have you strapped to it, Miss (Y/N).”

Viktor reaches out for your hand and guides you towards the machine. It has a large black frame with a sling in the middle like a swing set. Positioned underneath is a strange piston on a rail. The seat of the swing sits around hip height to Viktor and suspends you above ground with both of your legs spread and fixed to material stirrups.

“Viktor, what kind of a machine is this?”

“I told you, the hex machine.”

“What is it used for?”

“…hex.” You sense he found the joke as funny as you did. “Here, I’ll help you into it.”

You grab the frame with both hands and lift yourself up as Viktor adds support to your waist. You fit into the seat nicely and it supports your back in such a way that you are leant backwards at a slight angle. Quite a revealing angle.

“And now you put your feet in the stirrups”

It was impossible not to feel vulnerable in the position he was placing you in, effectively spread eagled in the centre of the lab, supported and pulled apart with slings and metal poles. Viktor admired you, tied up for him. Your soft skin made a contrast to the harshness of the metal and roughness of the fabric.

“I have always wanted to try this position with you, but my leg never allowed it.”

He steps forward, pushing his hips into yours, your wetness showing on the deep colour of his trousers as you press against him.

“With you being supported like that, I can have you exactly how I want to.”

At this, he begins to unbutton his trousers and pulls down his zip. He slides the trousers over his hips, presenting you with a view of him in his underwear, with his impressively straining cock threatening to push upwards and through his waistband at any moment. He releases himself, springing free, and kicks his underwear out of the way of the mechanism. He raises his hand to your face.

“Spit” he demands.

You spit into his hand, and he reaches down and coats himself, stroking from base to tip, ensuring he is full covered. You see him as he watches you, the lust in his face and twitch in his body as he takes in your magnificence. To see you so available to him made him twitch once more. The confident, intelligent, strong woman that you were, immobilised in a machine intended fully for his pleasure. It was almost too much.

“I am afraid Miss (Y/N) that this use of the hex machine will be entirely for my benefit. I am going to detail the order of events as I am sure you will be as curious as I about the capabilities of a machine like this.”

He speaks deliberately as he continues to stroke himself.

“Firstly, I am going to prepare us both, then I am going to fuck you. Then I am going to demonstrate the true purpose of the machine. Is this understood?”

You nod.

“Obedient and obliging, my perfect experiment.”

Viktor raises two fingers to his mouth, coating them with his tongue before lowering them to you and inserting them slowly. You feel them stretching you. With the position the machine is forcing you into, they feel deeper than usual. He has engineered perfect comfort, perfect utility, perfect sex. He quickens and you watch as his forearms move in rhythm, the arms of his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You feel yourself soak his fingers. He notices, acknowledges your readiness. Viktor lines himself up with your entrance, carefully considering the angle and familiarising himself with the heights of the machine.

“Are you sure this is comfortable?” He asks, “If you need any adjustments, I can fix it.”

“I am as comfortable as I can be with you pressing into me like that,” You hiss, trying to push forwards to allow him to enter.

“Patience” He chuckles, mockingly pushing against you so you can feel only the tip.

“Viktor please.” You plead, pushing forwards again to try to use the rocking motion of the swing to enlighten you.

“Besides, if you wanted to use force to get what you want, you would have to push-“At this, Viktor firmly pushes you, “backwards.”

You swing backwards, swooping back forwards in opposite motion, landing straight in alignment with him, he enters you fully and you both choke out in moaned surprise. As you are fully filled with him, he grabs your thighs, stabilising the swing. He holds you firmly, grinding into you with his hips, finding deeper depth and stretching you, before pushing you backwards once more.

With each thrust timed perfectly and with Viktor keeping his balance with the strenuous lifting handled, he fucks you with complete energy and passion, bouncing you on him with force. You are struggling to catch your breath, being batted from airborne to filled within seconds repeatedly.

“Oh fuck (Y/N), this is even better than I had imagined”

You were held firm by the restraints holding you up, with your view of Viktor using you to your full capabilities, immobilised like some poor fly in a spider’s web. The slapping of the two of your bodies coincided with your vocalised pleasure. The wet sounds filled the lab. It sounded absolutely indecent. You wondered at which point Jayce figured out the machines purpose. You wondered if Viktor explained it to him, or if he left the room in blushed hurry as he slowly realised his friends’ intentions - all his hard work, just to convert you into an easily accessed object for his pleasure.

Viktor continues to thrust and push and watching him work himself in and out of you has your release building. The growls that are escaping his throat are raw and needy.

“I’m going to fill you”, he insists, “I will have you walk away from here dripping, do you understand?”

“Yes!” You cry out, “please, I need it.”

‘Need what?”

“Need you.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck, you Viktor. I want you to fill me.”

At your request, he slams into you hard, and harder and harder, until he’s panting and sweating and right on the edge. His hips are doing all the work, and his free hand is wandering and desperate. He gropes at you, trailing over your breasts, before settling on your neck lightly.

“You are mine. All of you is mine, the only thing I will share you with are my inventions”

You do your best to clench your internal muscles around him, trying to pull him into you, trying to regain some control in this domination he is offering you, trying to send him over the edge prematurely. You give in, relaxing your core, allowing him to take you exactly how he pleases.

“I am yours, Viktor.”

He halts your movement on the last swing, securing himself deeply to the base inside of you before releasing, filling you fully. His eyes roll back in pleasure. Viktor is gasping for breath as he put all his strength into the final thrust, he uses the frame to steady himself. He kisses your forehead, peppering your face and lips too before slowly pulling out. You feel the hot rush of his warmth seep out, dripping down your entrance and onto the lab floor. You feel desperate for your release. The final few thrusts have left you wanting and needy.

“Viktor, please, please I’m not done.”

“I told you to be patient.” He smirks, mesmerised by watching you drip. He steps away from the machine, altering the rail along the bottom. He approaches his desk, removing something from a box. His back is to you, though as he turns you make out the shape and length of a very familiar object. He mounts the dildo to the rig before adjusting it once more, this time lining it up with your entrance. He returns to his desk, retrieving a controller.

“I can assure you, (Y/N), you will be more than satisfied.” He presses the button and humorously announces, “Behold the power of the hex machine.”

The machine whirs and the dildo begins to thrust, mimicking Viktor’s pace. It lubricates itself using the joint wetness that pools inside of you and slides in and out with ease. Viktor seats himself at his desk chair, shuffling along to you to achieve a better view. The dildo is smothered, foaming and relentless, a perfect imitation of Viktor. He reclines in satisfaction, legs propped up, as you are overwhelmed over and over and over again.

“Machines supplement where human biology fails us. Let’s see how long you last, Miss (Y/N).”

Tag List-

@veru-boom

#arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor smut #viktor x reader #viktor x you #reqs open #viktor arcane #viktor lol

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norrisainz33 · 9 months ago

Text

announcement || mv33

☆ summary: max and his private wife have been keeping a big secret

☆ pairing: max verstappen x private!nonfamous!wife!reader

☆ fc & warnings: amata alp & mentions of pregnancy

☆ requested: yes! thank you for your patience 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynverstappen has posted to their story 🔒

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maxverstappen1: glad you’re with y/bff tho i do wish you were here my love

ynverstappen: i wish i was there too. i hate having to miss your races

maxverstappen1: i know you do sweetheart but you’ve got big things to worry about right now 🤍

ynverstappen: i know i just wish you were here to worry about them with me!

ynverstappen: ugh i’m sorry i know you have no choice in the matter

maxverstappen1: don’t apologize liefje. i know this is not like the easiest time for me to be away! i will be home so soon so i can help take care of you

carmenmundt: y/n where have you beeeeeeen it’s been so long!!

ynverstappen: been very busy with work and with holding down the fort here in monaco!! i hope to be back at some races soon 🤍

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous girl i miss you

ynverstappen: i miss you too babes

yourbff: my baby

ynverstappen: my girl

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7 and 11,849 others

f1gossip: during todays redline stream the chat was flooded with questions about the whereabouts of y/n verstappen who has been absent from the paddock for the past couple of months. while y/n is relatively private and we don’t usually get many social media updates from her outside of her interior design firm’s posting, she almost never misses the opportunity to support max on a race weekend let alone several in a row. max assured the chat that y/n was ok and that she was just taking some time to herself and that she’d be back in the paddock soon enough. what do you all make of this?

view all 776 comments

user1: i’m so glad y/nmax are fine

user2: you could even hear her in the background at one point asking max what he wanted for dinner!! glad we are getting some crumbs

user4: omg ok good!! i thought that was her but couldn’t tell

user3: i was about to email her interior design firm to ask if she was ok thank god max updated us

user4: walk with me here guys…. what if we haven’t seen her bc she’s…… pregnant???

user6: oh my god you might be on to something!! they have been married for almost 2 years now

user7: no this is so believable!!! they’d make the best parents

user5: y/n’s ability to stay under the radar and unbothered is incredible

user8: y/n is the coolest wag i wish she was chronically online like so many of the others

user7: ugh fr!! i wish we could follow her on literally anything 💔

ynverstappen has posted to their story 🔒

view all story replies

francisca.cgomes: are you redoing part of your house? is this why you’ve been so busy and i haven’t seen my best friend for WEEKS

ynverstappen: partially yes!! we are redoing the spare room. BUT you’ll see me this weekend for my party kiks

francisca.cgomes: and my god i can’t wait!! i miss you

ynvertsappen: i miss you too

landonorris: plans for what?

ynverstappen: idk 🤷🏻‍♀️

landonorris: liar!

maxverstappen1: they’re going to have the sweetest room 🤍

ynverstappen: yes they are 🤍 i’m so proud of how it’s turning out

georgerussell63: the 🤭 makes this feel like i’m on the outside of an inside joke

ynverstappen: you just might be georgie!!

georgerussell63: well what does that even mean

yourbff: i am brimming with excitement i can’t wait for you to tell everyone this weekend

ynverstappen: me too!! keeping this secret has been so tough but ultimately it’s been really nice to have something that’s just for me and max even if just for a short while

yourbff: no i totally get that y/n/n!! max has to share his life with the whole world so im sure it’s nice to have those private moments

yoursibling: i need you to facetime me when you tell carmen and kika bc they’re going to lose their minds

ynverstappen: oh i absolutely will

ynverstappen has made a post 🔒

liked by carmenmundt, iamrebeccad, maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, interiordesignbyyn and 201 others

ynverstappen: i’m so glad all my favorite people could come celebrate the news 🩷 baby verstappen due in january 🤍 mommy and daddy love you endlessly already 💙

view all 35 comments

carmenmundt: i can’t wait to be an aunty!!! best news ever 🤍

ynverstappen: and i can’t wait for you to be an aunty!! baby v is going to be so loved

carmenmundt: they already are!!

francisca.cgomes: can’t believe my favorite person in the world is going to be a mom 🥹

ynverstappen: love you kika 🥹

maxverstappen1: 💙🩷

ynverstappen: 😘😘

iamrebeccad: you’re going to make the perfect mom

ynverstappen: i really hope so 🤍

georgerussell63: blimey! i can’t wait to meet the little one!!

ynverstappen: only 3 more months!!

landonorris: uncle lando is reporting for duty

ynverstappen: baby v is going to love their uncle lan!!

maxverstappen1: baby v is already lucky to have you mate

alexandrasaintmleux: the most beautiful maman 🤍

ynverstappen: don’t make me cry again 😭

maxverstappen1 has made a post

liked by ynverstappen, redbullracing, charesleclerc, alex_albon, landonorris, and 765,248 others

maxverstappen1: grateful for moments like these away from the track. next week is race week again in vegas but for now, enjoy some family photos 🤍

view all 885 comments

user1: my favorite couple maybe ever

user3: y/n sign of life!!

user4: sticking to my delulu and thinking he said family bc she’s having a baby

landonorris: see you all soon🤍

ynverstappen: see you soon lannyyyyyy

user4: he’s feeding into my delusions here…. bc why did he say you all instead of you both

user6: omg does this mean y/n will be in vegas????

ynverstappen: i love our little family 🫶🏻

maxverstappen1: me too gorgeous

user2: not me crying over this post?? the heart shaped pizzas sent me over the edge

redbullracing: looking forward to seeing you back on track!

ynverstappen has added to their story 🔒

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maxverstappen1: i have a tracker on your flight. i think the anxiety of you and the little one being on a plane without me is going to eat me alive

ynverstappen: we will be ok maxie i promise!! im on air max, it’s safe here

maxverstappen1: it is but also i’m not there so it’s not as safe as it could be

ynverstappen: my sweet boy, take a deep breath. you have quali soon

maxverstappen1: yes yes yes i’m breathing deeply

francisca.cgomes: well thank GOD i need you in the paddock

ynverstappen: pls come stay in rb hospitality w me

francisca.cgomes: for you i will just don’t tell pierre

charlesleclerc: on a scale of 1-10 how stressed is max

ynverstappen: 16

redbullracing: we can’t wait to see you!!

iamrebeccad: yayayayayayya!!!!!!!

ynverstappen: 😘😘😘😘😘😘

maxverstappen1 has made a post

liked by landonorris, ynverstappen, redbullracing, carmenmundt, charlesleclerc, and 754,984 others

maxverstappen1: for all of you wondering where y/n has been…. needless to say we’ve both been a little busy getting ready to welcome baby verstappen. only a few more months till the little one makes us a family of 3 🤍

view all 999 comments

user1: best news ever!!!!

user4: i knew it!!! omg 🥹

charlesleclerc: congratulations mate! i am so excited for you both

maxverstappen1: thank you charles 💙 baby v is so lucky to have an uncle like you

user16: im violently sobbing over this interaction you don’t understand

redbullracing: having a mini rb20 made for baby v as we speak

ynverstappen: oh gosh admin no

maxverstappen1: admin yes!!

redbullracing: uh oh awkward

landonorris: yayyyyyy!!!!!!!! i can’t wait to babysit!!

ynverstappen: you’re going to be the best babysitter ever

user7: she is glowing

user9: max and y/n are going to make the most beautiful parents

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7 and 11,849 others

f1gossip: here to share a recap of max’s first interview since announcing y/n’s pregnancy mere minutes after qualifying. he said he wanted to announce it before sunday because y/n was absolutely adamant about being in the paddock for vegas and there was no hiding her baby bump at 6 months. max said “i can’t wait to be a dad! it’s honestly something i’ve been dreaming of for years and i’m so grateful to my beautiful wife for giving me the greatest gift.”

view all 236 comments

user2: this is by far the happiest i’ve ever seen max and i am crying

user4: i love max and y/n so much i cant

user15: the way he talked about their baby ??? he already loves that little one so much

user18: i think having a baby is healing his inner child

user3: i love love love love love these 2

user19: crying screaming throwing up

user20: project verstappen!! lfg!!! next wdc champion incoming

user5: her refusing to miss another race is so real of her

user8: thank god she’s gonna be back in the paddock max needs her luck

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs always appreciated 🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

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luveline · 3 months ago

Note

Could I ask for bombshell!reader x Spencer at the beach? Maybe before they officially got together and he's all heart eyes at her

ty for requesting!! fem, 1k

“Do you want to go to the beach with me?”

When you asked, Spencer had immediately felt like saying no. He does not have a good track record with the beach. As in, he doesn’t deal well with heat, or sand, or large bodies of water. The sun is his pale enemy —he tans only after he’s burned to a crisp. The skin peels away and leaves him smooth and warm-toned, but the risks of a sunburn freak him out.

“Skin colour doesn’t matter,” he’s saying, pleading, on his knees in the heat beside you, the sand uncomfortably hot under the Miami sun, “anyone can get melanoma.”

“I already told you, Spencer,” you say lightly back, “I’ll wear sunscreen so long as you put it on me.”

“You’re making it a joke, but it’s not a joke. It’s a big deal.”

You’re laying on your back on a beach towel, another rolled up under your head, sunglasses perched on a pretty nose and your face delightfully clear of any makeup. (Spencer likes your makeup. He just likes this too, the treat of seeing you without when he doesn’t usually get to look in on something so private.) You have a novel tented across your chest which is a whole thing, something Spencer’s sure to think back on in quiet times and feel magnanimously guilty for afterwards, just, you’re his dream girl and it’s boiling and you have sweat running down the inside of your leg, and Spencer’s going to die here watching it fall to your ankle.

You pass him your drink. “Here, honey, have some of this. You’re getting hot.”

He takes it because you’re right, drinking three big mouthfuls of it as the sunshine kisses the line of his throat. Your hand lands carefully in the crook of his arm, and that’s not your usual way of touching, but he appreciates it nonetheless as your fingertips begin drawing small circles.

“Ticklish?” you ask.

He wipes his eyebrows. “A little.”

You draw up the naked stretch of his arm until you reach the sleeve. You’re inquisitive as your fingers slide beneath, and your hand stills there behind his shoulder, inside of his shirt, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I put some on before I came out, but I’ll put more on in a bit.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. I don’t want melanoma anymore than you do.”

“I don’t want you to get melanoma. I don’t want anyone to get it, but especially you.”

Your fingers close around the top of his arm, using him for an anchor as you pull yourself into a sitting position. Your book falls into your lap. He grabs it and sits it on your open bag, closed properly lest the pages get bent.

“C’mere,” you say, pulling at his arm gently, “reward for your sweetness, sweetheart.”

Spencer tips his head to the side so his hat misses your eyes, his own squeezing closed as you press a nice kiss to his cheek, and then, to his heart’s rearing excitement, a clumsier second one further up his cheek.

“Don’t worry about melanoma,” you say, nearly a murmur. “Today’s supposed to be for us to relax.”

“I am relaxing.”

“I can tell.”

You stretch your legs out. You’re wearing a tankini with little bottoms, like boyshorts, and a camisole-esque top, leaving the softness of your stomach exposed for his eyes to roam over and over. That’s after he’s finished with your arms, your legs, the forbidden slip of your thighs crossing as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. Spencer may be timid, but he’s no fool, wrapping a steadying arm behind you.

“Tides coming in,” you say. You’ve already told him that the both of you will be going for a swim after to cool down. He can imagine it already. His hair is soaked under his hat and there’s sand in his new shorts, and Spencer thinks this might end up being the very best day of his life, spent alone with you, for no reason other than your wanting his company.

“How come you’re not boiling in your skin?” Spencer grumbles.

“Mind over matter.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

You laugh into his arm, rubbing your nose there. “Sure it does.” He chances a squeeze. You laugh more, and press a kiss half into his sleeve. “Spence.”

“What?”

“Thank you for coming. I know you hate the beach.”

“I don’t hate the beach.”

“You strongly dislike the beach.”

“That’s accurate. It’s not that bad, though… you know, with you.”

You cuddle into his side. Usually Spencer would be tentative to think of it that way, but there’s no other word for it. You’re hugging one another like you’re more than you are —though maybe you are more than you are, more than you’ve said aloud, because stuff like this keeps happening. You sniffle without tears against him and he lets out a sigh. It really is hot.

You look pretty against his side. Looking down at you, Spencer could be sick with the wanting of it all, but he takes another deep breath, lets out another sigh, endeared by your knee caps and your thighs and the fine hairs all over you that catch the light.

“Come down to the sea with me?” you ask.

He reaches for his sunglasses in your bag and pushes them onto his face one-handed. He doesn’t like the idea of wet sand on his feet, but he thinks about holding your hand in the cold water and finds himself revitalised regardless. “Let’s go,” he says, earning himself another clumsy kiss against the side of his jaw.

He’s gonna ask to be your boyfriend, he decides. The second you get back to the hotel, he’s gonna ask.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic

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buckysleftbicep · 2 months ago

Text

letters through time (2) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: 1940s!bucky barnes x modern!fem!reader

warnings: bucky being an absolute flirt, some angst

summary: you find a letter from 1944 hidden in the old brooklyn apartment you moved signed by one james buchanan barnes. you write back, he did too, and somehow, across decades, you both fall in love.

word count: 1.8k

author's note: chapter 2 is here!! i love this chapter so, so much and i hope you do too! thank you for stopping by my loves! i miss 40s!bucky so much.

series masterlist

It became a ritual.

Each morning, before brushing your teeth or even checking your phone, you opened the drawer.

Sometimes the letter was already waiting—tucked beneath the linen cloth like it had grown there overnight, the envelope still warm from some invisible warmth. Other times, you had to wait. Hours. A day. But it always came.

And with every letter, Bucky Barnes became less of a ghost and more of a person.

You learned the rhythm of his days. The sharp whistle that pulled him from his bunk before sunrise. The sound of boots slamming against pavement during drills. The warmth of the boys in his unit, the fear of the war hidden behind their jokes, the quiet way Steve carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint.

You told him about your own days. The museum. The cataloging. How every box of artefacts made you feel like you were touching echoes of a time you now saw through his eyes.

You joked about your coffee addiction, the neighbour’s cat who acted like it owned the hallway, and the fact that you were talking to a man who was born before sliced bread became a thing.

He told you he found that hilarious.

March 19th, 1944 Sweetheart, You said people in the future are obsessed with their coffee, right? I’m starting to think I was born in the wrong era. But you wanna know the real reason I wake up smiling lately? It’s you. Your words. Your voice in my head when I read your letters. I never thought paper and ink could feel like a heartbeat. I asked Steve what he thinks about writing letters to a girl from the future. He laughed and told me if anyone could charm a girl, it’d be me. So. Here I am. Trying. Yours, Bucky

Somewhere between shared stories and inside jokes, your letters turned soft.

You told him about your favourite books. The first time you got your heart broken. That sometimes you felt a little lost, like you were floating through life without knowing where to land. You asked if he ever felt the same.

He did.

You asked what scared him most.

Not coming home. Forgetting who I am, maybe. Being forgotten. Losing people I love. Losing myself. Does that count?

You wrote back that of course it counts. That he wouldn’t be forgotten. Not by history. Not by you.

He sent a dried daisy once. Pressed between the pages of his letter. He picked it, he said, from a patch behind his barracks, just for you. It arrived crisp and pale, as if time hadn’t dared touch it.

You said you like soft things, doll. Thought you deserved something pretty. Hope the flower’s not too crushed, I’m better at shooting targets than pressing petals. I like thinking of you with something I held in my hands. Makes this whole crazy thing feel real. You feel real to me, (Y/N).

You read that line more times than you meant to.

And then one night, after a long shift at the museum and the kind of quiet that makes you feel a little too alone, you sat down at your desk with a pen in your hand and a question you weren’t sure you should ask.

You asked him for a photo.

It felt like you were crossing some invisible line. But the way your chest fluttered when you read his letters, the way your cheeks warmed at his teasing, it made you want to see him. Not the black-and-white image in a museum. Not the name in a textbook.

Him.

You folded the letter before you could change your mind and tucked in a polaroid, nothing dramatic. Just you in the corner of your room, soft light spilling across your face, your favourite sweater slipping off one shoulder as you smiled, small and uncertain, into the lens.

You slid it into the drawer and closed it gently. You didn’t expect anything to happen.

But the next morning, when you opened it again and there it was.

March 24th, 1944 Hey there, gorgeous. Is it allowed for a guy to be knocked breathless by a picture? ‘Cause I think I forgot how to breathe the second I saw you. You're beautiful, (Y/N). There’s this look in your eyes, like you already know me. Like you’ve been waiting for me. You asked for a photo, so I’m sending one. Just me, back behind base, jacket half-off because Steve said I look less like a “buttoned-up cadet” that way. Punk said I should look like the guy writing love letters to a girl in the future. He’s not wrong. Thought you should see the face that’s been stealing your time, sweetheart. Do I get another photo in return? Maybe one where you’re smiling that secret little smile you keep mentioning in your letters? Always yours, Bucky

You pressed the photo to your chest the moment you saw it.

He was handsome, of course, broad shoulders, a strong jaw, that soft curve of a smile. But it was his eyes that got you. Cerulean-blue and impossibly warm. Kind in a way photographs rarely captured. Like they weren’t just looking out, but looking at you. Through paper. Through time. Through everything.

You wrote back with shaking fingers and told him he wasn’t playing fair.

I don’t think you know what you’re doing to me, Bucky Barnes. Your letters make my heart race. And yes, I’ll send another picture. But only if you promise not to fall in love with me too fast. Kidding. (Sort of.) Yours always, (Y/N)

After that, the letters got flirtier.

You called him trouble. He called you trouble he’d gladly ruin himself for.

You teased him about the way he laced his boots after he sent a picture of himself leaning against a wall behind base, jacket slung over one shoulder, boots perfectly tied like he’d stepped out of a training manual.

You really lace them like that every day? you wrote back. No wonder Steve calls you a tightass. You joked after he had complained in the last letter about how Steve comments about his boots and how he laced them.

He replied that a man needed to be ready for anything. Especially if he was trying to impress a girl from the future.

He teased you in return about your obsession with peanut butter and how it came up in almost every letter, how he still couldn’t wrap his head around it being spread on toast.

Can’t wait to try it, he wrote, especially if you’re the one handing me the spoon.

You asked about his childhood.

He told you about Coney Island. Stealing candy from the corner store. Watching fireworks with Steve every Fourth of July. His first kiss at sixteen that made him laugh afterward because he sneezed mid-way through.

You told him about your favourite street vendor, how you always bought two hotdogs and left one for the homeless man at the subway entrance. You said it reminded you that kindness still existed in the world, even when everything felt overwhelming.

Bucky’s reply came back with a line that made your breath catch.

You're the kind of person I fought this war for. You make me believe there’s still good waiting for us on the other side.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

Just reread the letters under your covers like a lovesick teenager. Smiling into your pillow. Laughing softly at his dumb jokes. Heart aching at his soft words. And slowly, slowly, something bloomed.

You were falling for Bucky.

A man eighty years out of reach. A soldier caught in the pages of history. And yet, the way he wrote to you… the way his words wrapped around your heart like warmth in the cold.

It felt real.

And terrifying.

But you didn’t stop writing.

One night, you asked him a dangerous question.

If we could meet one day, if somehow the world let us, what would you want to do first?

His answer came in the next letter, scribbled quickly, like he couldn’t get the words down fast enough.

I’d want to touch your face. Just to make sure you're real. Then I’d probably kiss you. Slow. Like I’ve been waiting lifetimes. We could walk through Brooklyn, hand in hand. You could show me the future, and I’d show you the places where I left pieces of myself. I don’t know how this happened, doll. But I think I’m falling for you. Hell. I know I am.

You pressed your fingers to your lips as you read, like it might soften the ache building in your chest.

He was falling for you.

And god help you because you were falling too.

March 28th, 2020 Dear Bucky, I find myself thinking about you all the time. When I pass old brick buildings. When jazz plays from passing bars. You’ve become a part of my days without me even realising it. I fall asleep thinking about your words. I wake up hoping for another letter from you. And when everything around me feels too loud, it’s your voice in my head that quiets it. There’s something about the way you write, the way you talk to me like I matter, that stays with me through my day. It lingers and it reminds me of the warmth left behind after a fire. I keep your daisy tucked in my favourite book, it's delicate and a little crushed, but I love it because it came from you, because you thought of me. Maybe this is fragile and maybe it’s impossible too. But it feels real. And I don’t want to let it go. I don’t know what this is, not exactly. But I know how I feel when I read your letters. And Bucky… I think I’m falling for you too. Yours, (Y/N)

The reply didn’t come the next morning.

Nor the day after that.

Your heart twisted with worry. Every moment without a letter felt like a thread unraveling from your chest. But then—on the third day, you opened the drawer and found an envelope.

Thicker than usual.

And when you unfolded the pages, your heart nearly burst.

March 31st, 1944 Sweetheart, I’m being deployed. Steve and I are heading to Austria. Orders just came in. We leave in a week. I didn’t want to tell you at first. Didn’t want to break what we’ve built. But I can’t lie to you, I don't want to. You asked what I’d do if I could meet you? Well, I’ve started asking around, talking to Howard. He’s the smartest guy I know. He thinks that maybe there’s a way. A way for me to get to you. He said he’d help me, when we make it back. So, I’m writing this with hope, (Y/N). Hope that when this war ends, when I’ve done what I have to do, I’ll find you. Please wait for me. Yours, always, James

James.

You clutched the letter to your chest, tears stinging your eyes.

You whispered his name like a prayer.

And wrote back with your heart in your throat.

taglist: @ndanddnd @darling-eos @alikkatz @creepybake

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inthelow · 2 months ago

Text

BACK TO FRIENDS — min yoongi.

summary: Six months after your breakup, You and Yoongi reunite at a wedding on Jeju Island. As old feelings resurface over one emotional week, you must decide if love deserves a second chance—or if “just friends” will actually work.

pairing: art seller fem! reader x idol! min yoongi.

genre: exes-friends-lovers?, angst, crack, fluff, more angst.

author’s note: a long ass story, so take a coffee and take your time bc it’s a roller coaster. let me know if you like it<3

The ferry touched down with a gentle bump the sand, and you kept your eyes on the window, watching as the Jeju Island coastline rolled by. It was strange—how a place could feel like a breath of fresh air and a held breath at the same time. Jeju was beautiful. It always had been. The sky had been brushed clear blue, not a single cloud in sight. The sea shimmered beneath it like an invitation. Or a warning. You couldn’t decide which yet. But still, like always, a breathtaking place to see and be. Too beautiful, you thought, for a week that promised emotional chaos.

It had been six months since your last visit to Korea, and this time, everything felt louder. The air. The stillness. Your own heartbeat. But coming back— specially to the Island, was like coming back from a long blur of nightmares, finally being able to wake up.

Busan was close, home was close.

Home.

You squinted against the bright sunlight as you stepped out of the small port, pulling your suitcase behind you. The early summer breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus, a welcome change from the thick city air you’d just left behind in France. You adjusted your sunglasses and scanned the supposedly pickup area.

A car honked twice, loud and scandalous as the girl inside left the car on and she left it in the road.

“Y/N!”

You turned just in time to see a blur of black and wild hair fly toward you. Soojin—your best friend since you were ten years old —practically tackled you in a hug before you could even react. You laughed, muffled into your friend’s shoulder, and hugged her back just as tight. Happy to see her again after some time. Even happier to feel that warmth of knowing someone was here with you.

“You’re here! You’re finally here!”

“I am,” you said, pulling back. “God, you’re glowing. You look… like someone who’s about to spend way too much money to promise eternal love in front of a hundred people.”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. Eternal love is cheap. It’s the matching table settings that are bleeding me dry.” she shook her head. “I’m gonna need you to send me no-less than a 10k check as a wedding gift.”

“Babe, the only thing you’ll be receiving from me is a smile and my hate for making me stand next to you for an hour” you joked.

She burst out laughing, and you did the same. Not because the joke was funny but because you had missed each other.

The two loaded your suitcase into the trunk of the rental car—an absurdly cute white convertible that screamed bride on a mission—before sliding into the seats. As soon as you two pulled out of the port, you took in the vibrant green landscape, volcanic rock walls, and tangerine trees that dotted the island roads.

Soojin was your best friend, ever since you were practically in diapers-or at least that's how it felt. She had known each of your facets and had decided to love you equally, just as you had decided to love her equally. You had gone to the same university together in Busan, she majoring in economics and you in art history. You had been there when she tried to be a dancer for fun, when she decided to be a painter, a singer and a nun— crazy story—, and you had been there she got her dream job at HYBE as an accountant, you were there when she met her husband in company party, you had been there every step. And so was her with you, she was there when you got fired as a waitress for bad service, when you broke your leg trying to do snowboarding, she was there when you got your first art gallery, when you got your dream job in Paris and she had been there for you in every breakup of yours, including the last one.

You were sisters, an unbreakable bond.

“How was the flight?.”

“Exhausting” you nodded. “But I’m really excited to see you and your family so I might push the jet lag for today.”

Soojin smiled. “I can’t believe it’s been half a year since I last saw you,” she said, eyes on the road but voice softening.

“You literally went to Paris two months ago,” you snorted. “I literally had to clean all your shit for two weeks straight.”

“I was being sentimental!” she complained before giving you a side eye, “You’ve been missed.”

“I missed you too” you admitted. “And your family, can’t wait to see your mom.”

There was a comfortable silence for a beat, until Soojin added, almost too casually, “Do you feel weird being here?.”

“Not really” you denied. “It’s home, always. I’m so glad to hear Korean. I was so happy to order food.”

Your friend chuckled and you leaned your head against the window, watching the scenery blur past. “I still can’t believe you are here.”

“Just for the week.”

“Mmhmm,” Soojin hummed, skeptical.

You gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to say anything.”

You two shared a grin, and then Soojin let out a small sigh. “You know he’s going to be there.”

You closed your eyes for a second. “Yeah. I know.”

She didn’t say his name, not yet. It lingered in you like a held breath, you couldn’t say it either, you haven’t been able since you left.

“I thought you’d try to back out,” Soojin added quietly.

You gave a dry laugh. “I almost did. Twice. But I promised you I’d be your bridesmaid when we were twelve, and I meant it.”

“My dream wedding is real now” Soojin reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it. “Thank you. For coming. For being here.”

You squeezed back. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Even if the world includes a certain worldwide famous ex-boyfriend?”

“Even then.”

You two laughed again, but you could feel the twist in your stomach tighten.

“It’s been six months,” she said gently. “That’s not nothing.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“You guys ended things… okay, right?.”

“As okay as you can be when you’re breaking your own heart on purpose,” you said, forcing a smile. “It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t angry. It just… didn’t work anymore. We tried, but between the time difference and the jobs and the late-night calls turning into missed calls and stress fights—”

You had talked to her about it, but talking with your best friend was always repeating the same story over and over again, like it was new. It always was, though, specially when talking shit.

“You ghosted him.”

“I blocked him.”

Soojin snorted. “Same thing.”

“It wasn’t out of spite! I just… I needed distance. I knew if I didn’t cut everything off clean, I’d keep going back. Texting. Calling. Wondering. And that wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.”

Soojin gave you a look. “Still sounds like ghosting.”

You groaned. “Fine. Emotionally mature ghosting.” you admitted before shrugging. “But it doesn’t really matter, I know he didn’t try to contact me, it was mostly for me.”

“Ghosting.”

You both laughed again, and Soojin turned the wheel, guiding you down a narrow road lined with stone walls and bright yellow flowers. The sea glimmered in the distance.

“But it was… amicable?” she asked. “Would you be able to see each other again without tension?.”

You hesitated. “It was heartbreaking. But yeah. We didn’t fight it that much. I think he knew I had already made up my mind. And he didn’t want to be the one to ask me to stay.”

“You think he’s still mad?”

“He wasn’t mad, we were literally breaking down. It was just sad,” you said slowly, “Maybe he’s still hurt. But not mad. Yoongi was never the angry type.”

Soojin didn’t answer right away, almost fighting with herself if she should say the next thing: “Minjae says he’s been quiet lately. Like, really quiet. Kept to himself. Didn’t even want to come to the wedding.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. “He didn’t?”

“Nope. Minjae had to basically bribe him with free drinks and guilt-tripping about best-man duties.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

The hotel came into view, nestled along the cliffs with a panoramic view of the ocean. It looked like something out of a movie, all white stone and vines, warm wood and long balconies overlooking the crashing waves. Soojin pulled into the roundabout, a valet already jogging toward them.

“Ready?” your friend asked as she put the car in park.

“No.”

She grinned. “Too bad.”

You both stepped out, and you looked up at the sweeping building, your heart beating far too fast for your liking. One week. Just one week of rehearsals, dinners, awkward glances, and maybe—if you were lucky —some closure.

Or something else entirely.

The hotel smelled like fresh linen, citrus oil, and sea breeze. The cool marble floors echoed faintly with footsteps and the gentle hum of suitcases being wheeled across the lobby. You stood still for a moment beneath the wide glass ceiling, letting your eyes travel up to the light spilling down from the elaborate chandelier shaped like a cascade of pearls. The reception area was open and warm, with touches of soft wood and hanging greenery that made the entire place feel like some dreamy blend of luxury and comforts, it even had a fountain. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, reflecting on the adorned furniture. Outside, you could just glimpse the blue stretch of sea meeting the horizon, like it had been waiting for you.

Soojin had already raced ahead, calling to the front desk about room keys and confirming details about welcome drinks later that evening. You took your time, trailing your fingers lightly over the polished surface of a console table, breathing in the quiet hum of the hotel.

This was happening.

The clerk handed you a keycard with a cheerful smile and a, “Room 407, Miss,” before Soojin whisked you away with a promise to let you settle before the chaos of pre-wedding events began. You two rode the elevator in silence, both a little breathless from the travel and the sheer weight of anticipation. When you reached the fourth floor, Soojin squeezed your hand again and whispered, “my mom will probably come to see you, don’t mind her.” before disappearing down the hallway to her own suite.

You rolled your eyes with a smirk and walked toward your room.

Your heels clicked softly against the hallway’s muted carpet, patterned with delicate waves in pale blues and creams. The keycard beeped, the door clicked open, and you stepped inside. It was beautiful. Soft ivory walls framed a large canopy bed dressed in crisp white sheets and linen throw pillows. A small balcony faced the ocean, the doors left slightly ajar to let in the salty breeze and distant lull of the waves. On the side table stood a welcome note in gold script with your name, next to a vase filled with white tulips and baby’s breath.

You exhaled slowly, setting your suitcase down by the dresser and slipping out of your shoes. The room was still, almost sacred in its quietness. You walked to the balcony doors and leaned against the frame, letting the wind push gently against your face. The horizon stretched endlessly ahead, and for a moment, you let yourself feel everything.

Six months. That was all it had been since your life split in half. Since you and Yoongi said goodbye. But it felt like a lifetime. You didn’t regret leaving. Not really. The job abroad had been the opportunity you’d worked for all your twenties. And yet, as you stood there now—surrounded by everything familiar but changed—you couldn’t help but wonder if the price of it had been something you couldn’t get back. Everything had went down when you took that job a year ago, everything was too much. But you couldn’t not follow your dreams, not something you did.

There was a knock at the door—three short taps, followed by a longer one, like a secret rhythm from childhood.

You smiled before you even stood up. You padded barefoot across the room and opened the door to find Mrs. Han—Soojin’s mom—standing there with her arms already outstretched and a bright pink sun hat perched dramatically on her head.

“Yah, you little brat!” Mrs. Han declared, pulling you into a tight embrace that smelled like peonies and expensive hand cream. “One year, and I don’t even get a text? What, are we strangers now?”

You let out a breathy laugh, melting into the hug. “I missed you too, Auntie.”

Mrs. Han pulled back just enough to look at your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands. “You got skinnier!,” she frowned. “No one is feeding you abroad? Ugh. I told Soojin you needed someone to follow you with a rice cooker.”

“I’ve been eating fine, I promise,” you said, grinning.

“Hmph.” But Mrs. Han’s eyes were twinkling as she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “I brought you something. I knew hotel food would be fancy nonsense. Soojin says your room has a kettle.”

She pulled out a small thermos and handed it to you like it was treasure. “Seaweed soup. I made it this morning. You still like it with lots of sesame oil, right?”

You blinked, then smiled a little too fast, heart tight. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered,” Mrs. Han said, setting the thermos on the desk like she’d just blessed the room. “You used to sneak into my kitchen more than my own daughter.”

You laughed as you flopped onto the bed. “That’s because your kitchen always had better snacks.”

“That’s because my daughter has no taste.” Mrs. Han sat at the edge of the bed with a sigh, smoothing down her crisp linen pants. “But you,” she pointed, “you always knew what was good for you.” There was a small pause. And then, casually, Mrs. Han added, “Except when it came to boys.”

You groaned and stuffed a pillow over your face.

“Come on—”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Mrs. Han said, patting your leg. “I’m not judging. I liked Min Yoongi. Polite, smart, always cleaned his plate. That’s the minimum, but these days? That’s already rare.”

You peeked out from behind the pillow. “That’s your standard? Clean plate?”

“He never made you cry in front of me. That’s already more than your high school boyfriend,” she quipped. Then, a beat. “But he did make you cry when he let you go, didn’t he?”

The teasing tone softened slightly, and you exhaled. “Yeah,” you admitted. “But it wasn’t like that. We just… couldn’t figure it out. The time zones, the jobs, the pressure. It was too much.”

Mrs. Han nodded knowingly, then gave a small shrug. “Love isn’t always about timing, little brat. But if you’re lucky, sometimes it waits for you anyway.”

You blinked. “That was… weirdly profound for someone who once told me to date a dentist just for the insurance.”

“Love and molars, my two areas of expertise,” Mrs. Han said with a wink.

You both laughed again, the moment warm and easy. It was so simple, sitting here, joking like old times. For a second, you didn’t feel like a woman with a weird heart in a wedding hotel full of ghosts. You just felt like Soojin’s best friend, back home with people who loved you.

Mrs. Han, always so close to be yours. She was there when you had your first period, she was there to get you drunk for the first time, she was there when you ran away from home because of your dad and when you went back because you missed him. She was there when he was too busy to take care of you making money to sustain the house. She was there when he died, she hold you when you broke down. She was there every moment, like a mom you never had the chance to met.

“Anyway,” Mrs. Han stood and straightened her blouse. “You’ll be fine. You’re still the prettiest one here. Even Soojin said so, and she’s the bride, so that’s basically a crime.”

That wasn’t true.

“I’ll let her know you said that.”

“No, you won’t,” Mrs. Han pointed at you, like a threat. “Now go eat that soup and put on some blush. You never know who’s going to be waiting at the welcome drinks.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled the whole way to the door as you walked her out.

When she was gone, the room felt softer somehow. Familiar. Maybe not all ghosts were painful.

Some of them just brought soup.

The welcome drinks were held just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden haze over the gardens of the oceanside hotel. The venue was a sprawling modern hanok-inspired resort nestled along the cliffs of Jeju Island, the kind of place where even the air smelled expensive—salt, citrus, and blooming night jasmine. String lights crisscrossed above the open patio, swaying gently in the breeze like stars strung on wire.

You stepped onto the stone path in a satin slip dress the color of a soft violet, its delicate straps catching the light as you walked. The dress hugged your figure in a way that was effortless—simple, clean, but undeniably elegant. You wore your hair pulled back in a soft low bun, a few strands brushing your cheekbones and neck. A pair of small gold hoops glinted when you turned your head. You’d debated for far too long what to wear—there was something about seeing him again that made everything suddenly feel like a test. But now that you were here, you were determined to float through the night like nothing had changed.

Your heels clicked softly as you walked into the courtyard, already full of chatter and laughter. A waiter passed by with a tray of sparkling wine and you took a glass, letting the cold stem sit in your fingers for a moment before lifting it to your lips. Your nerves buzzed underneath the calm exterior, but you weren’t about to let anyone see that.

“Little shit!.”

The voice came like a burst of sunshine and wind. You turned just in time to catch a blur of navy linen and the smell of aftershave—Soojin’s fiancé, Minjae, wrapped you in a dramatic bear hug that lifted you halfway off the ground.

“Fucker” you laughed, bracing yourself against his shoulder. “Put me down before I spill this on your fancy $20 shirt.”

He set you down but didn’t let go completely. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back looking like a Vogue cover.”

“Stop,” you warned with an amused smile. “You’re just saying that because Soojin would kill you if you didn’t.”

“That too,” he winked. “But mostly because it’s true.”

You looked up at him fondly. Minjae had always been the charming one—effortlessly warm, the type who remembered birthdays and your fish’s name and how you liked your coffee. He and Soojin had been together for almost fours years but it felt like a lifetime already —they always felt like an old married couple, everyone knew they were going to end up together. Specially because Minjae was actually just a good guy, kind and patient for someone like her, loud and anxious.

“You look happy,” you said sincerely, adjusting the collar of his shirt like a sister might. “Marriage suits you.”

He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “You think? I still feel like I’m going to trip walking down the aisle.”

“You won’t,” You said. “But if you do, at least you’ll be legally bound to someone who loves you.”

“God, don’t make me cry before the wedding.”

You laughed and sipped your drink again, letting your eyes skim the crowd. No sign of Yoongi yet, but you weren’t going to ask and Minjae since— as a good best friend of him— wasn’t going to say anything. Not just yet.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you gently by the wrist. “Soojin’s been pacing by the wine table waiting for you like a feral cat. She said if I didn’t bring you in the next five minutes she’d start biting guests.”

“That sounds about right.”

You both walked into the heart of the garden together, weaving through small clusters of guests in pastel dresses and pressed shirts. Laughter floated through the air, the kind that felt easy and new. But your pulse still beat a little faster than it should. Because next to your best friend in this sea of celebration and tulle and toast… Yoongi was here too.

And you hadn’t seen him—really seen him—in exactly one hundred and eighty-three days. And you were already too close to them to turn back. Too close to pretend you didn’t seen him.

Your smile faltered. Your gaze had already moved past Soojin—to the figure standing just beside her. Yoongi. He was holding a glass of something golden in one hand, standing just a little too straight, a little too still. He was listening to Soojin joke about the drinks, laughing politely, but you saw it. The moment he noticed you. How his whole body shifted almost imperceptibly, like gravity had just tilted in your direction.

Like he was yours.

He wasn’t anymore.

You four stood in front of each other. Minjae was about to say something trivial to Yoongi and you stood there uncomfortably, feeling his gaze not moving from yours, not really paying attention to his friend. Soojin must’ve felt it too, because she cleared her throat suddenly.

“Uh—we’re gonna… go check on the dessert situation,” she said quickly, grabbing Minjae by the arm.

“What? I—”

“Now.”

They disappeared into the crowd.

You blinked after them, deadpan. “Well. That wasn’t obvious.”

Yoongi stepped a little closer. “Do you think they rehearsed that?.”

“I’d believe it.”

A pause.

You turned to him fully. There it was again—that soft, tight pull in your chest. The one you hadn’t been able to shake since Paris. His face was too familiar. You hated how familiar. You hated that you remembered the exact way his lashes curled, or the way he always had a hand in his pocket like he didn’t know what to do with himself when things got too quiet, too real.

“Hey,” he said finally.

“Hey,” you echoed, and smiled before realizing it might’ve come out too fast, too forced.

You both stood like that for a second, both pretending the crowd around was far more interesting when it was actually too quiet and too out of reach.

“I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight,” Yoongi admitted.

“Why?” you asked. “You think I’d skip this amazing welcome drinks just to avoid you?”

He looked at you, like he knew you better. “You did block me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. He had noticed “Touché.”

Another beat passed. You took a sip of your drink, letting the bubbles fill the silence.

“You look well,” he added, after a moment.

“Well?” you raised an eyebrow. “What is that, the diplomatic way of saying ‘I thought you’d look more miserable’?”

Yoongi gave a small, helpless laugh. “Maybe.”

“Maybe I was.” you looked at him, your voice dropping just slightly. “You just didn’t get to see that part.”

His smile faded, but not in a painful way—just thoughtful, a little distant.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“No. You don’t,” you admitted. “Not exactly. It was no one’s fault.”

“But you still blocked me.”

You snorted and he almost smiled. You gave a half-shrug. “It wasn’t for you, I needed to do that for me.”

Yoongi nodded slowly. The conversation stretched, quiet but not empty. People laughed and clinked glasses around, a hum of distant joy that felt oddly far away.

“Did you ever want to call?” he asked softly.

You swallowed. “All the time.”

“I would’ve picked up.”

A silence. You felt your heart clenched in pain, almost too afraid to keep going. Too afraid to say something else, but you didn’t denied him.

“I know.” you smiled, sad and real. “That’s exactly why I didn’t.”

That silence between you both shifted—less sharp now, more familiar, like a bruise being pressed just gently enough.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You look more… grounded now. Like you’ve been breathing different air.”

“Different time zones help,” you said. “Plus, Paris has great bread. Hard to be sad with a croissant.”

He chuckled. “You’re still the same.”

“And you’re still dramatic.”

“Only when provoked.”

You smiled again, then took another slow sip of your drink. Your fingers brushed the rim of the glass. Then you looked up at him, eyes clearer this time.

“So…” you started, teasingly, “friends?”

“Terrible idea” Yoongi’s head titled. “Is that what we’re doing now?”

You shrugged. “I figured it’s the safest option. You’re the best man, I’m the bridesmaid. They are our best friends, we’ll see each other in parties and dinners. And we’ll be around each other all week. It’s either friendship or… cold war.”

“Tempting,” he smirked. “But I’ll go with friendship.”

“Look at us. So mature.”

You both laughed quietly.

Then something in the air settled again—between the drinks and the distance, the words unspoken still hovering just beyond your reach. For now, you would hold this fragile truce.

“Alright, friend,” he said, tilting his glass toward you. His tone almost sounding mockery. “Cheers for that.”

He clinked his glass against yours. Your fingers didn’t touch, but the electricity? Still there, still humming.

The late morning sun was already warming the wide wooden deck of the seaside hotel, where tables were being set with white linen cloths and freshly polished silverware. Bougainvillea climbed the railings and spilled over the corners, their bright petals dancing in the soft breeze. Beyond the terrace, the ocean shimmered in endless shades of blue, lazy and calm.

You squinted as you stepped outside, still adjusting to the sunlight after a rushed morning. The welcome drinks the night before had gone later than you intended— but it was different today. Today was quiet, today was better. You and Yoongi were okay, now you could forget the tension and months of anticipation of seeing him, now you knew it would be okay.

Just friends.

You could be that.

“Finally!” Soojin’s voice cut through your thoughts. “I thought you would sleep through the whole rehearsal brunch and leave me to drown in family politics.”

You waved, still pushing your sunglasses up your nose. “You know I don’t function before ten. I made an effort.” Your voice was a little rude, sleepy. “Now, what the hell is the emergency? I already hate being a bridesmaid.”

“Barely an effort” Soojin looped an arm through yours. “C’mon. We’ve got a crisis. Or five.”

“Tell me someone eloped and we can cancel everything,” you said, jokingly.

“I wish. No, the place cards got shuffled during the windstorm last night. Minjae tried to fix them but now Auntie Hye-sook is seated next to my college roommate who thinks marriage is a capitalist scam.” she groaned.

“That sounds like he did it on purpose.”

You both made your way to a long table stacked with name cards—some organized, many scattered like confetti from a paper explosion. And standing beside the chaos, like he’d been there all morning, was Yoongi next to the groom. Both silently laughing about something. Your breath caught slightly, but you forced your face into an easy smile as he looked up. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and he had a stack of cards in one hand and a pen tucked behind his ear like he belonged to the wedding staff.

“Morning,” he said simply.

“Morning” you replied.

Silence, a little uncomfortable.

Soojin raised an eyebrow between you both. “Should I leave?”

“I think we should record,” Minjae joked.

Friends.

You were friends now. Not more uncomfortable moments, you had to make your part.

“Please don’t,” you said quickly, giving Yoongi a tight smile. “I need backup in case he starts monologuing about the furniture and alcohol.”

He seemed to notice your intentions, a smirked grew on his face. “Only if you start complaining about the humidity first.”

Soojin backed away slowly, hands in mock-surrender. “Okay. We’re going to… check on the brunch. You two, try not to knife each other with the dessert forks yet.”

“Yeah, sadly we still need you two to be on the brunch later” Minjae pressed his lip together, trying not to laugh.

As soon as they were gone, you glanced down at the cards on his hands.

“You’re actually helping?” you asked.

“Volunteered,” he said. “I was promised mimosas.”

“You’ll do anything for free alcohol.” You titled your head, “you do remember you’re rich, right?.”

“I love free things” Yoongi shrugged. “Especially when it comes with table drama and watching you pretend you’re not annoyed I’m here.”

You gave him a look, lips twitching despite yourself. “I’m not annoyed.”

“No?”

“I’m… cautiously neutral.”

“Big words from the girl who blocked my number six months ago.”

“I already said that was for my healing,” you said, pointing at him. “Don’t act like you were texting me daily.”

He chuckled, and for a moment, a true came out. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

You both stayed in silence.

You realized, some things will be harder to pretend. You both knew the tension between you wasn’t gone, it had simply been disguised by the daylight, by fake cordiality to survive the weej. Like waves beneath the surface, always there. Always pulling— But you still both worked side-by-side, shuffling names and scanning Soojin’s seating chart. The tension between you crackled—not hostile, but unresolved. Familiar in a way that made your skin hum.

Later something called your attention. You reached for a card, and his hand brushed yours at the same time.

You pulled back quickly. “Okay. Who’s sabotaging my seat? I was supposed to sit next to Soojin.” you frowned. “I don’t want to sit next to Minho, that fucker is annoying.”

“Is that the guy who flirted with you on my birthday last year?” he remembered.

“Yeah” you chuckled. “Minjae sucks at this job.”

“He changed it because he wanted his other cousin to sit next to him” Yoongi explained.

“And I have to pay the price” you clicked your tongue. “Whatever, I guess at least we have mimosas. Right?.”

“It’s just this brunch, you’ll survive” he shrugged.

“I’ll try” you pointed the table. Since we’re finally done. Can you tell Soojin everything is good?. I have a date with two mimosas before surviving this”

Yoongi chuckled. “Enjoy that.”

“Than you.”

Two mimosas later you had to go back.

The brunch terrace overlooked the sea, warm sunlight spilling across white-clothed tables arranged in soft curves along the edge of the hotel’s garden. A light breeze carried the scent of lavender and citrus. Everything looked effortless, magazine-perfect. The weeding would be perfect. You went around some people to say hi, greeting the ones you knew nd having a small chat about what you’d been up to.

After some minutes you decided to take a seat and suffer. Your stomach twisted the moment your eyes landed on the place card at table.

Your name.

And next to it: Min Yoongi.

You stood still for a moment, blinking. No way he had just to change it. Was he trying to create more uncomfortable moments?.

“Surprised?” came a familiar voice at your shoulder.

You turned and found Yoongi, now wearing a light button-down and that same calm, unreadable expression that used to drive you insane.

“You moved the cards,” you said flatly.

He smiled, hands in his pockets. “Guilty. You’re not mad, are you?. You did say you would hate seating with that guy.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And you did all this from the kindness of your heart?.”

“That. And I don’t want to hear Minjae’s brother talk about politics again.”

You snorted softly and slid into your seat. “You’re lucky I already drank two mimosas.”

He took his seat next to you.

After a couple minutes, other guests arrived, filling the seats around you—Soojin’s cousins, a few out-of-town friends, some older relatives. The buzz of small talk and clinking glasses filled the air, but to you, everything seemed to slow just a little with Yoongi beside you. It was strange, how easily he could shift the atmosphere, like slipping into an old rhythm even after months apart.

A waiter appeared behind you two, pen poised over a notepad, taking everyone’s order of the short menu that the couple-to be marry- had chose.

“I’ll have the smoked salmon toast and the fruit platter,” Yoongi said, then—without missing a beat—he added, “And she’ll have the scrambled eggs, the sourdough, no butter, and the grapefruit juice, no pulp.”

You blinked.

The waiter nodded and moved on before you could say anything else. You stared at Yoongi, amused.

“I—what—did you just order for me?”

He looked sheepish for a second, almost afraid. But then he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Sorry. Reflex.”

You shook your head with a half-laugh. “You really just autopiloted my breakfast order.”

“It’s a skill,” he said with a grin. “I take pride in my muscle memory.”

You reached for another mimosa. He did the same, and your fingers brushed on the glass stem. You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Still the best drinks for a brunch,” you muttered with a smile.

He gave a soft laugh. “Nothing says emotional morning repression like champagne and orange juice.”

“Amen.”

You both shared a grin, and you hated how warm it felt. How normal.

He picked up his fork, examining his glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “So… Jeju. A week of wedding festivities. Trapped in paradise with your ex. Sounds like a great romcom setup.”

“Oh yeah,” you said, slicing into a piece of quiche. “Especially the part where we will be avoiding eye contact during every group activity.”

He tilted his head. “We’re talking now.”

“Sadly.”

He snorted and you felt a little proud about it.

“I missed this,” he said quietly after a moment of silence.

You didn’t answer at first. Just took a slow sip of your drink, then looked out toward the water. “Don’t get sappy on me, Yoongi. We still have six more days to survive.”

“Right,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “We should pace ourselves.”

“Uhm.”

You two lapsed into silence for a moment, the sun warming your faces, the light chatter of the brunch continuing around you both. It wasn’t the same as before—how could it be?—but it wasn’t bitter, either. Just… tentative. Like standing at the edge of something you’ve already fallen from once before.

“You look good, by the way,” he said after a beat. “Healthier. Happier.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You say that like I was miserable before.”

“I say that like someone who knows how hard you worked to get here.”

Your throat tightened slightly, but you pushed the emotion down with a small, practiced smile. “You too. You look… calm.”

“Therapy,” he said with a smirk. “And I bought a rice cooker that changed my life.”

You burst into genuine laughter then, the kind that caught you off guard. The kind you didn’t realize you missed.

“You needed it. Ordering food every single day was killing you.” your voice was softer, less fake. “I’m glad you’re happy. I like seeing you that way.”

His expression changed. And, for a minute, he wanted to tell you how he wasn’t. How he had been dying to see you again, to call you, to touch you, to hear you.

But he didn’t. He nosed slightly before adding in a mockery.

“Thank you, friend.”

You gave him a long look. Something flickered behind his eyes—something unresolved, something still soft.

Breakfast came. And you both felt into silence again.

Nine months ago. Busan.

The room was dim except for the warm, golden glow from the lamp on Yoongi’s nightstand. Rain pattered softly against the windows, washing the city in a blur of light. You lay curled on your side, one hand beneath your cheek, the other resting where your bodies touched under the blanket. Yoongi was still awake beside you, his fingers tracing absent circles on your bare shoulder, like he was memorizing you in real time.

“You’re not sleeping,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to waste time,” you replied, voice soft.

“With what?”

“With you.”

He smiled, eyes still closed. “Cheesy.”

“Truthful.”

You both went quiet for a moment. The silence between you two was never heavy—just full. Full of breath and warmth and everything unsaid. You turned to face him, brushing your knuckles along his jaw.

“I have to fly out next week,” you said quietly.

He nodded. “I know.”

“I don’t know when they are going to let me have another week off.”

“I know.”

You searched his eyes. “I don’t want this to get hard.”

“It already is,” he said. Not accusing. Just honest. “I have a tour next month.”

You blinked and looked away. Your chest tightened in that way it did when you felt the future creeping in—uncontrollable, unkind. The clock ticking down on something that still felt new.

“I could maybe call sick for another week,” you offered, but even as you said it, you both knew it was a lie you couldn’t fully commit to.

Yoongi kissed your forehead. “Don’t do that. Don’t start shrinking.”

You closed your eyes again, trying to breathe through the ache. “I just want to be in two places at once.”

“You want to live the life you’ve worked for and still be in this bed with me.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled sadly, pulling you close. “I get how you feel, it felt easier when you were here in Korea and I was the only one moving around. But now you moved, and I’m so proud of you” he kissed you and you wanted to cry. “Doesn’t matter how long we’re apart. I’d wait, you know. If I had to.”

You didn’t answer.

And neither one of you said it then, but both were starting to feel the quiet truth: that sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes timing wins. Sometimes it tears even the strongest things apart. But that night, in the quiet glow of the city, you let yourself believe you were the exception. That you could stretch across continents and work schedules and late-night phone calls and still find each other intact.

That you’d always be able to come back to him.

Present day. Jeju Island.

The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the beachside pavilion where the wedding guests had gathered for an afternoon of games and laughter. Soojin had organized a basketball game to get everyone moving and break the usual stiffness of formal gatherings. You tugged at your two braids, trying not to look too competitive. Your team had already won on volleyball so you were planning on winning this one too.

Except, this time someone decided to join.

Yoongi.

The group split into two makeshift basketball teams on the sand-covered court near the beachside pavilion. Shirts were tied around waists, sneakers kicked off, and everyone was laughing— except you, you were narrowing your eyes across the sand to see him.

“We’re gonna win.” Soojin said next to you.

“We’re not. He knows the game,” Minjae whispered behind her, pointing at Yoongi as he spun the ball casually on one finger.

“Yeah, we’re losing. That fucker always win in this” you muttered. He caught you looking and offered a little smirk and a wave. “You see,” you scoffed. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Minjae handed you a red bandana to tie around your wrist. “Relax you two. It’s just a game.”

“Tell that to the human highlight reel over there,” you mumbled.

“I’ll destroy him.” your friend whispered and you snorted.

The whistle blew, and the game started.

For the first few minutes, it was manageable. You managed to dodge around players and even scored once—though Yoongi made a show of clapping slowly, which earned him a sharp glare. He was pulling your strings, stressing you. The fist few minutes he expend it showing off, playing around you, almost touching your face and sometimes even pushing you softly so you couldn’t touch the ball.

But as the game picked up, so did Yoongi’s energy. He weaved through his defense like he was barely trying, tossing quick passes and launching three-pointers with that maddening ease. You huffed and sprinted to intercept a pass, only for the ball to bounce off the rim and slam—hard—into your face. It had happened to quickly.

The world blinked out for a second. Your both hands flew to your eye.

“Oh my God—y/n!” someone shouted.

“Hold on—move!” Yoongi was already running over you, screaming at someone.

You blinked rapidly, that one eye already watering. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice was shaky.

He stood in front of you, hands moving around you to get a better view of your face. “You’re not,” he said. “You’re holding your face and swaying like a drunk flamingo.”

“I’m not swaying,” you snapped, still cupping your eye with one hand. “And did you do that on purpose?”

Yoongi stared at you, dumbfounded. “What? Of course no!”

“You’re out here acting like we’re in the NBA finals—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, holding up his hands. “Let’s get you ice before you accuse me of attempted murder.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the group who stood up making sure you were okay. You showed them a thumbs up, giving Soojin a glare when she smiled slightly when Yoongi grabbed your hand to lead you across the sand and into the cool, shaded hallway of the resort building. The noise of the game and laughter faded behind you.

Inside the lobby, the air conditioning hit your skin like a blessing. Yoongi guided you toward a small side room near the concierge area where an ice bucket sat beside a drink station. He grabbed a cloth napkin and wrapped a few cubes in it.

“Come on. Sit.”

You dropped into the cushioned bench by the wall “This sucks.” you muttered, “If I have a black eye for the wedding I will murder you.”

Yoongi kneeled in front of you. “I didn’t meant to. I got too much in to it. Also, why were you standing just down the rim?.”

“Oh, it’s my fault now?” he snorted and you frowned. “I forgot how good you were at basketball.”

His face became softer “Here,” he said, holding it out the ice to you. “Press it gently. You’re already turning purple.”

You took it with a small wince. “Wow. You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty.”

He smirked. “What can I say? Honesty first.” You rolled your eyes, dabbing the ice gently over your left eye. “Should I apologize again, or are you going to accuse me of targeting you in cold blood one more time?”

“I’m still considering pressing charges,” you muttered, adjusting the ice. “But I’ll let it go if you admit you were showing off.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “I was definitely showing off.”

You peeked at him through one eye. “I knew I was right.”

“Unfortunately.” He gave a slight shrug. “There’s something about competition that gets me in trouble.”

You snorted. “And here I thought you were a reformed man.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath. “Only partially. The other part’s still an idiot.”

You smiled at that, leaning back against the wall. Your eye still throbbed, but the cold helped. And somehow, sitting here with him — alone, out of the reach of your friends and the pressure of the week — felt strangely… nice. Familiar, in a way that made your chest ache a little.

“I can’t believe you hit me in the face,” you said eventually.

“I didn’t mean to!,” he exclaimed , dramatically defensive. “The ball ricocheted off the rim. Physics did that. I’m innocent.”

“You threw it hard enough to break sound.”

“It was a bounce pass!”

You squinted at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t cry.”

“I would’ve carried you off the court like a tragic princess.”

You gave a small laugh, shaking you head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you laughed,” he pointed out, grinning.

“I’m concussed. My judgment is impaired.”

That made him laugh again — a real one, quiet and warm. He dropped onto his feet across from you, elbows on his knees as he looked over.

“So… are you really okay?” he asked, tone a little gentler.

You lowered the ice. “Yeah. Just sore. I’ve taken worse.”

Yoongi’s jaw twitched, like he wanted to ask more but didn’t. A beat passed.

“You still have that thing,” he said, nodding toward your eye.

“What thing?”

“That look you get when you’re trying to downplay something. This like—” He squinted at you. “—stoic but slightly annoyed face.”

You stared at him. “I do not have a face like that.”

“You absolutely do.”

You snorted. “Maybe I wouldn’t make that face if people weren’t hitting me in the face.”

“Fair point.”

Silence stretched again, but not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Charged in the way things get when words don’t cover the air between people who know each other too well. Outside, someone shouted about water bottles. The game was still going, the world still moving. But in here, everything felt still.

“I forgot how easy it is to talk to you,” you said suddenly, needing to get it out of your system.

Yoongi blinked, eyes full of sentiment, something you couldn’t read just yet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even when you’re being a smug basketball menace.”

He smiled at you. “You forgot?”

You looked down at the ice in your hand, voice going lower, vulnerable. “I had to. For a while.”

There was a beat. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. But you felt the way he was looking at you — really looking — and your throat tightened.

“I missed this,” he said quietly. “Not—this, like, you getting injured. But… us. Talking like this.”

Your lips curled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Me too.” You nodded, looking at him with less tension. “I’m glad we can do it again. I like being friends.”

There was a puse, he looked at you, restrained. And then he chuckled, almost sarcastically. “Right. As friends.”

You both sat in it for a moment. Neither reaching. Neither pulling away.

“Should we go back?” you asked softly, after a beat.

“Eventually,” he said. “But I’m not rushing. You’re injured. Needs proper recovery time.”

You smiled, just a little. “So this is your guilt talking.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe I just like the excuse.”

That made you look over, your eyes meeting his. Something caught there. Not heavy, not quite flirty — but warm, soft. Meant to do. And he held your gaze for a second longer than he should’ve.

And you let him. Just a for second.

Then you stood, pressing the ice pack back to your face. “Alright. Let’s go. But if someone throws the ball at me again, I’m suing.”

Yoongi stood up too, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “Fair. I’ll be your lawyer. I’ve watched Suits twice.”

You rolled your eyes and walked past him, but as you did, he fell into step beside you — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like it had always been.

13 months ago. Busan

It had been raining all day.

Not the dramatic kind of storm that clashed against windows and roared down rooftops, but the soft, persistent drizzle that blurred the city into grayscale. Outside their little apartment, Busan looked washed-out and sleepy. Inside, it was warm. Still. You lay curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that had seen better days, your legs tucked beneath you. A book rested open on your lap, but your eyes had wandered long ago. The smell of ginger tea and instant ramyeon drifted in from the kitchen.

Yoongi was at the counter, his back to you, hunched over two bowls of steaming noodles. He was wearing one of your sweatshirts — the navy one that said “Korea University” even though neither of you had gone there — and it hung loose over his frame. His hair was messy, damp from his earlier dash to the convenience store.

You watched him in silence for a moment, your heart full in that inexplicable way it got when life slowed down enough for you to feel it.

“You’re not using enough sesame oil,” you said lazily.

Yoongi glanced over his shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t buy triangle kimbap and call it a day.”

You smiled. “I would’ve forgiven you.”

He brought the bowls over and handed you one, then sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against your legs like he always did.

“I like days like this,” he murmured, poking at his noodles. “No pressure to go anywhere, no calls, no pretending we’re not tired.”

You were waiting for one call. One important one. One that would change your life.

You rested your chin on the top of his head. “You pretend you’re tired all the time.”

“And you think it makes me look cool,” he said with mock seriousness.

“I think you’re annoying,” you replied. But your fingers were already running through his hair, soft and absentminded.

You both ate in silence for a bit, save for the occasional clink of chopsticks or the muted sound of rain tapping the windows. Your book slipped to the floor, forgotten.

After a while, Yoongi tilted his head up to look at you. “Marry me.” You laughed — not because it was a joke, but because of how casual he made it sound. He grinned. “What? I’m serious. We could run a ramyeon shop and live above it. You read books all day, I burn things in the kitchen. Perfect.”

It was stupid. One, because he wasn’t going to quit music anytime soon. Two, because you weren’t going to leave a good job opportunity just to marry a man.

So you rolled your eyes, but your hand paused in his hair. “What if we burn out?”

“Then we burn out together,” he said. And even if he hadn’t meant it entirely seriously, the way he looked at you — quiet, steady — made your chest ache in hope for a moment. A life that could happen if you believe it enough. But it really was a throwaway line. A rainy-day joke. But something about that moment, the warmth, the way time slowed down and wrapped around you two — it stayed.

You would remember that day long after it ended. When it was all too quiet. When you were too far apart. When it rained again.

Present day. Jeju Island.

The late afternoon sun dipped low over Jeju, casting a soft golden glow across the open garden of the resort. Rows of white chairs had been set up in front of an arched trellis woven with greenery and pale peonies, still half-wrapped in ribbon and waiting to be fluffed for the ceremony. The ocean lay behind it all, quiet and calm in the distance, the breeze bringing in the scent of salt and citrus.

You shaded your eyes as you took it all in, standing near the edge of the setup with a plastic cup of iced tea in one hand. You had drank already four mimosas so now you were trying to keep it classy and not ruin the rehearsal dinner.

Everything was perfect — painfully so. And chaotic in the best way.

Soojin was rushing around barefoot in a white linen sundress, waving a clipboard and yelling lovingly at people to “look alive! This is a WEDDING, not a kindergarten play!” Minjae, ever the calm to her storm, just grinned and trailed behind her with two paper fans and a backup itinerary folded in his shirt pocket.

“I’m starting to think you’re her personal assistant” you joked as Minjae approached, his shirt slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and face flushed with heat.

“You think she’d survive this alone?” he said, bumping your shoulder lightly. “She’s making the planner cry. You’re next if you’re not careful.”

You laughed. “I’m not afraid of Soojin. I’ve survived summer exams with her.”

“You say that, but she’s already assigned you a speech,” he added with an innocent shrug.

“I know, she texted me about it three weeks ago in all caps. Then again last night just to ‘remind me gently,’” you said, air quoting. “I think she means to ruin me.”

“Just keep it short and emotional, or long and mildly embarrassing. Either way, she’ll cry.”

You both turned to watch Soojin adjusting someone’s boutonnière like her life depended on it. You both loved her dearly.

“I’ll be the one crying,” you muttered. “Or maybe I’ll black out halfway through.”

“She’s counting on the emotional damage. Speech isn’t for her — it’s for the drama.”

“Of course it is.”

Minjae smiled and nudged you again before slipping off to join the group by the arch. You lingered a little longer, sipping your tea, watching the bridal party rehearse their positions. There were bridesmaids and groomsmen practicing where to walk and when to pause, some of them slightly tipsy from the welcome drinks earlier.

And of course, there he was.

Yoongi stood off to the side, helping one of the groomsmen fix his tie. He was in a light white button-down, sleeves rolled, dark pants. Easy, confident, that effortless kind of handsome that still made your stomach twist a little. He didn’t look at you — not yet. And that made you feel oddly braver.

Soojin finally spotted you. “Y/n!” she called, hands in the air. “Let’s go, your practice moment of fame is coming.”

You chuckled and made your way over, the grass soft beneath your sandals. You passed the rows of chairs, imagined them filled with people — all dressed up and whispering about the speeches, the love, the vows.

The rehearsal continued in a blur of laughter, corrections, and Soojin almost tripping on her own excitement. You went through the motions, standing in your place as bridesmaid, watching Soojin and Minjae exchange teasing glances as they practiced the ceremony part. The joy between them was palpable, infectious. You found herself smiling so much your cheeks hurt. And later, when the sun began to slip below the horizon and people scattered for drinks or rest to the bar inside, you stayed a little longer — staring at the altar, picturing what you might say the wedding day.

You didn’t want to overthink it. You wanted it to be honest. From the heart. But somewhere beneath that, there was something else tugging at your chest. A different kind of ache.

You wondered if Yoongi would be listening closely. If he remembered the promises you never got to make.

The light from the rehearsal garden faded into twilight as the bridal party funneled inside, trailing laughter and the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass into the resort’s lounge bar. Inside, warm lighting pooled over polished wood floors, the soft hum of conversation and glass clinking filling the space. Someone connected a phone to the speaker system, and a slow, summery playlist began to drift into the air.

You stepped up to the bar, still slightly flushed from the rehearsal. Your hair had loosened from its clip, and you reached up to re-pin it absentmindedly as you waited for your turn to ask for a drink. Soojin was holding court near the back of the room, seated between two cousins and already halfway into her cocktail.

“Whiskey soda, please,” you said to the bartender. You didn’t look around much. There were too many familiar faces and only one you weren’t sure how to handle.

“Didn’t peg you for whiskey,” came a voice beside you — not loud, but close enough to make you glance.

Yoongi stood just a step away, not looking directly at you, more like reading the chalkboard list of drinks overhead.

“That’s because I was the one who did the pegging.” Yoongi blushed furiously when the bartender choked, trying to give you your drink. You accepted the glass with a nod and turned toward him. “Too much?”

“Yep, change the subject.”

You snorted and nodded. “How was the rehearsal for you?.”

“Chaotic. But it’ll be beautiful tomorrow.”

Yoongi relaxed. His lip twitched, but he didn’t push it. He ordered a beer and leaned slightly on the bar, arms crossed over his chest. You both stood in silence for a moment, letting the bustle of the party crowd fill the quiet between them.

“I don’t know how Soojin hasn’t collapsed,” you muttered, scanning the room. “She’s been running off pure willpower and white wine.”

“She thrives on this,” Yoongi said. “Didn’t you tell me she used to plan fake weddings in middle school?”

You snorted. “She made me be flower girl for three different scenarios.”

“That tracks.”

Another pause settled. Not awkward, not quite easy. Just… there.

You glanced around the bar again. “Kind of loud in here.”

Yoongi turned to you, like had been waiting for that comment. “Wanna steal a bottle and head down to the beach?”

You considered it for a second — the party noise, the steady ache behind his eyes, the fact that everyone already seemed two drinks ahead. “Yeah,” you said, quiet but sure. “Okay.”

He grabbed a pack of soju from the counter behind the bar, raised an eyebrow at the bartender, who just gave a wave like he’d seen it all before. You two slipped out through the side doors with barely a glance back.

The night air was cooler now, brushed with ocean breeze and the faint scent of the pine trees that grew along the shore. The resort lights shimmered behind as you two walked across the wooden path toward the beach. You took off your sandals when the sand began, letting it shift beneath your toes. Yoongi held the pack of 4 bottles loosely in one hand, his other shoved into his pocket, like it didn’t weight.

“Still can’t believe they’re getting married,” you said eventually, your voice carried by the rhythm of the waves.

He nodded. “It suits them. Somehow. Minjae’s steadiness, Soojin’s chaos… it balances.”

You let out a small laugh. “Years ago I couldn’t imagine Soojin being anyone’s wife.”

“You’d be surprised,” Yoongi said. “She started yelling at me to moisturize the second I walked in.”

“That’s her love language.”

A beat.

Yoongi glanced at you sideways. “You nervous about your speech?”

You let out a long breath. “Terrified. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I lied and said I already wrote it, I’m sure she knows I haven’t.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, handing you a bottle. “You always do.”

You took it from him, unscrewed the cap, and sipped. The ocean whispered in front of you. You both didn’t say anything for a while. Just walked toward the edge of the shore, shoulder to shoulder, letting the sound of water and wind speak for you two. You two sat down where the sand dipped gently toward the shoreline, just far enough from the tide. The stars above were beginning to stretch across the sky, and the moon hung low and pale over the ocean like a watchful eye. The pack of Soju bottles rested between you both, half-buried in the cool sand.

You curled your knees to your chest and took another small sip before making a disgusted face.

“Still hate the original Soju,” you muttered, he smiled .

“I only brought it because I figured you’d complain.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

You two sat in comfortable silence for a while. The waves rolled in, unbothered by the awkward tension that still hovered faintly.

“You remember when we went to Jeonju that weekend?” Yoongi asked suddenly. “Right before you left.”

You gave a dry laugh. “When the guesthouse lost our booking, and we ended up sleeping on that sagging couch from the 80s because you thought paparazzis were following us?.”

“Exactly,” he said. “And the ajumma kept insisting I was your husband.”

You snorted. “Because you called her ‘eomma’ by accident.”

“I was nervous!”

You laughed then, a genuine one, tilting your head back. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“No, you didn’t. You brought it up every time someone said the word ‘husband.’”

“Well, it’s a top ten moment of our relationship!”

Yoongi chuckled and took another sip. “That was a good trip.”

“It was,” you agreed, quieter now. “I didn’t think about work once.”

“Until the morning we left, and you answered three emails in bed” he pointed out.

“Okay,” you said, elbowing him lightly. “Let’s not rewrite history to make me look like the villain.”

“You were always working after Paris,” he said, not accusing, just stating. “Even when you were supposed to be on vacation with me.”

You didn’t say anything right away. The truth settled in the air, not heavy—just honest.

“I think I was afraid of stopping,” you said finally. “Like if I slowed down, I’d realize I wasn’t good enough for them and I had already leave everything, couldn’t risk it.”

Yoongi nodded, understanding . “And I think I was afraid to ask you to.”

You didn’t look at each other. Just kept your eyes on the sea.

After a while, two more bottles down, you asked, “Do you still go to that bar near your old apartment? The one with the bad lighting and weird jazz playlist?”

He laughed. “Sometimes. They still make that horrible cucumber cocktail you loved.”

“It wasn’t horrible.”

“It tasted like shit.”

You smiled again, soft but real. “I missed this.”

“What, your terrible drink opinions?”

“No,” you said. “You— talking like this. I missed us. Not the romantic stuff. Just… us.”

Yoongi nodded, feeling the same. “Yeah. Me too.”

A sharp breeze swept in, making you shiver. You rubbed your arms and side-eyed him. “You forgot to bring a jacket for me, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t planning on walking a mile down the beach,” he said. “But you’ve always been dramatic.”

You smirked. “And you’ve always been underprepared.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who chose to date me.”

You rolled her eyes, then nudged him with your shoulder. “Well. You had a nice face.”

Yoongi grinned. “You’re not wrong.”

The moon was high now, casting a silver glow over the water. The air smelled of salt, woodsmoke, and faintly of flowers from the hotel garden and there were no more bottles of Soju.

“It’s weird being back.” you said later.

“I figured,” Yoongi said. “First time in how long?”

“Six months, since we—” You cut yourself off, then shrugged. “Anyway.”

Yoongi didn’t press you. Instead, he said, “The guest rooms are nicer than I expected.”

“Still pretending you’re not bougie?”

“I’m selective.” He raised an eyebrow. “But how is Paris?”

“Incredible most of the times,” you nodded. “I make a lot of money and I met a lot of great people. I also pretend I don’t miss rice and convince myself an espresso and a cigarette is enough for breakfast.”

“The European life” he nodded. “Mrs. Han said you were skinnier and you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

You snorted. “I know, she came with soup and had been feeding me with anything she can every time she sees me. I know I’m going to gain weight if I stay longer than a week with her.”

“She cares for you.”

“And I do for her.”

“Good.”

A wave broke further up the shore, scattering foam toward your feet. You didn’t move. Your throat felt tight. It felt different the shift, the change of tension. You wanted him with you like this, always.

You pulled your knees closer, resting your chin on them and looking at him softly. “I think we’re doing the right thing.”

“What?” his voice came soft, kind.

“Being friends” you whispered, intimate. “I like having you in my life.”

He looked at you, eyes with no spark and a nonchalant look that almost felt like an attack. But he didn’t tell you how he really felt. He nodded and smiled. “I like you in my life too.”

A long silence passed between you. Not heavy, not angry—just filled with the ache of what you were too late to change. Of what you had lost. Now maybe a new beginning.

Then you reached out, pointing out at his expression. “You still overthink everything.”

He sighed “And you still drink too fast, even drinks you don’t like.”

You held up the empty bottles, wiggling it. “We’re out.”

“Good.”

“Boring.”

He laughed and you stood up, brushing sand off your clothes. Yoongi rose too, stretching slightly, brushing his hands clean. You two stood there, both watching the tide a little longer before turning back toward the hotel.

“You wanna sneak in through the garden path?” he asked, gesturing toward the side.

You raised an eyebrow. “Still avoiding crowds?”

“You still know me.”

You did.

You both started walking, shoulders close but not touching, steps in sync even without meaning to. Behind you two, the sea whispered to the shore. In front of you two, the lights of the hotel flickered softly like stars that had settled down to rest.

Friends.

Six months ago. Busan.

The front door clicked shut behind you, and for a second you stayed there. His apartment was the same as when you left. A few more takeout containers stacked near the trash. One of your scarves still draped over the back of the chair. You just stood there in the narrow hallway, shoes and coat still on. You hadn’t been in this apartment in two months, but it still smelled the same. Soap, coffee, his cologne — the quiet scent of home. You missed this, you missed him. Your heart clenched and you wanted to cry immediately. Everything felt so wrong, so broken.

Home.

“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice came from the living room. Warm, surprised. Hopeful.

You turned the corner and saw him standing there in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower, like he’d wanted to look casual but not like he hadn’t tried. His eyes lit up when he saw you — just for a moment. Then they dimmed, like he remembered. Like he knew why you were there. He did, he felt it. It had been coming since too long ago. Since you left.

“Hi,” you said, soft.

He crossed the space between you two quickly and wrapped you in a hug before you could resist. And for a second — for a cruel, aching second — you let yourself melt into it. Into him. His arms were strong and warm and familiar. You had dreamed of this. Waking up in this apartment. Waking up next to him. Waking up thinking everything could be better. Thinking that everything would be okay.

You pulled back too fast for his liking.

“You want tea?” he asked, like it was any other night.

“Yoongi.” Your voice, almost breaking.

He paused. Then slowly nodded. “Right.”

He knew.

“I’m sorry—”

“I thought maybe you’d come back for good,” he said after a minute.

Your heart dropped. “I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

“So you’re just here to say it’s over?”

“I’m here to do it right. To not end it over the phone and disrespect you, not like a coward.”

“We were cowards the minute you left,” he snapped, suddenly.

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice rising. Choosing anger over sadness. “You left, y/n. You packed up your life and went to Paris like it was that simple.”

“It wasn’t simple,” you said, trying to stay calm and understand his anger. “You know it wasn’t.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you.”

“And would you have come?”

“Yes.”

You laughed — bitter and broken. “Don’t lie to me now.”

“I’m not lying,” he said, raising his voice. “You didn’t give me the chance. You just made the decision on your own.”

“I waited for you to say something!” you shouted, rising your voice too. “You were too busy with your label, with your tour schedule, with everything else—”

“I was working, Y/n!. Music was my dream!”

“I know your dream matters,” you said, breathless, angry tears filling up your eyes. “But so does mine. I got that opportunity and I took it. You would’ve done the same.”

He turned away from you, hands on his hips, head bowed. “I would’ve figured out a way to make it work. I wouldn’t have given up so easily.”

“You think I gave up easily?” your voice cracked. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? Every morning waking up alone. Working late just so I wouldn’t feel the silence in that goddamn apartment. I missed you in everything. My first opening. My birthday. When I got sick and nobody knew how to make my stupid soup—”

“I sent flowers.”

“I didn’t want flowers!” you screamed. “I wanted you!”

He stared at you then. Both of you breathe hard, like you’d just run miles to get here.

“I was there a thousand times” he kips formed a pout, his eyes forming tears. “I was waiting for you to come back,” he said, barely audible.

“And I was hoping for you to visit more.”

“I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“And now we’re here,” you whispered.

Yoongi looked down before falling to the floor. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face in pain, sobbing. “I can’t— I love you.”

“I love you too.” You cried, kneeling in front of him. Your tears were running now. “That’s what makes it worse.”

He put his hands down and looked at you. His tears running down his face. Yoongi’s face twisted. He brushed a tear from your cheek, but you turned away. It hurt too much.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, crawling back like the words were a slap. “Why?— I love you.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Then stay.”

You looked at him. His eyes were red now too. His voice was cracking. And for the first time, you saw that he wasn’t angry — he was breaking.

“Yoongi,” you said, your soul breaking too. “If we keep going like this, we’ll hate each other. We’re always fighting, we didn’t talk for a week.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He just looked down, like not seeing you could make the ache in the room go away. You gaze at him, broken, tired. Watching the man you loved try not to fall apart more.

And then — the quietest heartbreak — he whispered, “I would’ve waited for you.”

You closed your eyes. Breath hitching. “I know.”

Present day. Jeju Island.

The sky was a dusky gradient of purple and peach as the last light dipped below the ocean. Lanterns swayed gently on strings overhead, casting a warm golden glow across the courtyard garden of the hotel. Tables had been arranged in a circle, with candles flickering between scattered polaroids of Soojin and Minjae through the years. Laughter echoed into the night air, glasses clinked, and the scent of grilled food drifted softly through the breeze.

Soojin and Minjae had decided — predictably — to throw their bridal and groom showers together. “Why would we want to be apart?” Minjae had said earlier with a shrug, grabbing her fiancée hand and flashing her engagement ring like a weapon of joy.

It had been you and Yoongi’s job to plan it. You two had become in impromptu party planners, after Soojin cornered you with a, “You two used to throw the best birthdays. It’s basically fate.” So now you stood near one of the long tables now, smoothing down a blue linen tablecloth while Yoongi adjusted the playlist from his phone. A jazzy cover of a 2000s R&B song filtered out of the speakers, soft and upbeat.

“She’s going to cry,” you said, arranging a little handwritten place card in front of Soojin’s seat.

“She’s already cried. Twice,” Yoongi replied, not looking up. “Third time’s the charm.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over a childhood photo of Soojin stuck in the center of a candle arrangement. “I can’t believe she’s getting married tomorrow.”

“Minjae’s already looking nervous,” he said, glancing toward the couple across the courtyard.

Minjae was sipping from a beer bottle, looking oddly pale for someone so tanned. Soojin was holding court with two aunties and laughing in full volume.

“He’s going to cry during the vows,” you said knowingly.

“I bet he cries before she even walks in.”

“I bet you cry before the end of the night.”

Yoongi turned to you with a mock-serious face. “Why would I cry?”

You gave him a knowing look. “Because you pretend you’re nonchalant but you’re actually a really soft, romantic—”

“And emotionally well-adjusted person?”

“Sure. That.”

“Shut up.”

The teasing fell away for a brief moment, replaced by something gentler as your eyes met. There was a stillness in it, an ease that had started to return between you two over the past days. Not quite old love, not yet new. Just something tender hanging in the in-between.

“I like this,” you said after a beat, looking out at the party. “I like seeing them happy. I like being here.”

“Me too.”

Before you could say more, Soojin waved you both over from the firepit, gesturing wildly like she was pulling invisible ropes. “You two! Party planners! Come sit with the royalty!”

You and Yoongi made your way over, settling into the low wooden chairs around the fire. Soojin immediately leaned her head onto your shoulder, her wine glass still balanced perfectly in her other hand.

“I love you,” she mumbled.

“I know. I love you too.”

Minjae grinned across the flames. “I’m pretty sure she just said that to me earlier.”

“She means it more now,” you deadpanned.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, taking the bottle opener from Minjae and cracking open a cider for Soojin. “To the start of a new page of love.”

Soojin lifted her glass. “To the best wedding party ever.”

Minjae raised his. “To friends who know us better than we know ourselves.”

You clinked yours last. “To being able to walk to the altar tomorrow.”

They all laughed.

The conversation eased into memories, jokes about how Minjae once thought Soojin’s little sister was her daughter, or how Yoongi spilled champagne at their engagement party and then tried to play it off with a dance move. The fire snapped gently. Laughter drifted out into the wind.

And later you glanced at Yoongi while the others chatted, catching the way the firelight softened his features. There were lines around his eyes now — maybe from stress, maybe from smiling. He was leaning back in his chair, relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen since before everything. Before the distance. Before the silence.

He looked over at you at the same time.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said, smiling. “You just… look happy.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “I think I am.”

You didn’t say anything back, but something about the moment stayed in your chest like a held breath.

Soojin sighed dramatically. “I don’t want tonight to end.”

Minjae reached over to squeeze her hand. “It won’t. We’ll remember this.”

You hope you all will.

You had fun that moment of the night, between friends and family you remember why Korea was your home, why you love it so much. A reminder of everything that made you, you.

The bridal shower had been a success. Soojin was tipsy and glowing, carried off by Minjae a good thirty minutes ago with one shoe in hand and her veil tied around his neck like a cape. The rest of the guests had wandered back to their rooms in twos and threes, arms slung around shoulders, voices loud with inside jokes and win. The place was littered with the soft remains of celebration. Empty glasses perched precariously on every ledge. Candles flickered low, melted to wax puddles, and someone’s forgotten shoe sat like a monument to the chaos of the night. Music still drifted from a speaker someone had abandoned hours ago—faint, warbly, and a little offbeat.

The night was a success. The guests were already— at least most of them— gone.

You wandered toward the pool barefoot, holding your heels in one hand and the last of your drink in the other. Your cheeks were flushed from laughter and cocktails, and the salt-sticky wind swept your hair into messy waves. The moonlight glazed the surface of the pool like silver syru.

And then you saw him.

Floating on his back in the water, shirt half unbuttoned, and—of course—with his tie tied around his forehead like some warrior of lost feelings—was Yoongi.

You barked a laugh before you could stop it. “Are you dead?.”

Yoongi cracked one eye open and grinned, lazy and slow. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite bridesmaid. Care to join the drowning club?”

You perched on the pool’s edge, dipping a toe into the water. “You know, that tie on your head is a crime against fashion.”

“Thanks. I was going for ‘annoying drunk guy at a wedding.’ How am I doing?”

“Impressive. Truly suits you.”

He flipped onto his stomach, treading water closer to you. “How much have you had tonight?”

“Enough to tolerate you.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How about you?” you asked. “How much have you had?”

He held up four fingers, paused, then added a fifth with a shrug. “Somewhere between reckless and philosophical.”

“Dangerous zone.”

“Only if you’re not here to supervise me.”

There was a beat of silence. Just the ripple of water, the chirp of night insects, and your shared drunkenness stretching out into something that felt both familiar and dangerous. And Yoongi stood in the pool, almost touching your leg, looking at you.

“You’re still wearing that stupid tie,” you said, before tearing that tie from his forehead and putting in on the side.

“You liked this tie,” he protested. “You picked it out for your birthday last year.”

“I liked it when it was on your neck and not trying to strangle your forehead.”

He smirked, pulling himself to the edge near you. “You’re still bossy.”

You glanced at him sideways. “You’re still a mess.”

“Coming from the woman who insists on wearing six-inch heels to a beach wedding.”

“I look good.”

“That you do.” He hissed, like it was something wrong. “Sorry. Am I allowed to say that?” he added, trying to shrug it off with a lopsided grin, “I mean, we’re friends now, right?”

There was a sharpness to the word. A bite under the drunk smile. You stiffened, only slightly, but Yoongi caught it.

You gave him a look, your voice low. “Don’t say that like it’s a joke.”

He looked at you for a moment, something tightening behind his eyes. “It is a joke.”

You blinked.

“No—”

“I never wanted to be your friend, y/n,” Yoongi said, and now his voice wasn’t playful at all. “I didn’t come here to laugh across brunch tables or talk about weather in Paris, I hate it. I didn’t come here to pretend to be your friend when you know I can’t.”

Your heart thudded. “Yoon…”

“I didn’t let you go because I stopped loving you. I let you go because you told me to. Because you wanted something bigger, and I didn’t want to be the thing that held you back…”

You stood up suddenly, water sloshing as you pulled your legs from the pool. Yoongi was quickly to leave the pool too, grabbing your wrist so you wouldn’t go, so you would look at him.

“Don’t do this now,” you said, letting go of his hold and grabbing your shoes like a shield. “Not here.”

“Why not? We’ve been doing this fake smiling thing all week. Let’s just say it.”

You could see him now. He stood in front of you, wet and mad. Almost too mad to cover his sadness from you.

“I didn’t leave you. I left the country. I left for a job I worked my whole damn life for—”

“And you didn’t think we could make it work?!” his voice became louder.

“We tried! For six months we tried!” you exclaimed back.

“You didn’t try. You planned your future without me in it. You made every decision like I was already gone.” he spat it out, furiously trying to contain his tears, trying not to break again.

“That’s not fair.”

“But it’s true.”

You laughed bitterly. “Coming from you? You think I didn’t notice how easy it was for you to be gone all the time too? You were always on a set, on a shoot, chasing your next project.” you shook your head “. So only you can be the one who has to follow his career?.”

“So now it’s my fault you walked away?”

“No. But don’t stand there like you waited around with your heart in your hands. You moved on too.”

“Not from you. Never from you.”

That stopped you. It winded you, it hurt you. But you hated that he wasn’t able to understand that no one of you could break your job to be with each other, it was too much. A sacrifice that wasn’t not necessary, not worthy to lose.

“This a lost fight—”

“I still love you, y/n,” he interrupted, quieter now but no less raw. “Even when I try not to. Even when you sit next to me and laugh like none of it happened. I still want you, I still break for you.” Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. There were too many words stuck in your throat. He formed tears in his eyes. “And I hate that,” he added, voice breaking. “I hate that I can’t stop loving you.”

You stepped back, your heart breaking for the second time with him.

“We can’t make it, I don’t want to hate you.”

“I don’t know what to do” he sobbed. “I don’t want to lose you— I don’t want you to leave your job, I don’t want to leave mine but… ” his tears ran down his face. “I can’t stop loving you, I don’t know how to.”

“Then don’t make this harder, Yoongi.”

You two stared at each other. Neither moving. Both wrecked.

Then you turned, without another word, walking barefoot back toward the hotel, your shoes swinging at your side like anchors. Your heart breaking for the second time in the worst way. When he couldn’t see your face, you let tears fall down.

And Yoongi stood by the pool, dripping, shaking, watching you go.

Again.

The soft morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a calm glow across your room. Outside, the distant hum of the island waking up carried through the open window — the steady crash of waves, birds greeting the day, and the faint murmur of voices starting to prepare for the celebration ahead. You sat quietly on the edge of your bed, staring at the delicate dress laid out before you. The fabric shimmered softly in the light, but your mind was tangled in a knot of uncertainty and regret.

This day was supposed to be simple—joyful, even. A celebration of two lives joining together. But for you, it was anything but simple.

You thought about the past months, the decisions that had led you here, and the quiet spaces between memories that seemed impossible to fill. The distance, the missed chances, the silent breaks in conversations. The ache that came with knowing some things just couldn’t be fixed—no matter how much you wanted them to be. No matter how much you wanted for things to be easier, life to be kinder.

I still break for you.

I hate that I can’t stop loving you.

Your breath caught at the thought of Yoongi—not because of what you shared, but because of what couldn’t be. The timing, the circumstances, the lives you two built apart. It wasn’t just about wanting someone; it was about the weight of everything that stood in the way. The compromises, the sacrifices, the tangled webs of responsibility and love and fear. Everything that couldn’t be sacrificed for love

You shook your head softly, as if trying to clear the fog clouding your heart. Maybe some stories aren’t meant to have perfect endings. Maybe some loves aren’t meant to last forever…

A gentle knock on the door pulled you from your reverie.

“Little brat. Are you awake, or are you hiding from the madness that’s about to start?” Mrs. Han’s warm voice floated through the door before coming in, closing the door behind her.

She entered with her usual grace, her presence comforting like a soft hug. She had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember—more like family than just a friend’s mother. Her kindness was something you leaned on now more than ever.

You chuckled softly. “Neither. Just trying to figure out how to squeeze years of love and Soojin’s past into one page of speech.”

“Ah, I remember those days. You can add a the time Soojin accidentally locked her heel in the hotel bathroom of you guys prom party and we had to rescue her like some sort of awkward fairy tale rescue party.”

You laughed, the memory vivid. “And also how you tried to bribe the staff with those ridiculous snacks you smuggled in.”

Mrs. Han grinned. “Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. But those were good times, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “Simple, even if chaotic.”

The room quieted, the playful mood gently giving way to something more tender.

Mrs. Han sat beside you on the bed. “You know, y/n, I’ve watched you grow up more than you realize. From scraped knees to scraped hearts.”

“Oh, no. You’re getting emotional” you complained when you received a punch in your head. “Sorry, go on.”

You looked up, your smile slowly fading as you saw the woman in front of you looking more softer, more motherly.

“I see so much of myself in you,” Mrs. Han continued. “Strong, stubborn, but with a softness you try to hide. You’ve been through a lot… and love—love hasn’t always been kind.” You swallowed, the weight of unspoken things settling between you two. Your throat tightening and the same goes to your heart. “I want you to know,” Mrs. Han said quietly, “I want you to find a love that doesn’t hurt. A love that lifts you up, not drags you down. A love with no difficulties that break your heart.”

You shook your head slightly, a bitter laugh escaping. “Sometimes I wonder if that kind of love even exists. Or if it’s just a story people tell.” you grimaced. “At least, Soojin found it.”

“Love can find you in different ways. But even if I want you to find a love without difficulties— for some people… fighting for them, between all, is worthy.”

“Sometimes love is not enough.”

Mrs. Han reached over, gently taking your hand in hers. “I see you, y/n. And I see the walls you’ve built. But walls can come down. You just have to believe there’s something better waiting on the other side.” Her voice softened, full of genuine care. “I don’t just say this as Soojin’s mom—I say it as someone who loves you like a daughter. You deserve happiness. You deserve to be loved without conditions.”

Your eyes glistened, and you nodded slowly. “I want to believe that. I really do.”

She smiled, squeezing your hand. “Then start with this day. No matter what happens, let it be a step forward. You’re not alone.”

You took a deep breath, the knot inside you loosening just a little. You glanced at the wedding notes on your bed, the speech you had to give soon.

“I should start working on this,” you said softly.

She stood, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You got this. I’ll see you later.”

You nodded and Mrs. Han left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the promise of a new chapter waiting to unfold.

A little later you find Soojin.

The soft rustle of fabric and gentle clinks of jewelry filled the bridal suite as you knelt beside Soojin’s chair, carefully fastening the intricate buttons along the back of her wedding gown. The delicate lace shimmered in the afternoon light streaming through the window, and Soojin sat still, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Minutes away from walking to the altar.

“You’re glowing,” you said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Soojin’s ear. “Are you nervous?.”

She smiled, a mix of excitement and jitters flickering in her eyes. “Terrified. And thrilled. And… overwhelmed. But mostly I just can’t believe this day is finally here.”

You grinned. “I remember when you dragged me to that weird art gallery on a whim. Who knew it’d lead us here?”

Your friend laughed softly. ��Yeah, you were so suspicious of that artist. Said his paintings looked like he painted with his eyes closed.”

You laughed along. “Maybe I was just jealous. You always had better taste than me— and this was my career.”

The two shared a warm smile, a quiet comfort in their years of friendship.

Soojin’s eyes softened. “Thank you for being here. For everything. Even when I was a bridezilla.”

You nudged her playfully. “Hey, you were only a little bridezilla. I think I’ve earned honorary bridesmaid of the year.”

“You really did.” Soojin’s laughter echoed through the room, light and free.

As you stood to grab the veil, you caught Soojin’s gaze and felt a sudden rush of affection. “You’re going to be amazing today.” you immediately said. “You’re the most beautiful bride ever.”

Soojin reached out, squeezing your hand gently. “I love you”

Your best friend was getting married.

The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of warm apricot and soft lavender. Gentle waves whispered onto the shore, their rhythmic hush mingling with the quiet murmurs of guests gathered on the sand. White chairs were arranged in neat rows, facing a simple wooden arch draped with flowing white fabric and delicate wildflowers, framing the endless stretch of ocean beyond.

At the altar, Minjae’s eyes glistened with tears even before Soojin appeared, the weight of the day pressing gently on his shoulders. His hands trembled slightly as he straightened his tie, but his smile never wavered. Soojin approached with a radiant smile, her bare feet leaving faint imprints in the sand. She reached your side and squeezed your hand reassuringly. Despite the warmth of the evening sun, a cool flutter of nerves danced in your chest.

You stood behind Soojin, toes sinking slightly into the cool sand, the salt-kissed breeze playing with strands of your hair. The distant cry of seagulls and the soft chatter of the guests felt both grounding and surreal, as if time had slowed just for this moment. The officiant’s voice rose softly over the sound of the waves, speaking of love, trust, and the promise of a shared future. When it came time for the vows, the world seemed to hush.

Soojin’s voice was steady but tender, filled with heartfelt sincerity. “I promise to be your anchor when the seas get rough, and your wings when you need to fly.”

Minjae’s voice broke as emotion overwhelmed him, but he pressed on, “I vow to walk beside you, through calm and storm, and cherish you with every breath I take.”

Their eyes locked, filled with love so palpable it seemed to ripple through the air. The officiant smiled warmly, then stepped back.

Minjae took Soojin’s hands, leaning in close. “With this kiss, I give you all I am.”

They were so cheesy you wanted to throw up— Instead, you teared up.

Their lips met softly, the ocean breeze carrying the moment across the shore, a perfect seal on their promises as the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the sand.

They were married now.

As the sun disappeared fully beyond the horizon, soft fairy lights strung between driftwood posts began to glow against the deepening dusk. The reception area, nestled just above the beach on a wooden deck, was transformed into a dream of golden lights, soft linen, and sea breeze. Long tables were arranged under a canopy of stars, adorned with glass vases full of wildflowers, flickering candles, and handwritten name cards tucked into seashells. Lanterns swayed gently above them, casting delicate shadows across smiling faces.

You sat at the table, next to Mrs. Han, still in your bridesmaid dress, hair slightly windswept, cheeks sun-warmed and flushed. The atmosphere buzzed with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses, the occasional cheer from a table, the comforting clatter of shared meals being passed around. Soft jazz hummed from the speakers, and the scent of grilled seafood and fresh herbs floated through the warm night air. Soojin and Minjae sat at the middle, holding hands under the tablecloth, whispering and smiling at each other like no one else existed. You couldn’t help the way your chest tightened a little watching them—proud, moved, and perhaps just a little haunted.

The emcee tapped the microphone again and announced, “And now, a few words from our lovely bridesmaid—and lifelong partner-in-chaos—Y/n.”

Ah, shit.

There were cheers and claps as you stood, smoothing your dress, cheeks flushed from the wine and the lingering emotion of the wedding. You picked up the mic with a slightly exaggerated sigh and narrowed your eyes playfully at Soojin. Soojin, already shaking her head in anticipation, whispered something to Minjae that made him grin.

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Hi, I’m Y/n. For those who don’t know me… I’m sorry. For those who do— I’m sorry too.”

There was a few chuckles around. You shrugged.

“I’ve known Soojin since we were nine. And by ‘known’ I mean I once hit her square in the face with a dodgeball during gym class. To be fair, it was an accident. But she still came to school the next day with a swollen cheek and two friendship bracelets. That was the moment I realized Soojin was either an angel… or slightly mentally challenged.”

The room erupted in laughter. Soojin groaned, covering her face with both hands.

“She’s been my person ever since. I mean—we’ve lived through it all together. Our emo phases, terrible group projects, my first heartbreak, her first heartbreak—though that one lasted all of three days because he couldn’t spell her name right in texts.”

Soojin shouted through her laughter, “I told you not to bring that up!”

“Oh I’m just getting started.” you winked. “She also once dragged me on a blind double date where my date turned out to be gay. He came out right after kissing me.”

The crowd laughed, but slowly, your tone shifted.

“But through all of that—and I mean all of it—Soojin never wavered. She is, without question, the most loyal, fiercely loving, and quietly brave person I’ve ever met. She has this way of making you feel safe, even in chaos. And when Minjae came into her life, it was like… she finally got a taste of the safety she always gave others.”

You looked at Minjae then, and your voice softened more. A knot in your throat.

“Minjae came along. And somehow… it was like he’d always been part of our lives. Like he knew the rhythm of us already. He slotted in like the missing piece. And I knew, when I saw the way he looked at her—and how she let herself be looked at like that—that she was safe. That he would love her not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.”

Soojin cleaned her tears and you pouted a little.

“I’m glad you’re the happiest when you’re with him.” you nodded. “And I know people love to talk about love as something wild and passionate and filled with drama, but honestly? The most beautiful part of what they have is how easy it feels. How steady. How natural. Like they’ve been choosing each other in every lifetime before this one. And I just want to say,” you added, glancing at the your best friend, “I’m so proud of you. For opening your heart. For letting someone in. And for letting me be beside you today, like I always promised I would.”

A quiet beat passed. Your voice broke slightly, but you held on. A breath. A glance at both of them, beaming now, tearful.

“To Soojin and Minjae,” you said, lifting your glass. “To choosing each other—every day, every version, every mess. May you always find your way back.”

Everyone lift their glasses.

“Also— If you do anything wrong I will literally rip your balls out, Minjae.”

The crowd burst into laughter one more time as glasses clinked and you handed the mic back. Soojin was already wiping away tears. When she reached for you in a hug, it was tight, long, and full of everything you’d survived together. From across the reception, you caught Yoongi’s gaze. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes were soft. And still, somehow, knowing.

Now it was his turn.

The host tapped a glass and invited the next speaker up. When Yoongi stood, straightening his black linen jacket, a round of light applause followed. He smiled—genuine but a little nervous—and took the mic.

“Hi everyone,” he said, his voice warm. “I’m Yoongi. Most of you know me as Minjae’s best friend—and Soojin’s reluctant wedding planner assistant.”

Laughter bubbled across the tables.

“I’ve known Minjae since our second year of high school, where he convinced me to skip class with him for the first time by promising there would be free food involved. There wasn’t. But I stuck around anyway.”

More laughter. You sipped your wine, watching him, trying not to smile too widely.

“We’ve been through it all—bad haircuts, worse relationships—” he glanced pointedly at the groom, who gave a mock glare, “—and somehow, along the way, he went from being that guy who stole my fries to someone I call family.” His tone shifted, softening. “Seeing him today, looking at Soojin like she’s the only person in the universe… it reminds me that love isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s just quiet certainty. Choosing someone over and over, even when life gets messy. Especially when it gets messy.”

He hesitated just a beat.

“And… for some of us, sometimes love doesn’t work out the first time. Or the second. But you keep believing in it anyway. Because when you’ve seen it… when you’ve felt it… it stays with you.” His eyes flicked briefly to you—just a flicker—and moved on. He raised his glass. “To Minjae and Soojin—may your love be the kind that stays. The kind that holds fast, even when life tries to shake it loose.”

Always, good with words. A lyricist.

“Cheers!”

The guests echoed him, glasses raised in the warm night air.

Your hand was still curled around the stem of your wine glass, your heart louder than the music now. You didn’t look at him, but you felt the weight of his words settle in your chest like something old and uncomfortable, something hurtful.

A love that holds fast.

The night had settled like velvet over the sea, dark and warm, humming with the low rhythm of waves and laughter from the wedding reception still going strong behind. Fairy lights strung through palm trees glowed gold against the inky blue sky, and the clinking of glasses and soft music carried from the terrace where the dinner was winding down into dancing.

You slipped away quietly, barefoot now, heels hooked by the straps in one hand as you walked down a narrow path toward the darker edge of the beach. Yoongi’s speech had gone better than everyone thought it would. Too well, maybe. Everyone had cried. Even Soojin’s dad, who famously hadn’t teared up since 1987. You hadn’t expected the hollowness that crept in afterward, though. The way your chest felt both full and aching. It wasn’t sadness exactly. Just… weight.

You stood still near a quiet bend of the shore, letting the wind cool your cheeks, eyes on the soft roll of the tide. The party felt distant now, muffled like a memory.

“You always did like a dramatic exit.”

You didn’t turn, but a faint smile curved your lips. “I thought I earned it tonight.”

Yoongi stepped up beside you, his tie finally removed, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his shoes left somewhere behind. He looked relaxed—at least on the surface.

“You did,” he nodded.

“Speech of the night” you commented. “You made everyone cry. Me included.”

“I think I made myself cry.”

That made you laugh, and finally, you turned your head to look at him. He was watching you, but gently this time. Not with the fire from the pool, not with the quiet ache from earlier in the week. Just… him. Familiar and careful.

“It was that good.”

He kicked at the sand lightly with one foot. “I wanted to say sorry. For the other night. The yelling. The drama. Not really my usual vibe.”

You snorted. “What, drunk poolside confessions aren’t in your brand?”

Yoongi smiled, then turned serious. “I meant what I said, though. Just… maybe not like that.”

“I know.” you nodded, your fingers curling tighter around the heels in your hand. A beat passed between you two, quiet and heavy. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you said softly. “About us. About why it didn’t work.” He didn’t move, but you felt the shift in the air. “We tried,” you continued. “We really did. But it just… hurt, all the time. When we were apart. When we tried to force time into places it didn’t fit. And I don’t want to resent you. Or have you resent me for chasing something we can’t hold.”

Yoongi’s jaw flexed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. Because he knew what you meant. The last couple months of your relationship had been fight after fight, downfalls. It was dying.

“I used to imagine us older,” you whispered. “Still trying to match time zones and canceling dinners and waking up next to an empty pillow. That kind of love… it starts to rot when it’s always a race.”

He looked out at the ocean, then down at the sand, then finally back at you. “I know,” he said quietly. “I hated being so far and feeling like I wasn’t doing enough. I hated feeling like I was losing you in inches.”

Your throat tightens, you swallowed hard. “It’s not about love,” you said. “That’s the thing. There was never a moment I didn’t love you.”

His voice was quiet. “Still?”

You paused. “Don’t ask me that.”

Yoongi let out a slow breath. “I won’t.”

The waves rolled in, curling white foam at their toes.

“So,” you said after a moment, “we go back to friends?.”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Terrible idea.”

You laughed, the sound catching somewhere between sad and sweet.

“But maybe we keep… being kind to each other,” you offered instead. “No expectations. No plans.”

“Just here,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded. “Now.”

He gave you a small, sad smile. “You were always better at the endings.”

You met his gaze fully, for once without flinching. “That’s because I never really believed in them.”

The night stretched around you two, quiet and vast. Neither of you moved. Neither said goodbye. Not really wanting to

You love him, so much.

The night ended. And the wedding was over.

The petals had blown off the sand, the lights taken down from the trees. What was left of the celebration was about to be pack into cars, hug into photos, or wave away on the morning ferries. The week felt like a strange dream now.

The sky was still a soft lavender when you stepped out of your room, suitcase wheels clicking softly on the stone path. The scent of salt lingered in the air, clinging to your coat, your skin, your memories. The resort was hushed, heavy with the kind of quiet that follows a celebration too big for words. Most guests were still asleep. A few scattered sandals lay forgotten near the pool. Fairy lights still blinked weakly from trees, tired from a night of laughter and vows and late-night drinks.

You thought you had made it out without running into anyone. That had been the plan—no big send-off, no watery hugs or over-promises. That’s how you left for Paris, except Soojin decided to do a big goodbye party even after. But you hated that, you were sure you were going to see each other again so you didn’t need those kind of celebrations— maybe actually afraid of having your hear too vulnerable. You were good at that kind of thing, leaving. They all knew it. Even Soojin had just texted you a series of crying emojis and a blurry selfie the night before, maybe already knowing you were going to leave without telling her.

But as you turned the corner toward the reception, you spotted a figure on the bench by the fountain in there. Minjae. Tie loose, hair messy, cup of vending machine coffee in hand.

“Seriously?” you muttered, pausing in your tracks. “You’re up?”

He looked up and grinned. “You’re not sneaky, little shit.”

You rolled your eyes and dragged your suitcase closer, sitting down beside him with a sigh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Minjae took a long sip from his cup before extending it to you. “We had bets going that you’d ghost us before breakfast. Soojin owes me ten bucks.”

“Tell her to pay you in snacks. You need to eat something that isn’t from a machine.”

You huffed, grabbing the coffee to take a sip. You made a disgusting face and he grabbed the cup back to him dramatically. “This is gourmet caffeine.”

“This is shit.”

You two sat for a quiet moment. The fountain trickled gently beside you. Somewhere, a bird called. The island was waking slowly, like it didn’t want to break the spell of the wedding just yet.

Minjae nudged you with his shoulder. “You doing okay?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

“You looked happy this week. Not just wedding happy. Like…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Warm.”

“You’re getting weirdly poetic in your old age.” you smiled faintly.

He sighed. “Must be all that married life hitting me already.”

You snorted, looking over at him. “You and Soojin… you looked perfect yesterday.”

He softened. “We’re not perfect. But we choose each other. That’s the magic trick, I think.” You blinked, then looked away, swallowing a knot in your throat. Minjae continued, quieter now. “I know things with Yoongi are complicated. I’m not here to lecture. Just… I’ve known him a long time. And I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”

You kept your eyes on the floor, quiet, thoughtful.

“I know,” you said eventually.

“He’s not great at saying it. But he doesn’t really hide it either.”

You smiled sadly. “We loved each other.” Minjae nodded, letting the silence stretch. “But love doesn’t always mean it works,” you added, more to yourself than to him.

“No,” he agreed softly. “But sometimes it just needs a different kind of time.”

You turned to him, eyes glassy. “You’re really pulling out the wisdom this morning.”

“I had three bottles of champagne and two hours of sleep. I’m basically a monk now.”

You laughed, wiping under your eyes with the sleeve of your coat. Minjae stood and offered a hand to help you up. “Come on. Before you make me cry and embarrass myself in front of the wedding staff.”

You took it and stood. “Tell Soojin I love her. I’ll see her next month.”

“You better text her later or she’ll send death threats.”

You smiled before punching him away to the hallway. Just before he left, Minjae leaned in with one last word.

“For what it’s worth… he never stopped.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave a small nod because you knew. Because it was the same for you.

Minjae raised a hand in farewell and you watched him go down the hallway to his wife, your best friend. Your heart full of too many things to name.

You walked away, doing your check-out before leaving. You stood at the edge of the hotel lobby, your bag slung over your shoulder, passport tucked into the worn paperback you’d brought but never read. Your flight back to Busan was in three hours. From there—Paris. Your other life. The one that had kept moving even when your heart had hesitated. But it was yours. Life was going to move in Korea too.

You wouldn’t know much about Yoongi. Soojin and Minjae would be going to her honeymoon in Bali. Everything would be back to normal, a normal in Korea that didn’t belong to you anymore—

A voice behind you interrupted the quiet, your thoughts.

“You’re early.”

You turned.

Yoongi stood with his own small bag, hair still damp from a shower, wearing a soft sweatshirt and the tired look of someone who hadn’t slept much. He looked… normal. But then again, he always did when your heart was spinning.

You offered a small shrug. “I didn’t want to say too many goodbyes.”

He walked up beside you, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “You didn’t say mine.”

“I figured we already did.”

Yoongi looked at you, head tilted. “We did?”

A bell dinged behind you. Somewhere inside, some noises, a car horn echoed. The island had started to breathe again without the wedding buzz. It felt slower. Quieter.

A beat.

He took a few steps closer, his shoes dangling loosely. “I meant what I said. The other night.”

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“I wasn’t trying to trap you with it. I just… I needed to say it.”

You nodded. “And I needed to hear it.”

He searched your face, every line of you a memory. Your lips, your eyes, your hair tangled in the way you always used when you were nervous.

“Paris is far,” he said.

You smiled sadly. “Seoul isn’t close either.”

“I meant the space between us,” he murmured. “Not the cities.”

You let out a breath. “I lied, I’m not good at endings.”

“I know.” A long pause. Not uncomfortable—just full “I booked the same ferry as you,” Yoongi said casually, glancing toward the hotel.

You looked up, surprised. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he echoed.

The corners of your mouth twitched. “So you’re stalking me now?.”

“Reflex,” he teased gently, and that line made your heart twist in that familiar, stupid way.

A car stopped in front of you two, Yoongi looked at you. And it took you a minute before nodding. You two walked side by side to the car waiting. No dramatic declarations. No begging. No fighting. Just silence that said more than noise could.

When the engine started and the hotel faded behind you two, neither looked back.

The sea passed quietly beside the road.

“Have you been working on anything new?” you asked softly after a while.

“Yeah. A couple demos,” he said. “I keep starting things and not finishing.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds familiar.”

Yoongi chuckled under his breath. “I might finish one now.”

You turned to him. “You should.” Another pause. “If you’re ever in Paris again…” you started, then stopped.

Yoongi turned to you. “Yeah?”

You didn’t say anything at first. Then—just: “There’s this café near the river. You’d hate the coffee, but you’d love the view.”

He smiled. “Text me the name.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

He looked ahead again, sun starting to crest above the low hills as the car reached the port. The ferry was already docked, people boarding slowly.

As you both stepped out together, he still held the door open for you.

“So friends?” you said lightly.

Yoongi looked at you, unreadable for a moment. And then a knowing look sparkled in his eyes. Because he knew what you were doing. And he did, he knew you. He just knew.

“Terrible idea.”

But you smiled.

And he smiled.

And neither of you walked away.

first yoongi fic with an open ending

literally wanted to be perfect because hes my bias and it’s the first time i write about him so - again - if you see any mistakes NO YOU DIDNT.

please let me know if you like it >_< and if you finish it because i know it was long as hell

nothing is accurate to koran culture so don’t address me 😓🙏🏼

thank you for reading<33

#bangtan x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts one shot #reader x yoongi #reader x min yoongi #reader x suga #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi #agust d #masterlist bts

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bxunyx · 2 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬

Pairing-ModernGangAU-Elijah*Smoke*Moore x Black reader

Summary-Smoke accidentally pocket dial his wife while out doing wrong

A/N- I’ve been putting this off for like days I’ve been super tired and not really feeling the writing/I was gonna make the shaderoom post but I need to find a picture

Part(2)-whatever it takes(2)

It started with a pocket call.

Not a bullet. Not a knife. Not a raid.

Just his damn phone — unlocked, deep in his jacket while he was leaned up too close to some girl at that bar on the South Side. She was laughing, whispering something into his ear, and Smoke? He wasn’t pushing her away.

[1 missed call from baby]

He froze

Then another call came

He ignored it, moving the women aside, he stood up, leaving the club, seeing the paparazzi.

“It started with a pocket call (Call, call, call)”

“Smartphones, dumb shit”

And now, as he stood in the dimly lit hallway of their high-rise penthouse, phone still buzzing in his hand with notifications from social media, his brother, and some messy post he’d been tagged in, Smoke’s heart hammered louder than any gunfight he’d ever been in. The words from the other end echoed in his head like a curse.

“Hello? Smoke? What the fuck is this?” He replayed the words in his head as he answered the phone while driving back to their penthouse.

He knew she had seen the post

“Hello? Trey?”

“Oh, oh, oh, oh… She picks up the phone / In my head, I know I’m wrong.”

He paces outside the penthouse door like a man who knows he’s already lost but still shows up to fight. Inside, she’s probably packing. Or breaking shit. Or crying. Maybe all three.

Smoke ain’t scared of death. Ain’t scared of cops or feds or even the streets turning on him.

But losing her?

That’s a different kind of lost.

“I’m pacing back and forth / ‘Cause I know that I’ve been caught / Trying to think of the perfect words”

He opens the door carefully, because he knows he now have to face her.

“Baby.”

She doesn’t look at him. Her back is turned, bags half-packed, a shattered glass on the kitchen floor glinting like a warning.

He can see the Shadroom's post on her phone, a picture of him and the girl

Her on his lap

Him smirking

His hand on her waist

Her looking smug

“I heard everything, Smoke.”

Her voice is ice, steady — but that’s how he knows she’s on the edge. Rage doesn’t shake. Silence does.

“So I can come to her and lie right to her face / I don’t know what I’m gonna say / But I know that I’m gonna say / Whatever it takes”

He steps forward, arms open like they’ll fix what’s already snapped between them.

“Listen… it wasn’t what it sounded like.”

She turns, and her eyes, usually so full of love for him, are hollow.

“Then what was it? A joke? Some gang bullshit? You're out here running an empire, but you can’t even keep your vows straight.”

“I’m here at home waiting on you while you out here playing in bitches face.”

His throat goes dry. Smoke, the man who’s taken down armed enemies, silenced traitors, stared judges in the eye without blinking, has no words for her.

So he lies. The same lie he used all the time, the same two words he’ll never mean

“I’ll change.”

“I could say it was a joke, but who am I kidding? She ain’t slow”

“Only way to make it right / Is if I come to her and lie right to her face”

Because that’s what the song said, right? “Whatever it takes.” hell, he’ll even beg, get on his knees, praying she won't leave him

“It was nothin’. Just some girl talkin’ slick. I ain’t touched her. I didn’t even want to be there. Someone called me out, and I got dragged into it. You know how this life is.”

He’s pleading now. Voice low, eyes locked on hers. Desperation disguised as sincerity.

“I messed up. I shoulda have walked away. I know I did wrong. But I didn’t mean it. Not like that.”

“I’ma run to her and lie right to her face / I don’t know what I’m gonna say / But I know that I’m gonna say / Whatever it takes”

She walks to the counter, picks up her phone, and plays the recording again. That stupid, accidental call. Laughter. Him telling another woman the same things he told her. Smoke’s voice — relaxed, playful, too familiar.

“That’s you, Smoke. Not drunk-you. Not ‘caught up’ you. That’s you being real. With her. Same shit you told me.”

He wants to tell her it meant nothing. That she’s the only one who knows the man behind the name. That he’d burn the world for her.

But he knows she won’t buy it. Because the truth had already hit her ears raw.

And still, he fights.

“Whatever it takes, baby. I’ll fix this. You want out? I’ll leave the streets. I’ll shut it down. No more runs. No more heat. No more blood. Just us. I swear.”

Oh, gonna tell you /Whatever it takes/Whatever it takes /Whatever it takes/Whatever it takes (Takes)/Whatever it takes

She stares.

Smoke never begged a day in his life. Not when he got shot. Not when Stack got locked up. Not when enemies knock’.

But he’s begging now.

“Please.”

Her hands tremble. Bag still unzipped. Eyes still wet.

She’s at the edge — half in the past where they were ride or die, half in the future where she walks away for good.

“You don’t get it, Smoke. I don’t want you to say whatever it takes. I wanted you to mean it before I had to find out like this.”

“Time is not on our side / ‘Cause she’s waving goodbye goodbye”

“So this is goodbye?”

She nodded, took off the ring, placed it in his hand, and said something about a divorce—but he wasn’t listening.

And with that, she walks out.

The door doesn’t slam. It clicks shut, quiet, final.

Smoke stands in the middle of the room, alone, surrounded by everything he built, but suddenly nothing that matters.

His phone buzzes again. Not her.

Just business.

He doesn’t answer.

This ain’t a war he can win with bullets.

This is the one that might kill him.

He looked at his phone.

Stack had called twice.

Sammie sent one text: “you fucked up”

“Smartphones, dumb shit / Oh, no, ooh-oh-oh / Oh, man I got to think of something / I’m about to lose it all”

#sinners movie #smoke moore #sinners fic #sinners x reader #elijah smoke moore #smoke sinners #smoke x reader #smoke x black reader #Spotify

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the-librarby · 1 month ago

Note

hiii i love your drunk in the club series !!

would you write a blurb/fic where johnny shows the rest of the 141 the picture from the bar of reader and ghost? i feel like that could be so cuteee

DRUNK IN DA CLUB — OUTTAKE I

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

I’ve been waiting for this one, let’s fucking go.

It had been less than twenty four hours back on base before John set his mind to ruining Simon’s day.

He was fucking tired— a nice bone tired after a good holiday — no one has really picked up on his oddly serene mood yet, and he was hoping to keep it that way for at least the rest of the day.

Miss you already.

Sent 25 minutes ago.

He wasn’t ignoring you, just waiting for a pocket of silence where he would have you to himself without peering eyes and ears. The dining room was empty as of now, everyone being preoccupied with unpacking their things so he was soaking in the last minutes of peaceful silence until all hell broke loose.

“Restful break then?” Gaz asks, clapping him on the shoulder before taking a seat beside him.

“S’alright,” he mutters through his mask.

“No beach trip like Soap wanted I take it?” He inquires jokingly, broad smile on his face.

Simon rolls his eyes, “Fuck no.”

Price mills in not long after, catching the tail end of the conversation, “Hell would soon freeze over before I here about Ghost at the beach,”

“Can’t argue with that, Cap.” Gaz laughs.

A steady silence washes over the kitchen as everyone goes about their individual things. John is suspiciously absent, he’s usually the first one trying to unpack a conversation—in avoidance of unpacking his bags—Simon thinks he’s probably stealing another minute to talk to that girl he met through you.

He spoke too soon.

Moments later Johnny strides in, first it’s inconspicuous, like he’s just trying to see what everyone else is up too. But then he sees who’s in the room, Simon sitting at the head of the table while Gaz and Price sit either side engaged in small talk. Simon watches as John’s expression morphs into one of concerning mischief. He watches as he cautiously approaches the table, standing at the other end and pressing his fingertips together like a cliché villain would.

John clears his throat, “I’m glad I could bring you all here on such short notice,”

Gaz raises an eyebrow and looks at Simon, “What’s he on about?”

Simon shrugs, “Fucked if I know,” he knows.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you here,” John carries on, pacing back and forth.

“Spit it out son,” Price sighs, “It’s too early for you to be talking in tongues,”

John points at Simon, “He’s the one that’s been talking in tongues,” he shoots back, laughing at his own inside joke.

“Anyway, where was I,” he pauses, “Oh yeah. I am here to tell you the epic tale of the one who crumbled The Ghost himself.”

All three men look at him in silence. If Simon wasn’t wearing a mask right now he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose, he refuses to give into the bait so he just sits there in silent resignation.

Gaz is the first to break the silence, “Five bucks I call bullshit— it’s gonna be some elaborate fairytale,”

Johnny points at him as an auctioneer would, “I call your bet, anyone else in?”

Price sighs and leans back in his seat while crossing his arms over his chest, “Get on with it Soap, I don’t have all day,”

John clears his throat theatrically, “I, ever so graceful—”

“Yeah, that’s the word we’ll use,” Gaz mutters.

“Shut up,” he raises his palm in Gaz’s face, “Ever so graceful, hosted Ghost over the break,” he lowers his hand, “And in that time, I saw this fucker find his soulmate,”

Price raises an eyebrow and looks towards Gaz, “I think I’m seeing the fairytale come to life,”

Gaz hums, “Where did the princess come from?”

John scoffs, “Can’t show all my card yet Gaz, c’mon now,” he looks at Simon, “Anything details you want to add? Wedding plans?

Simon shakes his head, “You’ve lost your mind,”

“Wedding?” Price inquires turning his head to see Simon now. He hates how much they’re both buying into John’s nonsense theatrics, he’d almost rather blurt out the truth himself.

“Who’s best man then?” Gaz laughs, “It’s me, right Ghost?”

“Fuck off,” John spits, “I’m the obvious choice,”

Simon huffs and looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief, “Not havin’ this debate, finish your story, Johnny,”

“Eager huh?” He smirks but concedes, “S’lright Gaz, you can be the best man. I’ll be there regardless, being apart of the bride’s family and all.”

He knew the story had an end point, he knew it would end with himself getting outed. He just didn’t think Johnny would drop the bomb like that, but of course he shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“You fuckin’ dickhead, why would you announce it like that?” He mutters.

Gaz squints his eyes, looking a Price for guidance as he works out the mental maths before him, “Bride’s family?”

If he weren’t expecting it, he would have flinched from the way Gaz slammed his hands down on the table and stood up from his chair, “John’s sister?” He exclaims, “You got with his fucking sister?”

He looks at John, “And you’re not pissed off? That your lieutenant is dating your sister?” He looks at Simon, “You really want to marry into his family?” He asks, hitching a thumb in John’s direction.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, “Didn’t say anything about a wedding,”

“Yet,” John interrupts.

Simon’s silence makes Gaz laugh hysterically, Price who hasn’t said a word at all, just shakes his head in disbelief.

“Alright,” Price raises his hands, waiting for Gaz to simmer down, “I’ve heard more elaborate lies from you over smaller things. I’m not believin’ another word until I see proof,”

John nods, “So glad you said that, Captain,” he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. Simon would walk out of the room now if he knew it wouldn’t make his case worse, so he just sits there and grits his teeth.

Gaz is sitting on the edge of his seat, admittedly it’s gotten Price to straighten up too. John clears his throat once he’s found his evidence, “And to back up my claims, fresh off the press, a photo of two birds—one drunk out of her fucking mind—all cozy in their nest,”

Price is the first to lean forward and look at John’s phone. On the screen is the photo he took of the two of you at the bar, its exposure is slightly high from the flash but it’s undeniably himself and you sitting on the barstools. His arm is over your chest while you lie back against him, your arms hugging his own.

It’s damning evidence that even Simon can’t get around.

“Holy fucking shit,” Gaz breaks the silence, “This feels like a relic—like it needs to be preserved behind glass,”

“I fucking told ye, and you didn’t believe me,” John states.

Price looks at Simon and nods approvingly, “Good for you,”

“That’s it?” John asks, “Good for you? I just showed you evidence of the century,”

“I didn’t think you could even tolerate affection,” Gaz adds, looking speechless.

“Get this Gaz,” John continues, “First day there, it’s hot as balls and we go to a local swimming spot,” he puts his phone down, “I turn my back for one minute and when I turn around she’s slathering him in sunscreen,”

“Oh,” Gaz laughs, turning to Simon, “You like her huh? Did she get your back?”

John scoffs and crosses his arms, “She was too busy droolin’ over it to touch it,” he mutters.

“What?” Simon asks, suddenly interested.

“What?” John interjects, “Nothin’.”

Simon sits there and listens to John air out all his business like it’s his own. After the shock dies down Gaz and Price both look at him with a fond smile—in utter disbelief yes, but happy for him.

When time allows it, he sneaks back to his room and finally opens his phone. There’s two messages waiting for him, one from you, and an image from John.

Johnny told everyone about us.

That fucking asshole.

Guess I’m meeting them soon then?

Simon smiles, and types out one last message.

Maybe at the wedding.

Whose wedding???

When your last message shows up on Simon’s lockscreen, the photo from the bar pops up in the background.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #cod x you #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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hurtspideyparker · 1 year ago

Text

Peter places an envelope on Tony's desk.

Tony looks up confused, "huh? What's that for?"

"It's for you," he points awkwardly at the plain blue envelope, held closed with a Darth Vader sticker.

"It's not my birthday kid." He snaps the protective face shield back down as he picks up his soldering iron, sparks flying as he gets back to work.

"I know that I, uh. It's from, it's for. It's yours. I gotta go, see you later Mr. Stark!" Peter hikes his backpack up tighter as he skips out of the lab.

Tony grunts in acknowledgement without looking up, eyes focused on the searing metal in front of him.

* * *

"Tony? I thought you were gonna have dinner with me after Peter left," Pepper saunters down into the workspace in a flattering pair of jeans and baby blue blouse.

"I was. I am. He left like five minutes ago," Tony waves at her without taking his eyes from the computer he's typing on.

"Happy drove him home two hours ago. Come, have a nice sit down meal with me." Pepper wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, kissing the top of his head.

"I can have a sit down meal. I'm sitting right now, bring the carbonara down here and it'll be a proper date," Tony replies.

"Yeah, you me and your computer. How romantic. Tony, come upstairs- what's this?"

Tony glances up to see her holding a blue envelope.

"Uh, it's the kids."

Pepper flips it around, "it says To Mr. Stark From Peter on the back."

Tony just shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer.

The delicate glue of the sticker is undone under Pepper's sharp nails as she opens up the envelope and pulls something from inside.

"It's illegal to open someone else's mail y'know," Tony teases.

"Tony this- god you are such an asshole!" Pepper smacks Tony on the back of the head with the envelope.

"Ow! What the- what did I do now! I was just joking about the carbonara thing... mostly."

Tony finally meets Pepper's eyes of scorn. She tosses something in front of him with a huff.

"Tony, he even used a Darth Vader sticker. Do you know how adorably geeky and topical that is? You have got to start paying more attention to the living breathing people in front of you instead of your machines. Dinner is ready, please come upstairs."

Tony watches her leave as the clack of her heels fade away with every step. He's not sure what Darth Vader has to do with missing dinner, but he's quick to get up and start to follow.

He pauses before he makes it out the door, turning to finish the last line of code before he forgets the function. He pushes something off of his keyboard to type and press save.

Tony can't remember the last time he looked up from his work long enough to consume solid food. He's so ready to carb-load with some Italian food, turning away from the computer and blue envelope.

Tony's eyebrows furrow. Hm. Darth Vader sticker.

Tony turns back around and picks up the envelope from beside his keyboard.

This must be what the kid was yapping about earlier. Tony sticks his hand inside and finds a card, pulling it out.

"Father's Day it is," the front says in bold lettering with a picture of Yoda crudely hand-drawn with a sharpie and green highlighter. Tony flips it open, "celebrate you we must" is written in the middle of the page.

Below is a message in smaller writing; "Thank you for everything Mr. Stark, we wouldn't be here without you!" with a blob of sharpie that looks suspiciously like it's scribbled out a small heart, then signed "From Peter, Dum-E and U" each name written in their own unique handwriting.

"Friday, what day is it?"

"It is Sunday June 16th, also celebrated as Father's Day in countries such as the United States, Canada, and the UK."

Hm.

Tony stands there and stares at the card for longer than he'd ever admit before looking up at Dum-E.

"You help with this?" he asks, pointing at the card.

Dum-E chirps happily, twirling his claw around.

"Your hand writing's terrible."

* * *

Peter enters the lab slowly, an unsureness to him that's out of character.

It's Wednesday, his usual day for coming over to Tony's workshop. He hasn't heard anything from Tony since Sunday, not that he usually does. Still, the quietness has unnerved him. He's not sure what he was even expecting from his mentor; silence is probably the nicest response he could hope for after embarrassing himself like that.

"Hi Mr. Stark," he greets once he spots the older man sitting next to a complicated tangle of wires.

"Hey kid, can you go to the computer and run the command I have open for me?"

"Sure thing!" Peter says as he dumps his backpack onto the floor and jogs over.

The two get into an easy rhythm and Peter's practically forgotten why he was nervous in the first place when, "hey grab us some sodas will you," Mr. Stark asks him.

Peter walks up to the fridge in the corner of the room when he notices something new.

In the center of the silver metal lies a single piece of paper, stuck to the refrigerator with a plain magnet seemingly scrapped from some old hardware in the lab.

Tony has his Father's Day card displayed like some dorky parent whose kid got a half-decent report card, showcased on a fridge like a toddler's finger painted masterpiece.

It makes Peter so happy he can't wipe the stupid grin off his face the entire time he's grabbing sodas and delivering one to Tony.

The older hums a thanks without looking away from his project, but as Peter turns away Tony's own face contorts into a pleased smile all of his own.

The two share identical smiles all afternoon, hidden behind soda cans and computer screens.

#happy father's day #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #marvel mcu #iron dad #irondad #they're a family ur honour!#btw peter got flowers for both May and Pepper on mothers day because hes a gentleman <3 #spider man #iron man

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prettygirl-gabi · 3 months ago

Text

One-on-One

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Coach’s Daughter)

Fandom: WNBA: Dallas Wings

Summary: they say shooters shoot…

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin ,@issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

If you’d told seventeen-year-old me that someday Paige Bueckers would be standing across from me in a Dallas Wings practice jersey, spinning a ball on her finger, grinning at me like we shared some inside joke—I would’ve laughed.

And probably cried.

And then immediately passed out.

Yet here I am.

And it’s somehow worse than I imagined, because she’s real, she’s even more beautiful than a screen ever showed me, and she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

It had been a normal first day of practice—rookies meeting vets, drills, intro speeches—and I’d just been here to help my dad, Dallas Wings’ head coach Chris Koclanes, with welcoming the new players.

You know.

Like a normal, functioning adult who wasn’t crushing like a giddy teenager.

And maybe it would’ve stayed innocent if Arike hadn’t cornered me at the Gatorade table.

“You’ve got it bad,” she said in that sing-song voice that meant trouble.

I groaned. “Don’t.”

“She’s looking good in Dallas gear, huh?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Well, either you make a move before practice ends or I will.”

I blinked. “You’re bluffing.”

She smirked. “You know I’m not.”

And that’s why I’m now standing at half-court, holding a basketball, heart pounding loud enough I’m convinced Paige can hear it.

“You sure about this?” Paige asks, tossing her towel onto a bench. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye, like she’s very much enjoying this.

“Scared?” I tease.

She snorts. “Of you? Never.”

I spin the ball once on my palm. “First to eleven. Ones and twos. Loser…” I pause, letting it hang dramatically, “…has to buy dinner.”

“And if you win, you’re buying dinner?”

“Nope. If I win,” I say, walking backward toward the three-point line, “you give me your number.”

She raises an eyebrow, but she’s smiling. “Confident.”

I shrug. “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

Her laugh is low, a little breathless. “Alright, coach’s kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Paige checks the ball and immediately fakes left, drives right, and lays it in.

“1-0,” she says, grinning, jogging backward.

“You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already trying to embarrass me,” I say, checking it back.

She shrugs, playful. “Gotta set the tone early.”

I fake a stepback, blow past her, and hit a quick floater off the glass.

“1-1,” I say, smug.

“Ooooh, we got a game,” Arike shouts from the sideline, recording it on her phone.

Over the next few minutes, it’s back and forth.

She calls out my lazy defense.

I chirp her about missing an open three.

We’re grinning the entire time, bumping shoulders, getting a little too close for it to just be casual competition.

At 7-6 her, she leans in during a dead ball and whispers, “You know, if you wanted my number this bad, you could’ve just asked.”

I nearly travel.

“You’re cocky,” I say, shaking my head as I check the ball.

“And you’re adorable,” she says easily, clapping her hands for the pass.

I nearly pass out.

We battle until it’s 10-10.

Game point. Winner takes all.

We’re both sweating, a little out of breath. She’s bouncing on her toes, her eyes locked on mine.

“You ready to lose in front of your dad?” she teases.

“You ready to explain to the whole team how you got cooked by a ‘retired’ player?” I shoot back.

Her grin is everything.

I jab step, fake right, crossover left—

and pull up for a jumper just inside the arc.

Swish.

I throw my arms up as the small group watching cheers.

“Let’s goooo!” Arike yells, jumping around like a fool.

I turn to Paige, who’s standing with her hands on her hips, smiling like she just lost on purpose.

“Hand it over, Bueckers,” I say, wiggling my fingers for her phone.

She pulls it from her waistband and tosses it to me.

As I type my number in, she leans in close enough for me to smell her vanilla body spray.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Only if you’re into that.”

Her laugh is soft. Secret. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Later, after the gym clears out, I stop by my dad’s office.

He’s behind his desk, tapping on a laptop.

“You heading out?” he asks.

I nod, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, gonna show Paige around. Deep Ellum, maybe Bishop Arts.”

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing for a second too long.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. “You had that look on your face. The one from sophomore year, when you thought she liked one of your Instagram posts.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “Just don’t break my rookie’s heart, alright?”

I pause, the humor fading slightly. “What if she breaks mine?”

He looks at me for a long moment. Serious. Dad-mode activated.

“Then I’ll bench her.”

We both laugh, the tension breaking.

“Go,” he says, waving me off. “But be home by midnight or I’m calling Arike to find you both.”

I salute him dramatically and jog out before I can combust from second-hand embarrassment.

We end up at a taco truck in Deep Ellum, sitting on the curb with greasy napkins and lime wedges everywhere. It’s casual and easy—until Paige turns to me, holding her drink.

“So… your dad kinda let something slip yesterday,” she says, tone light.

My stomach drops. “Slip, like what?”

She bites her straw to hide a smile. “At the rookie press conference. After he introduced us to the staff. He was talking about you, to me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh God. What did he say?”

“He said—” she pauses for dramatic effect, “—‘She’s been a fan of yours for a long time. Could practically write a dissertation on your highlight reel.’”

I groan and hide my face in my hands.

“Yup,” Paige says, laughing. “So I knew.”

“You knew—this whole time?!”

She nods, sipping casually. “And I still let you think you were being subtle.”

I groan again.

“But,” she says, nudging my knee with hers, “I thought it was cute.”

I peek out between my fingers. “You don’t think I’m, like… a weirdo?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But in a good way. Honestly? I think it’s kinda hot that you risked public humiliation for my number.”

I blink. “You think I’m hot?”

She smirks. “Don’t push your luck, coach’s kid.”

I laugh, bumping my shoulder into hers.

We sit there for a while longer, just…talking. About Dallas. About her adjusting to the WNBA. About me adjusting to not being an athlete anymore.

It feels easy. Natural. Like it was always supposed to happen.

And when she walks me back to my car, she lingers for a second, eyes flickering to my mouth before she says, “Let’s do this again.”

I grin. “Wasn’t planning on stopping.”

She slides her hand into mine briefly—barely a brush of fingers—and it’s the best first almost-date of my life.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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sunkissedleira · 2 months ago

Text

Home is in Your Arms

Pairings: BratTamer!Zayne x Bratty!Reader (f)

Summary: Zayne and you have spent the last few weeks apart due to conflicting, busy schedules. Tonight is fully dedicated to each other and catching up on all that missed time.

Content Warnings: 18+; MDNI; reader is an office worker; Tara makes a brief appearance; mentions of Nero; busy schedules; tons of teasing; fluff; domesticated life; established relationship; grinding; cunnilingus; missionary sex; dirty talk; reader being a brat; Zayne being a tamer :P; creampie; post-orgasm cuddling; L-bombs; probably missing other tags, I apologize; 5.4k words

Notes from Leira: Ya girl is a wee bit nervous about dropping this little number since it's my first time posting my writing on Tumblr in manyyy years, but I felt pretty good about how well I think it turned out. I hope whoever's eyes, if any, are pleased <3.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is no greater feeling than clocking out on a Friday. Especially after a grueling week full of early mornings and even later nights. Overtime truly isn’t for the weak. With a tired sigh, you gather up your work bag and turn the light off in your cubicle.

“Let’s get out of here before something else comes up.” A voice pipes up behind you, and you turn to see Tara. Your friend and fellow coworker is playfully looking around, as if waiting for the boogeyman to appear. “If I get another email about the Calico presentation, I’m not gonna be responsible for my actions.”

You smile, slinging your work bag over your shoulder and leading the way to the elevators. You hit the down button and lean on the wall. “After next Wednesday, we’ll be free women. The projects will be done and we’ll be transitioning out of the busy season. We just gotta keep it together until then.”

A small pout forms on Tara’s red-tinted lips. “What if I have Nero plant a virus in the mainframe and just destroy the entire system?”

The elevator pings before you could answer, and the two of you step inside. Tara taps the button for the lobby. “I didn’t know you hated Nero enough to get him fired. A shame too, I always liked him.”

Tara giggles, digging around in her bag to retrieve her phone. “So, what are your plans for the weekend? There’s a food festival in Azure Square tomorrow, but I might be too tired to go.”

You hum softly to yourself. “I’m not sure. I think I’ll take it easy and stay inside this weekend. I feel like I’ve seen the walls of my cubicle more than my room lately.”

“You’re not gonna spend some time with your hot doctor?” Tara teases as the doors open into the lobby. “With all the OT you’ve been clocking and his infamous busy schedule, I assumed you’d be inside his skin all weekend, God willing.”

A snort from you as you both head towards the revolving front doors and exit your office building onto the streets of downtown Linkon. You make your way toward the train station, pulling out your phone. Even if she was joking, Tara was correct. With your recently conflicting schedules, you hadn’t been able to see your favorite doctor in over two weeks. “You make a good point. Give me a second.”

“Take your time. I’m gonna run in here and grab some snacks for later.” Tara makes a detour into a convenience store and your park yourself on a nearby bench, placing your ringing phone to your ear.

Just when you think you’ll have to leave a message, the line opens. “Good evening, Miss. Salarywoman.”

Before you realize it, you’re grinning from ear to ear at that familiar soft-spoken voice. “Good evening, Dr. Zayne. Are you busy?”

There’s an small, amused hum from him at the use of his title. “I just arrived back to my office to finish some paperwork. Are you on your way home?”

“I am,” you nod, “I was debating if I should pop up at the hospital, so we could go home together. Is the paperwork more important than me?” The pout in your tone is loud and clear.

Zayne chuckles. “The paperwork is quite important,” he responds slyly. “However, you know you are my most important priority. I’ll see you when you arrive. Be safe.”

Another dazzling smile lights up your face. “Yes, sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking into Akso Hospital, you bask in the cool air caressing your heated skin. As the seasons change and the weather heats up, you really begin to question your decision to not buy a car when you moved into the city.

But, why spend all that money when the train worked just fine and when you could always ride passenger-princess style in Zayne’s car. As you breeze through the hallways, you greet a couple of familiar faces. Dr. Greyson greets you with a knowing smile and a quick side hug.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but our dear Dr. Zayne is definitely in need of his Vitamin You fix. Your timing couldn’t be better,” Greyson teases.

You smirk, playfully hitting Greyson’s shoulder as you continue your walk. “Don’t worry, Greyson. I’m clocking in for the night shift as we speak.” Greyson’s light laughter echoes gently in the quiet hallways as you go your separate ways.

Moments later, you reach Zayne’s office door. The anticipation of finally seeing him after so long wins out against using your manners to knock and notify him of your presence. Instead, you barge right in.

He's seated at his desk, glasses in place, and fingers flying across the keyboard with quick and precise taps. He doesn’t speak as you shut the door behind you and approach him.

You quietly sit on the edge of desk and take a look around. His office is neat, not a pen out of place. The bratty urge to start rearranging everything to mark your presence begins to bubble in your stomach, but you remain still.

Instead, you pick up a framed photo near your hand. It’s not like you’ve never seen the photo before, in fact you have a copy on your own desk. Any time you can encapsulate the love and affection that beam through the quiet man’s expressive eyes whenever he’s genuinely happy, you take full advantage. Your smile is bright in the photo; his face is partially hidden in your hair, but the joy in his bright hazel eyes is evident.

You place the photo back down and shift your gaze to the real-life man in front of you. To your surprise, he’s already staring back at you. Hazel eyes beaming with amusement with his arms across his chest.

“Did you enjoy your trip down memory lane?”

You wrinkle your noise playfully and cross your legs. “Always. But, I’ve been up and down memory lane so much these few weeks, I’m sure the soles of my shoes have been worn away.”

The amusement in Zayne’s eyes fades into something softer. Without a word, he takes your hand and gently pulls you into his lap. With his arms wrapped tightly around you, he buries his nose into your hair and breathes in deeply. You can feel his body relaxing as he slowly exhales. “I missed you too…” His voice is almost silent in the quiet room.

Neither of you speak. You just allow yourselves to savor the warmth and presence of the other after being apart for so long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Exiting the hospital, your hand is tightly gripping Zayne’s as you follow a half-step behind him towards his parked car. As you walk, you’re chattering away about your current projects at work and all the overtime you’ve had to clock. Zayne listens patiently, humming in acknowledgement to show he’s actually listening.

At the car, he opens the door for you and protects your head as you slide into the seat. Before you can do it yourself, he leans in close and buckles your seatbelt.

A cheeky smile spreads across your face. “Dr. Zayne is aware that I’m fully capable of buckling my own seatbelt, correct?” You can’t help the sarcastic remark.

“He does, indeed,” Zayne’s signature smirk graces his face. He’s still close enough that you can smell the sweetness of candy on his breath. “But, he wants to do it anyway. And he knows you’ll be good and let him.” Soft lips brush across your nose and then the door shuts.

Badump. Badump. Badump. Badump.

A slow, deep inhale to slow your heart. You watch Zayne cross in front of the car and slide into the driver’s seat. Once he’s safely buckled in, he glances over at you. “Ready?”

Words fail you for some odd reason, so you just nod. A sudden heat has cascaded over your body. Trying not to show it, you softly clear your throat and cross your ankles in front of you. Then, you do what you do best when you’re flustered. Deflect.

“Soooo,” you hum, turning your gaze towards the window, “I’ve told you all about what I’ve been up to. How was Dr. Zayne’s last few weeks?”

“You’re asking as if we haven’t been in contact every day.” He cruises easily through traffic, which is relatively heavy due the public’s rush to get home after a long day of work. “Do you want to pick something up for dinner? I can stop at that dumpling place you love.”

You can’t help but smile. Even still, the need to tease burns through you. “The dumpling place that I love, huh? You don’t like it?” You turn to face him, watching his handsome features remain calm and stoic despite your teasing.

“Their dumplings are very good. I especially like the dessert ones.”

“Of course you do,” you giggle loudly, earning a small smirk from him as he keeps his eyes on the road. Ever the safety tyrant. “The dumpling place sounds lovely.” You finally grace his proposed question with an answer. “And we’ll definitely need to get those dessert dumplings for my dear Dr. Zayne.”

You earn a chuckle this time, along with a slight shake of his head at your antics. “Definitely.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the dumplings secured in Zayne’s hands, you take the initiative to unlock the front door of his home. Kicking your shoes off, your socked feet pad softly against the hardwood floor towards the kitchen.

You flick on the lights and quickly wash your hands before you start digging around in Zayne’s fridge for drinks. You can hear Zayne unpacking the dumplings on the counter behind you. Drinks in hand, you bump the fridge door closed with your hip. “How tired are you, right now?”

Zayne glances up briefly, as he organizes the dumplings onto a matching set of plates. “Are you trying to make plans for after dinner or something?”

Setting the drinks down, you lean on the counter. “I’m just wondering how the night will play out. That’s all…”

Something about the way in which the words spill from your lips causes Zayne’s movements to slow to a stop. He gives you his full attention as he grips the edge of the counter and leans in closer to you.

He watches your eyes shift quickly down to his lips and back up to his eyes. He wonders if you even realize how much you’re giving away to him right now. Maybe you do and don’t care. It has been a few weeks since you two have shared a space, shared food, shared a bed…

He can’t help the smile that crosses his face. Instead of getting pulled into your orbit, he leans back and resumes his duty of organizing the dumplings onto the plates. Where’s the fun in just giving you what you when you want it?

“I’ll bring the food and drinks. Why don’t you go find us something to watch. We can finish that show we started a while back.”

Slightly thrown off by his dismissal, you find yourself in the living room and grabbing the remote to queue up the aforementioned television show. Throwing yourself on the couch, you can feel a particular emotion scratching up your throat. It takes a few seconds to register as frustration. The more time you spend in Zayne’s presence, the more the frustration begins to grow.

It’s been weeks since you were last together. Weeks since you felt his lips on your lips; his hands roaming your body as if every inch belongs to him (be real, it does); those eyes watching your every movement, cataloging every moan and whimper he pulls from the deep depths within you; his tongue—

“What are you doing?”

You physically startle at that voice. Looking up, you see Zayne eyeing you with an eyebrow raised. Coming out of your daze, you realize that you were staring blankly at the home screen of the streaming service. Remote poised to pull up that show. Frozen in time. You feel your face heat up immediately. “Uh, I, um…”

Sitting next to you, Zayne’s expression turns to a concerned one. His hands gently press against your cheeks and neck. Doctor mode activated. “You’re a little warm. Are you feeling alright?” His hand drops from your cheek to your neck, fingers brushing a particularly sensitive spot.

You squeak. Actually squeak. It shocks you and Zayne both. Covering your mouth, you shift away from him. “I didn’t mean to do that. You, um, your hand…I got ticklish.”

“Hm…” Zayne doesn’t speak. Those eyes slowly scan you from head to toe and your body temperature continues to rise. “Do you want some water?” He finally asks, hazel gaze meeting yours.

“Sounds good.” Your words are barely audible. It isn’t until he’s a safe enough distance away in the kitchen that you release a breath and slump into the cushions of the couch. You’re not even sure why you’re feeling so embarrassed. As you listen to Zayne pouring your cup of water, you finally queue up that show and pull your legs up onto the couch.

“Here, love,” his soft voice caresses your ear as he hands you the water from over your shoulder. You take it with a gentle “thank you” and he goes to turn off the lights. He sits close to you, placing your legs in his lap.

The silence that follows is one you’re familiar with. It’s comfortable, safe, soothing. So very Zayne. You eat and provide commentary during the show. Zayne chimes in every now and then, providing his own opinions of the show’s plot lines. You fall back into the domesticated routine you know so well with him. You finally feel home for the first time in weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the dumplings have been consumed, you snuggle closer to Zayne—feeling the need to be deeper within his presence. His arm slides around you, his nose burying itself in your hair, his body relaxing even further into the cushions. You know these signs as Zayne finally feeling home as well. His fingers, which have been slowly massaging your bare calf are now drawing light circles up and down your leg below your skirt.

Your throat is itching again. The frustration returning. You don’t move, waiting to see what he does next. The show is no longer important.

Zayne softly snuggles the top of your head and you feel him pull you closer. You’re not sure if it’s your individual body heat or the combined heat of you both, but you’re warm again. His touch is gradually becoming more and more distracting.

But, you notice, he’s not initiating anything. It’s as if he only wants to be close and feel your skin on his skin. Nothing more, nothing less.

The show continues, but you’re no longer watching. You’re plotting. Scheming. How can you get him to give you what you want without admitting anything?

Zayne’s certain you’re unaware of how obvious you’re being right now. He knows the show has long since lost its hold on you. He knows his caressing is sending you into a spiral. Your breathing has changed, it’s a little faster. Your thighs are pressed together. And you’ve been squirming in his lap for the last ten minutes.

A scheme is being plotted, for sure. But not yours. His.

He drops his head, bringing his lips down to your ear. As if by accident, but definitely on purpose, he gently brushes the shell of your ear. The light shudder that speeds down your spine is delicious. “You don’t seem to be paying attention anymore. Are you sleepy?”

The deep inhale and exhale you perform does not slip by unnoticed. Zayne’s opened a door for you. Admitting to being sleepy will mean this cuddle session can move into the bedroom. He’s almost made it too easy for you, honestly. “Yeah, I actually am. I guess all that OT is catching up to me.”

A proud hum settles in his chest. Good girl. “Let’s have a bath and get you into bed then, shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bath water is warm and far too relaxing. Zayne even added bubbles and dimmed the lights. You could almost fall asleep. Almost. If not for the large man whose solid, bare chest and a solid something else was pressing against your back. Whose strong, but gentle hands were sliding up and down your arms. Soft breaths brushing across your neck. There was no way you could actually relax. However, your torturer seemed almost in a daze as he rested against the side of the tub, legs spread to fit you perfectly in between.

Truth be told…he looked too serene. Looking over your shoulder, you’re met with his handsome face. His eyes are closed, jaw unclenched, eyebrows relaxed. He looked so peaceful, you actually second-guessed your next actions. You know how busy the hospital keeps him on a daily basis. He loves his job, there was no doubt in that, but it takes its toll. He even lost a patient last week. The first one in almost half a year.

That burning frustration begins to melt into guilt. Zayne was probably just trying to enjoy the first moment of peace he’s had in weeks, and you’ve been focused on how to jump his bones. Or rather…how to get him to jump your bones. What a terrible girlfriend.

“Why don’t you just turn around, so you don’t have to keep breaking your neck to look at me.” His eyes don’t even open and he didn’t move a muscle, except for the miniscule smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

You flick water at him and turn around anyway, sitting fully in his lap now. His arms circle your waist and pull you closer. “Be honest, you have an extra set of eyes somewhere, don’t you?” You begin to playfully poke at his arms and chest.

Zayne keeps his eyes closed, but his smirk shifts into a smile. “I don’t need more than one set of eyes to feel when you’re staring holes into my face, love.”

A huff and an eyeroll from you. You let silence cover you both as you slide your arms around his shoulders, nails lightly dragging across the nape of his neck. “Zayne…”

He hums softly in acknowledgement, eyes still closed.

A beat of silence. Of contemplation. Then, the confession. “I really you missed these past few weeks.”

Hazel eyes finally meet yours. Zayne shifts to press his forehead against yours. The unflinching eye contact seems to cause another heat wave throughout your body. Or maybe that was all in your head and you’re just warm from the water. His hand cups the side of your face and soft lips are against yours instantly. Your lashes flutter close and you lean desperately into the kiss.

Finally, finally, finally! Weeks of missing this, weeks of dreaming about this, and it’s finally become reality again.

Your tongue brushes against his and a quiet whimper breathes out of your nose. Zayne’s hand slides to the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. You don’t realize it, but your hips are moving. Slowly, at first. A slow whine that drags your clit against his hardening shaft. That whimper from earlier morphs into a full moan.

Your hips keep moving; pleasure licking its way slowly up and down your spine. That familiar tingle in your stomach grows bigger and bigger. Your body feels like an open flame, burning hotter and hotter with each roll of your hips. It’s all happening so fast. But, it’s been weeks and you need it so bad. Need him so bad.

“Sweetheart,” that voice is in your ears again. You can hardly concentrate; your brain is melting inside your skull as your head tilts back. Another moan crawls its way out of your throat. You hear that honeyed voice again. Firmer. The stern tone of voice causing your hips to freeze in place. “Look at me.”

Your eyes, which you don’t remember closing, open to meet his gaze. You gasp softly at the intense burning in his irises. Your senses return to your consciousness and you realize a few things in quick succession.

First, Zayne’s body is incredibly tense. You recognize this as him holding back, him fighting off the pleasure he surely felt alongside you earlier. Second, his grip around your waist and at the back of your head have tightened in an almost painful way. The weakening fire inside flares instantly and you moan, trying to move your hips again. But, you can’t. “Zayne.” A whimper of his name. His expression doesn’t change but you see the raging fire in those eyes. “Zayne.” You try again.

You watch him watch you. Gaze unhurried and calm. His head tilts to the side. And when he smirks, your danger sense starts sounding in the back of your mind. “I thought good girls asked for their pleasure. I didn’t realize they just took it without permission. Explain yourself.”

You can barely form a singular word that’s not his name, let alone formulate some explanation for his stupid question. “I-…I need…Zayne, come on…” That’s all you got right now. But, you can see it’s not enough as he sits and waits for his explanation. Your eyes burn with unshed tears, trying to move but his embrace is rock solid. The implication is clear: you’re not going anywhere or doing anything until he says so.

“Try again.” His voice, chilled like a snowy day in December, sends a shiver throughout your body. “Good girls get rewarded when they do what they’re told, right?”

You nod frantically.

“I’m waiting…”

A deep inhale as you force your brain to think. Just as concepts of thoughts begin to stick together in your mind, you feel it. His fingers slipping between your legs. Light brushes against your clit. Not enough to do anything except make you tremble and whine. What a dick. That thought is loud and clear in your mind.

“Mmm…glaring at me won’t change anything, love.” The amusement in his voice pisses you off. “Use that big, pretty brain of yours. I know you’re fully capable.” His middle finger circles your nub slowly, so lightly you barely feel it but it still sends burning flames down to your fingertips and toes.

Your curse and struggle harder against his strong hold. “Zayne…it’s been so long…” you breath. A change in tactic is needed. You know he wants you to ask (read: beg) for him to fuck you. But, why should you? You lean closer, kissing him softly before nipping at his bottom lip. “I thought you missed me. You need it too, baby. I know you do. I can feel it.”

You lower your voice, something between a breath and a whisper directly into his ear. “Didn’t you think about me at all while we were apart? Hmm? Didn’t you dream about having me in your arms like this again? Pressed so closely against you. Riding you until you,” an involuntary moan escapes as your own fantasies briefly take over you, “until you’re cumming so deep inside…”

You hear it. Faint in the grand scheme of it all. But it might as well have been echoing through a megaphone into your ear. Zayne’s soft moan. His grip on you shifts, loosening just enough for you to reach down and bump his hand out of the way. A few slow, deliberate pumps of his shaft, and a quick twirl of your thumb across the tip…hook, line, and sinker.

Water splashing fills the quiet bathroom and you find yourself propped up against the edge of the tub; hands planted on the platform leading to the two steps; legs spread. A quite open and vulnerable position. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation. Making Zayne lose his cool was one of your favorite past times.

Speaking of, the man in question places a firm hand between your shoulders blades—effectively keeping you in place. When you feel his tip gliding up and down against your lips, catching against your clit every pass, your trembling cranks up to full blown shaking. “Do it!”

“Oooh,” Zayne chuckles darkly. “My little brat is so demanding today. You know that’s not going to get you what you want. Try again.”

A noise of frustration bubbles out of you as you struggle against his hold. You’re somehow back where you started. Damn him! “You’re so mean to me!”

“Am I?” He questions, teasing you further by slipping his tip just inside your sopping hole. Not enough, of course. Just a taste. Just to bait you. Zayne knows your little seducing dirty talk trick from earlier was supposed to get him to lose his cool. But, his little brat would have to try harder than that.

However, you were entirely correct. He really did need you and not a single night passed that he didn’t ruin his sheets thinking about you. “So mean to her, she says. But, I left work early. Abandoned some very important paperwork. I drove her home so she wouldn’t have to take the train after such a long day. I bought her dinner. I snuggled with her. I’m giving her a bath before bed. Where’s the meanness, sweetheart? Tell me.”

The entire time he’s talking, he’s switching between teasing his tip just barely inside and brushing it against your clit repeatedly. You’re actually so close to your orgasm, you’d be embarrassed if you were in your right mind. “Oh my god, I’m so close. Zayne, baby…fuck…” You’re whimpering again.

And then….he stops moving. You cry. You genuinely start crying. You’re not sure if the words you’re saying make sense, but you’re sobbing enough to make him flip you over onto your back and drop to his knees in the water. Strong hands spread your thighs apart and a soft warm tongue is slipping between your lips. He kisses your clit, so swollen it's peeking from between the safety of your equally swollen lips.

Then, he gently sucks it between his lips and one flick of the tip of his tongue sends white-hot pleasure all throughout your body. You’re pretty sure you’re screaming. Most likely his name and that you love him. Don’t quote yourself, though.

Your mind goes blank. It’s just burning pleasure continuously rolling over you, wave after wave after wave. It’s so good. It’s exactly what you wanted. What you needed. When you finally float back down to Earth, you’re on soft sheets with Zayne above you. He’s kissing all over your face and neck, murmuring something that sounds like praises. You reach up and pull him down for a kiss to ground yourself.

“Welcome back,” he teases you.

“Shut up.” A chuckle as he nuzzles your cheek. “I thought brats didn’t get rewards.” You uttered.

A playful snort from the man above you. “You don’t remember begging and pleading with me and apologizing for being a brat while you were crying?”

You immediately cover his mouth to stop him from retelling any more embarrassing moments. He gazes down upon you with eyes full of amusement and joy. They’re so bright and happy, you drop your hands and sigh. “You suck.” Your arms slide back around his shoulders and his lips are on yours again.

His hands are gentle, featherlight as they graze down your body before grabbing ahold of your thighs. Without breaking the kiss, he slowly pushes inside you. You both moan into the other’s mouth; the kiss becomes increasingly sloppier. Your breaths intermingle, but you both refuse to part. You’re so full of him, the stretch every time he dives deeper and deeper causing an arch in your spine.

“Oh my god,” you finally detach yourself from his lips. Your head falls back into the pillows, a broken moan escaping into the air.

Zayne is tucked in the crevice between your neck and shoulder. His moans growing in volume with each passing stroke. “S’good, baby. It’s so damn good. Never again are we going this long without this. You understand me?” His hips smack roughly against yours.

A loud gasp from you, before you whimper, “yes!” Your nails rip down his back; he doesn’t flinch, just groans and shudders against you. His pace remains slow, but he’s reaching so deeply you can’t do anything but cry and hold onto him. It’s building again. Stronger this time, which is scary. You try to warn him, “Zayne, I’m gonna—you’re gonna make me—.”

But, he already knows. How could he not with the death grip you currently had over him? He could barely pull out. “Let go for me, love. You want to give it to me, right? It’s mine anyway. Cum for me.”

You can’t breathe as your vision goes white and you arch up into the heavens. No sounds can find their way into the open space even with your mouth open. A beat passes. Two. Three. Then… “Holy fucking—oh my god, I’m—.” You can’t even get the words out through all your moaning and squirming under his heavy weight.

“Breathe, baby.” He snickers, hips still rolling, lips pressed to your ear. “You sound so good when you cum for me. God, I love you.” A wet, hot kiss to your neck. More praises. More confessions of love. A full body shudder underneath him. More whimpering from you. That telltale tightening. “Came again, huh?”

“Feel s’fucking good, baby,” you slur your words, fully drunk off the pleasure currently drowning you. “Don’t stop. Please. Cum inside me. I wanna feel it so bad. I’ve been so good, right? I deserve it, right?”

How could he argue against that? When you beg so sweet, when you hold him so tightly like he’ll float away if you don’t anchor him down, when you moaning straight into his damn ear. “Oh…fuck…” The curse slips from lips; usually only revealed during passionate times such as these. He’s so close. He’s been close, to be honest. But, what kind of lover would he be if didn’t make sure you are well taken care of first?

You know he’s close. All the signs all there. The harsh gripping of your thighs. His teeth sinking into your neck. Your name falling from his lips again and again like a prayer. No, a promise. You hold him close. What was it he said earlier? Oh yeah… “Let go for me, love. You want to give it to me, right? It’s mine anyway. Cum for me.”

He gasps softly against you. A loud, broken moan echoes through the room. You feel it. Pulse after pulse after pulse. He’s actually moaning so loudly. A burst of pride explodes in your chest, having finally successfully gotten your ever cool and aloof lover to drop his control. You whisper praises into his ear as he continues to rock his hips into yours and tremble. Until, the room falls silent.

“Damn,” you giggle after a while, “maybe we do need to start spending more time apart like this.”

He pinches your side, chuckling when you squeal and fight against his hold. Zayne allows himself a few moments of post-orgasm bliss before getting started with his aftercare. Once you’re both cleaned up and in your pajamas, you’re back in his arms. He rests on his back with you splayed across his chest. Your eyes are bright and unguarded as you stare down at him. His heart clenches and he can’t help but admit it again, “I love you.”

A shy smile from you as lean in and kiss him tenderly. “I love you.” You nuzzle his nose. “You are everything I never knew I needed and more than anything I’ve ever wanted. Stay with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “How could I go when you’re the embodiment of the life I never thought I would have or deserved.”

You pinch his nose, snickering delicately at his furrowed brow. Then, “you deserve the world.”

“You deserve the world. Way more than me.”

Laying your head on his chest, you listen to his heart. Calm, steady, strong. Just like its owner. You can’t help but place a kiss there. His arms tighten around you. Your exhaustion is finally catching up to you. But, before you full succumb, you murmur, “I guess we’ll just have to find a world to give each other, huh?”

Fingers drifting up and down your back as you let sleep take over before he can respond, Zayne can only smile to himself. A kiss to the top of your cute, sleeping head. “I guess we do. Goodnight, my love.”

#love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #dr zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne smut #zayne x reader #lads smut #consider this my debut #testing my smut writing abilities #i hope you like it

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