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posh--bee · 2 months ago

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i'm losing it (all i get is jealousy, jealousy) || Aaron Hotchner

pairing → Aaron Hotchner x Reader

summary → You're out on a Friday night, sitting around a table in a cozy bar, enjoying your fruity drink and the presence of your newfound friends in the form of your father's team. But then Derek just has to open his mouth and ruin your night when he mentions her.

warnings → fem!reader, rossi!reader, reader has rossi's last name, (unspecified) age gap, reader being pretty self-deprecating here oopsieee (anxiety, keep on tryin' me…), Spencer and Beth mentioned as romantic interests for reader and Aaron, jealousy jealousy~, misunderstandings, they're still head over heels for each other, but don't talk about it, Spencer being an absolute sweetheart, no y/n used

author's note → This part started out as a kind of prelude to my actual idea for part 2—the gala. But then this scene just developed a life of its own and I decided to just make the cut to really be able to focus on the gala in the next part. A huge thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged and commented on the first part!! 💕 I appreciate each and every single interaction so much and it's such a huge motivation to keep me writing because I simply cannot operate on internal motivation alone. That being said, I had so much fun writing this part so let me know what you think about it!^^ I hope you like it <3 (Title, obviously, from "jealousy, jealousy" by Olivia Rodrigo.)

word count → 4.6k

masterlist(s)

series masterlist || part 1 - ⋆part 2⋆ - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

It's a busy Friday night in November for the little bar tucked away in a corner of the city's Downtown district, the bell above the front door tinkling gently every other minute as people exit and enter the cozy but slightly stuffy establishment.

The soft sound of the melting ice cubes clinking against the glass of your drink is almost drowned out by the buzzing atmosphere of the bar as you absentmindedly stir the watered-down remainder of your once fruity and colorful cocktail. You hear the sound of car tires rolling over the wet pavement outside as the door opens again and it seamlessly blends with the ambiance of the bar—music playing over ancient speakers hidden in the corners of the room, people talking and laughing loudly, cheerfully, glasses clinking faintly and chairs scraping over the already worn floor.

Your cheeks are not only warm and glowing from the temperature inside the bar, bravely fighting off the chill from beyond the old brick walls, but also from the alcohol in your system that makes you feel pleasantly buzzed and relaxed. You make yourself even more comfortable on the—admittedly pretty hard and bum-numbing—bench you're sitting on, accidentally nudging Emily next to you who immediately retaliates by playfully shoving you back, a huge grin on her face.

You stick your tongue out at her, giggling at the betrayed face she makes as her hands fly up to her heart—but the rest of her dramatic display is immediately lost on you when you catch sight of Aaron from across the table, listening to something Spencer is animatedly explaining to him, and your stomach does a lovesick little flip.

Tonight, instead of his usual suits and button-downs he's dressed in a black polo shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, and when he walked through the bar's door earlier this evening you spontaneously forgot how to breathe. It's embarrassing how something as simple as casual clothes can make your heart stutter in your chest when it comes to him, but you can't help it. Especially when his strong arms usually hidden by long-sleeved shirts and suit jackets are shamelessly on display for your viewing pleasure, his forearms casually resting on the table with his fingers interlocked loosely, drawing your eyes to them like a desperate moth to a forbidden flame.

The dim light of the bar only accentuates his handsome and sharp features, the smile lines at the corners of his mouth and the crow's feet around his eyes a beautiful constant of his face at the moment. If you're not careful you could probably drown in the gentle warmth of his brown irises.

Of course, as it was bound to happen eventually, Aaron catches you staring at him so openly, his kind eyes suddenly locked with your startled ones and you quickly duck your head in mortification, heat crawling up your neck, your cheeks and ears already on fire.

It's been four months since the pool incident, the I almost kissed my father's friend and boss I only just met after making him fall in the pool with me incident, and since then these completely inconvenient and utterly inappropriate feelings you caught for Aaron that very day haunt you relentlessly, persistently, only getting stronger with each and every time you see him again.

You cringe inwardly, the whole day burned into your mind forever, the memory of it all still painfully vivid, especially of your inexcusable and humiliating behavior, and the urge to just slip underneath the table and hide there until the end of time gets overwhelming for a moment. You hope your face doesn't show the embarrassment and regret welling up inside of you as the memories from that day replay in your mind for the millionth time, as if you didn't already spend these last few months obsessing over what had happened—dissecting every single word spoken between the two of you, analyzing and weighing even the slightest change of Aaron's expressions and tone until it's the middle of the night and you're half delirious with the lack of sleep.

You're not sure what your overthinking mind tries to archive with this, except torture you during your waking hours and curse you with anxious insomnia at nighttime, making you embarrass yourself in front of Aaron again and again whenever you see him now, stumbling over your words and acting like a lovesick school girl with a cute but laughable little crush.

It would be almost adorable if it weren't so ridiculously sad.

Because, in the end, all you'll ever be to him is that—his friend's daughter who caught completely inappropriate feelings for him and doesn't know how to deal with them like an adult.

You're too young for him, too inexperienced, too immature. Anxious and naive, plain and uninteresting, book-smart at best with no experience of how the real world actually works.

Spoiled and never had to work for all the nice and expensive things in life that you experience and own, not with a father as well off as yours.

Your doctorate a pretty little achievement to show off now and then but amounting to nothing in the grand scheme of things, in the world outside your fancy lab and brilliantly white lab coat. You hide behind your microscopes day in, day out, behind your Petri dishes and test tubes, behind your statistics and test results, comfortably able to overlook the fact that in the end, you're dealing with death, the oftentimes brutal loss of human life—the life of a real person—while there are people like Aaron and your father and the rest of their team out there, risking their lives, their mental well-being to bring peace to the bereaved, haunting these monsters that stole the rest of their entire lives from their victims. These agents work tirelessly, traveling all over the country at a moment's notice, spending their days and nights away from home solving cases no one else but them could, one more dangerous and complex than the next, and not stopping before they do, without complaining, without expecting anything in return.

But you? You simply come home after a day of work to your cozy and spacious apartment that you only found and are able to afford because of your father, slipping on mismatched fuzzy socks and a shirt and pajama pants whose patterns clash mercilessly, eating frozen pre-made meals or take-out food more often than not while turning off your brain in front of the TV or your laptop screen, drinking the expensive wine your dad bought out of mugs because your dishwasher is broken and you didn't have the energy to wash the dishes for multiple days in a row.

It's painfully obvious that Aaron and you live in completely different worlds, your lives ridiculously incompatible, so it doesn't come as a surprise that all your overthinking and obsessing and dissecting only ever leads to one final conclusion—

You will never be good enough for Aaron Hotchner.

As much as it hurts to admit this, your heart clenches painfully whenever you have to remind yourself of this inescapable fact—when the wishful thinking and the juvenile daydreaming become a little too self-indulgent—you know it's the truth.

And the sooner you and your hopelessly romantic little heart can make peace with it the better. Because whatever you thought he saw in you or felt for you that perfect summer day was only an illusion, a trick your overactive mind played on you so cruelly. Someone like Aaron Hotchner could never reciprocate your silly feelings for him, the spark you imagined igniting between the two of you back then was merely a sad one-sided, and completely inappropriate infatuation. You probably didn't look entirely unappealing in your skimpy little bikini that clung to your wet and glowing skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination, so at least you didn't make up everything you thought happened that day, the brief flicker of attraction in his eyes as they roamed over your naked skin flattering and enough to send your heart into a frenzy, but ultimately meaningless, an involuntary and wholly physical reaction of his. And you know better than to let it go to your head; your reflection—plain and boring and strikingly average—setting you right when it pointedly stares back at you in the mirror as you study it on any normal day.

It really comes as no surprise then that after the whole pool incident, Aaron kept a deliberate distance from you whenever the two of you would meet afterwards, still smiling at you cordially, asking about your new job, your new apartment, your research, but never talking to you on your own, only ever when other people are part of the conversation too. And you're not delusional enough to not be aware of the fact that he's simply entertaining you out of politeness, a courtesy he's only showing you because you're the daughter of a friend.

Anxiety presses heavily against your chest when you think about how uncomfortable you must make him with your poorly hidden infatuation for him, how painful it must be for him to see you act like a pathetic fool in front of him, and all of a sudden your heart is thudding painfully against your ribcage, your pulse ringing in your ears, your breath leaving you in short little gasps—

"Hey, are you okay?"

Your eyes snap up to meet Spencer's kind ones, slightly widened with worry, but not like you expected from across the table where he sat when you last looked up. Instead, he's beside you, sliding next to you onto the bench, his face twisted into a frown and his brown eyes searching yours intensely. For a long moment, all you can do is stare back at him, wondering, with burning ears, just how long you spaced out for.

"Do you need to go outside for a moment? I could go with you if you want."

His words effortlessly pull you out of your anxious spiral and after briefly and earnestly considering his offer you shake your head, exhaling a shaky breath that thankfully eases some of the thightness in your chest.

You flash him a grateful little smile before answering, "No, it's okay. Thank you, though."

You unlatch your stiff and cold fingers from where they are still gripping your cocktail glass like a lifeline, wiping off the condensation that's left behind on your palms on your jeans. "My mind just… went a little crazy there for a moment, you know?"

The silly jazz hands that accompany your explanation catch Spencer off guard and he lets out a spluttered laugh that makes you grin in return. You feel yourself relax further just by having him sit beside you, and even more so when he regains enough composure to softly tell you, "I get it. Just take your time."

You're glad the others are all too absorbed in their own conversations as you glance around the table. It allows you to simply concentrate on taking calm and deep breaths as you listen to Spencer launch into a detailed analysis of the last episode of Doctor Who he watched, his expressive hands a worthy rival of your jazz hands.

(Too absorbed by all of this, you don't notice how Aaron is watching you and Spencer from across the table with narrowed eyes, or how Garcia urgently and repeatedly slaps Morgan's arm who's sitting next to her, gleefully nodding her head in the direction of the two of you, not even trying to be subtle about showing off her delightful discovery, or the slow smirk forming on the other man's lips at the incredibly intimate sight of you and your fellow young doctor completely absorbed by your own little nerdy conversation.)

With Spencer jumping from topic to topic, one more fascinating but obscure than the previous, your heart rate slowly lowers from the level of a prey animal being hunted for sport to that of the young woman enjoying a carefree Friday night with a group of friends that you are, happily piping up with your own contributions and fun facts when the genius next to you runs out of air during his endearing ramblings.

When you first moved back to DC after finishing your doctorate you were nauseous with nerves about meeting new people and making friends, worried that you would spend every weekend at your father's place, sipping his fancy wine from a glass while perched on the cold marble of his kitchen countertops, just watching him cook an elaborate dinner from his mother's collection of family recipes, asking if he wants any help with it and being pointedly reminded of what happened last time you were in his kitchen unsupervised. That's not to say that you don't love spending time with your dad—because you really, really do and you're more than happy to be living in the same city as him again, to be able to just hop into your car and drive to his house (sorry, mansion) whenever you feel like seeing him—but you would prefer if your entire social life didn't only revolve around him and your new place of work.

But when your father introduced you to his team during a dinner he hosted and you were immediately integrated into their little work family, every single one of them talking to you like they've known you for years—which it probably feels like to them considering how much your dad talks (brags) about you and your achievements—you felt silly about wasting so much time worrying about nothing at all. Not when there were all these wonderful people just eagerly waiting to meet and get to know you in person. You've never received such a warm and heartfelt welcome ever before in your life and for a few minutes you even completely forgot to agonize over the fact that during that dinner you were also seeing Aaron again for the first time since you fell for him—after literally making him fall in the pool with you.

And now, some months later, summer is only a faint memory anymore and even autumn slowly but surely making way for winter, the team happily invited you to their little end-of-another-crazy-week-catching-serial-killers get-together just like you've always been part of their group—and despite your father not even being with you at the moment.

(Because dear ol' dad ditched you in favor of a reservation at some fancy and exclusive restaurant uptown where he's currently busy working on stepmom number 3—or was it 4?)

(Honestly? You lost count.)

(You didn't. You just love to tease him with it.)

You glance around the table, looking at the happy faces of these wonderful people you're privileged to call your friends, a content smile forming on your face and a pleasantly warm feeling blooming at the very center of your chest. You can't believe how lucky you are to have been welcomed into their tight-knit group readily and with open arms, making uprooting the only life that you've known for the past ten years to move halfway across the country to a city you're not familiar with anymore so much less daunting, helping you to settle in immediately by inviting you to literally anything that they do outside of work.

(Aaron being an integral part of the group makes these casual and carefree meetups decidedly not as casual and carefree for you as you'd like, constantly putting your foot in your mouth around him or figuratively (and sometimes even literally) curling up into a pathetic ball of anxiety when he so much as looks at you. But you're working on that, you really are, learning to come to terms with your unrequited feelings for him which is not exactly going great—if tonight is any indicator of that—but eventually, you'll be able to act like the totally well-adjusted young woman you aspire to be around him.)

(… at least you hope you do.)

You're especially grateful to have met Spencer through the BAU team because if any person out there can be described as your platonic soulmate, it's him. In just four months the young genius has become one of the best friends you've ever made in your life—the two of you just immediately clicking after he refused to shake your hand when your father introduced you to him. You're close in age and if your passionate involvement in academics didn't make you connect instantly your shared interest in everything nerdy and niche definitely did.

You're even more grateful to have him by your side whenever you're confronted with your walking kryptonite that is Aaron Hotchner. You can count on Spencer to sense whenever you get too lost in your own head and to always bring you back to reality, even though he doesn't know that his boss is the cause of most of your anxiety-induced breakdowns—thankfully.

(Ordering food at a place you've never been to before is a strong second contender for that title, by the way.)

You smile at Spencer when he leans closer to you, his voice dropping to a soft whisper so only you can hear him when he gently asks, "Are you feeling any better now?"

In a playful display of your gratitude you nudge his shoulder with yours before nodding your head, answering truthfully, "I am. Thank you, Spence," and letting your hand fall to his arm and gently squeeze it through the soft fabric of his cardigan.

You don't notice how, from across the table, Aaron is so fixated on this simple, purely platonic gesture that he visibly flinches when Morgan scoots over to him on the bench and slings a heavy arm around his shoulder, a wide smirk that's all teeth and mischief splitting his face in half as he addresses his superior. He knows he only gets away with his cheeky nonchalance because of the laid-back and moderately tipsy state all of you are currently in—and isn't above shamelessly exploiting this.

"Hotch, my man. So about that fancy gala next week—"

That fancy gala Morgan so casually refers to is the FBI Agents Association—FBIAA for short—Gala that is hosted once a year on a random Thursday in November in the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center in downtown Washington. It's a fundraising event for the Association's charities, one of them being a fund that would've paid your college tuition if your father had—you feel sick even thinking about it—died while employed by the Bureau, and the whole BAU team, and you as their honorary member, have unanimously decided to attend it together.

And although you were pretty excited about it when Garcia brought the gala up, delighted by the opportunity to dress up for one evening and sip champagne out of crystal flutes while watching the different speakers up on the stage but actually listening to the BAU team's gossip about each and every one of them, the mention of it now makes your stomach drop abruptly.

Your grip on Spencer's arm tightens involuntarily because you know what the next words coming out of Morgan's stupid grinning mouth will be, you were dreading them since setting foot in this bar, were hoping against all hope that at least tonight you would be spared from hearing about her.

"—you didn't happen to run into that triathlon lady—"

"Beth," Garcia helpfully pipes up while casually fishing for the straw of her drink and taking a sip from the most blindingly colorful cocktail you've ever seen in your life.

"—Beth—again, did you? Because a little birdie told me that she would love to be your date for that evening if you just asked her."

Your stomach twists into several painful knots and you quickly reach for your own glass to drown the rest of your cocktail-flavored cold water, hoping it'll wash down the ugly and burning jealousy rising like bile in your throat.

But it doesn't, and you're stuck listening to a conversation you desperately don't want to be a part of, that awful green-eyed monster sinking its sharp claws mercilessly into your tender skin all the while.

Derek's smug grin only grows wider at the unimpressed stare his nosiness earns him from his supervisor, which gives sweet Garcia enough time to voice her enthusiastic agreement, her artfully manicured nails tapping giddily against the tall glass in front of her.

"You should really ask her, you know!"

She's not brave enough to add the well-meaning but meddlesome "You need to get out some more, have some fun and meet more people instead of wasting away in your office every day and night!" that is on the tip of her usually so ungovernable and free-spirited tongue. And even less so the "Getting laid once in a while would probably do you some good, help you relax!" that her brain unpromptedly and unsolicitedly supplied her with one day and has lived rent-free in her head since then.

And before Derek has the chance to actually say these words out loud (and give you the chance to volunteer yourself as a very willing and tragically desperate tribute), you simply stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom, cowardly but effectively fleeing the scene of the crime.

But you're too hasty, stumbling over Spencer's stupidly long legs in your hurry to get away from this excruciating conversation, too impatient to just wait for him to get up and let you out. The young genius mirrors your noise of surprise but unlike yourself he is quick enough to catch you, thankfully saving you from falling flat on your face (or landing on his lap) in front of the whole BAU team and the rest of the packed bar by urgently grabbing onto your waist to stabilize you.

You lock wide eyes with him, stunned into silence and stillness for a moment before the two of you let out matching awkward little giggles, Spencer immediately pulling his hands back and shoving them between his knees while mumbling an apology that you quickly and equally mumbled dismiss before briskly making your exit to the safe haven that is the ladies' restroom without looking back.

(You can't know that you and your little stunt just saved Aarom from even having to consider how to reply to Morgan's and Garcia's intrusive curiosity as the two peas in a pod immediately stick their nosy noses right into Spencer's alleged love life.

"And you, pretty boy, should really hurry up and ask our dear Doctor Rossi out."

Derek grins smugly from across the table at the clueless young genius who whips his head around, startled by suddenly being forced into the center of attention of their group, his voice rising in panic.

"What? Why?"

"Why?" Penelope parrots back at Spencer, looking at him like he just asked her if fezzes are cool or why people have been shipping Captain James T. Kirk and his First Officer S'chn T'gai Spock since the 60s. "Because you're literally so perfect for each other? You like the same geeky stuff, you're both young geniuses and doctors, you're always talking about some obscure studies and how little creepy-crawlies can help us and our friends in forensics catch the bad guys, and you're literally solving crossword puzzles in the newspaper together like an old married couple?"

She uses her fingers to list and illustrate her arguments, her fierce gaze boring into Spencer's round eyes who uneasily shifts in his seat, his mouth opening and closing in silent protest.

"Should I go on? I can go on," she challenges, not even waiting for anyone to disagree or agree with her. "She instantly remembered how you like your coffee, you were comfortable with letting her touch you immediately and you also—"

"What Garcia is trying to say," Derek gently interrupts his friend so she doesn't run out of air completely while squeezing her shoulder, "is that the two of you are made for each other and that the gala is the perfect opportunity to ask her on a date, boy genius."

Spencer splutters helplessly, looking around the table for support, a spontaneous change of the topic, a family emergency, anything, but the other three agents stay silent. JJ just smiles at him in amused sympathy, decidedly not disagreeing with anything that was said while Emily shrugs her shoulders with a Cheshire cat's grin on her lips, simply enjoying the chaos unfolding in front of her.

Hotch's face on the other hand is completely devoid of emotion, not giving away any thoughts or feelings he may have about the current topic of conversation and gentle teasing.

(But if any of these usually so oberservant profilers had given him and his strained passive face a closer look they would've noticed that his jaw is clenched tightly enough to literally break it if he's not careful.)

"That's not—! That doesn't mean anything. We're just friends!" Spencer squeaks as his last, very weak resort. And he actually means it, knowing that it's simply the truth, that everything between you and him is purely platonic and that the both of you are happily in agreement about it, but his pleas fall on deaf ears.

"Sure you are," Derek hums while raising his beer bottle to his lips as Penelope next to him cheerfully sing-songs, "Doctor Reid and Doctor Rossi sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n—"

They don't pay Hotch any mind when he stands up and excuses himself as well.)

They also miss when you exit the ladies' room at the other end of the large room at the same time, your head ducked with the remnants of your earlier jealousy still simmering uncomfortably in your stomach.

You wince when the unfiltered noise of the bar and all of its mostly tipsy patrons hit you all at once, trying your hardest not to get too close to these countless strangers when you push your way back to the table near the entrance where your friends set up camp at the beginning of the night.

You keep your eyes on the wooden floor, cringing as the soles of your shoes come in contact with an especially sticky spot when a solid body collides with you without warning.

A startled yelp escapes you, the impact enough to make you stumble, but for the second time tonight you don't land on the floor thanks to someone catching you just in time, a big and warm hand closing firmly around yours and pulling you closer to his warm and solid chest.

The slurred apology of the man who bumped into you promptly fades into the background, just like the rest of the noisy bar, as your gaze snaps up to where you see Aaron already looking down at you, his brown eyes unreadable, his lips set into a thin line.

Immediately, your cheeks go up in flames, the butterfly wings in your stomach transforming into an all-consuming hurricane, and you can't do anything except stare into his eyes with barely hidden longing and quietly stammer your thanks while your hand is still held protectively in his bigger one, your body still pressed closely to his chest.

But Aaron doesn't say anything in reply, his eyes simply fixed on yours while your heart slams against your ribcage traitorously.

Overwhelmed, you have to avert your gaze from Aaron's and that's when he abruptly lets go of you and walks away without a word, leaving you standing in the middle of the crowded room, his comforting warmth disappearing as suddenly as he did.

(You're too busy blinking in bewildered surprise to see the rigid line of his broad shoulders or the pained expression on his face as he forces himself not to turn around and look back at you.

Or the way his hand that just moments before held yours flexes by his side.)

series masterlist || part 1 - ⋆part 2⋆ - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

Thank you so much for reading <3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

Feel free to hop into my inbox if you have a fic request or just want to talk ✨

dividers by @/cafekitsune

Tags <3

@iyskgd, @johnp0rk1988, @baddyg, @gfksz, @little-jana, @khxna, @kcch-ns, @softestqueeen, @chenellearose, @chaosofmanyfandoms

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #falling for you series

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starlightkun · 7 months ago

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⇢ word count: 16.3k ⇢ genre: fluff, college au, brother's best friend trope, christmas/holiday themed, baseball player!jisung, rich kids!reader and chenle, part of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon ⇢ warnings: chenle and reader are annoying as hell together lol (they love each other but would die before saying ily), everyone’s parents suck!, only minor proof-reading bc i wanted to post for christmas, FAKE pro baseball players mentioned (idk anything abt baseball and was not going to research any real baseball players and be wrong abt them ok) ⇢ extra info: this is part of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon, three short, unrelated fics starring jisung all with cheesy hallmark christmas movie-esque premises. there’s no continuing plotline between fics in this series, they’re all standalone fics ⇢ author’s note: ok so this one isn’t exactly “short” but as always, i got carried away. im just happy i got this one out in time and it didn’t end up being 20k+ lmao. anyway, this is my last fic of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon, and of 2024, and i hope you guys had as much fun reading them as i did writing them! happy holidays and i will be back with even more fics in 2025! ⇢ 2024 hallmark movie marathon

“I know what you’ve been trying to do this whole time. You’re not ‘very into baseball,’ you’re into Jisung.”

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20

Clicking the ‘submit’ button for your last final paper of the semester, you let out a sigh of relief. You were done, for now. The time in the corner of your laptop read 10:58 p.m. You’d submitted with an hour to spare. Usually, you hated cutting it so close, but four of your five classes this semester had assigned fifteen-page papers, and you wanted to take your time researching, outlining, drafting, and editing all of them before the deadlines.

There were only a few other students scattered around the library so late on the last academic day of the semester. One table away from you was another student, a boy who had also been hard at work on his laptop for the greater part of the past four hours. You had seen him around campus, not in any meaningful way, but enough that his face was familiar to you. And tonight, you had been stealing glances at him—when he let out a groan or a sigh that rang a little too loud in the dead silence, pushed his hoodie off his head to reveal his dark hair and handsome features, or stood up from his chair to go to the vending machine around the corner and walk around the library to stretch his obscenely long legs. Yeah, you’d done a bit of ogling, you also needed a break every now and then.

He was still typing away at his laptop when you had packed up for the night and were heading out, your path taking you right by his table. You were never usually this bold, but maybe it was the rush from finally being done with finals week, or how late it was, but you found yourself stopping next to the end seat the cute boy was occupying.

Upon realizing that you were there, he looked at you with wide, uncertain eyes, slowly taking his headphones off. “Hm?”

“Are you going to be here till closing?” You asked him knowingly, a playful smile on your lips and bag of gummy candy in your hands. You had bought it during a vending machine break earlier in the night but never ended up opening it.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m hoping only another thirty minutes…”

“Here.” You offered the candies out to him. “I’m done for the night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You set them down next to his laptop. Not wanting to take up any more of his waning time left to submit his assignment, you started off towards the exit again. “Good luck. Have a good break.”

“You too…”

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21

“You didn’t get his number?!” Your roommate gasped in horror after you told her about the cute guy from the library. She had been asleep when you got home last night, and now the two of you were packing in preparation for your respective winter break plans. Sooyoung was heading back home while you and your brother would be driving to meet your parents at your family’s winter house in the mountains.

“Or his name,” you confirmed sadly. “I mean, the poor guy only had an hour left of the semester to submit whatever he was working on, there was no way he would’ve wanted me wasting it.”

“You have got to find him when we get back.”

“I’ll try,” you agreed.

There was a long honk from outside your dorm, and you rolled your eyes before peering out your window. Sure enough, your brother’s sleek black SUV was outside.

“Alright, I’ll see you in two weeks, Soo.” You hugged your roommate goodbye. Before you could even grab your bag, there was another obnoxiously long honk, followed by a series of shorter honks.

You immediately videocalled your brother.

Chenle picked up, already complaining. “Y/N, hurry up! You always take forever—”

“Shut the fuck up!” You retorted, flipping off the camera. “You’re so fucking annoying, I swear to—”

He laid on the horn again, and you could hear complaints start up outside from other people yelling at him to shut the fuck up. Then, you swore you heard another voice in Chenle’s car, quietly suggesting that he stop, but it was too indistinct for you to properly identify.

“Who was that?” You squinted at him suspiciously.

“I told you I was bringing a friend—”

“I know, I meant which one?”

“Get your slow ass down here and find out, or we’re leaving you!” With that, he hung up.

You pocketed your phone with a quiet scream, then turned to your roommate. “Ugh! Can you believe we’re related?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately, not even looking at you.

Hauling your stuff downstairs by yourself, you were a little out of breath by the time you shoved the front door of your dorm open. Your duffel bag started slipping down your shoulder, and as you readjusted that, you weren’t even looking out for the uneven slab of concrete that you knew stuck up in front of the entrance. Your toe caught on it, and you let out an unfortunate ‘eep!’ as you tripped forward. Your bag slid off your shoulder again, catching on your elbow and swinging around, the weight making you stumble a little more. You stayed upright, and you were thankful that only your brother and his friend saw all that. Yeah, Chenle was going to tease you for the entire three-hour car ride, and Mark or whoever was coming with would definitely get in on the ribbing, but you had plenty of dirt on them too. It was the natural order of things.

“Clumsy ass,” Chenle yelled at you from the car, the driver’s side window rolled down. You flipped him off on instinct. “Jisung, go help her before she hurts herself.”

Jisung. That was a new one. Admittedly, you didn’t know all of your brother’s friends, you two ran in different circles at school. You were usually introduced them in passing if you happened to run into each other at events, or some you knew from before college, like Jeno and Jaemin, the twins who lived next door to you guys growing up, or Mark and Donghyuck, who you all went to high school with.

A car door opened and closed before a tall figure was walking around the front of the car to meet you on the sidewalk. You blinked in surprise as you recognized Chenle’s friend that was approaching you, and not because of your brother. The cute boy from the library was standing in front of you, seemingly having a similar sense of déjà vu as he froze, hand already outstretched, reaching for your duffel bag.

“Hey again,” you chuckled, putting your bag strap in his hand. “Did you get everything turned in on time?”

“Yeah, I did.” Jisung unfroze and smiled at you, and you swore the sun seemed dim in comparison. “Thanks for the candy, by the way. Completely forgot to tell you that.”

“It’s okay, you were busy.”

“I’m Jisung, by the way.”

You nodded towards your brother’s car. “I had guessed.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“I had guessed,” he quipped back.

Chenle honked again, then yelled, “Come on!”

You rolled your eyes. “Pain in the ass.”

Chenle popped the trunk for you from his seat, and Jisung put your duffel bag in among their things that were already packed, then he took your suitcase to put away as well. As you opened the passenger door, your brother immediately shook his head.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What?” You looked at him incredulously. “I always get shotgun!”

“And Jisung gets carsick in the backseat.” He pointed at the boy standing awkwardly behind you. “I’m not having him puke all over my car. You’ll survive the backseat for once.”

Hating his condescending tone, but with no other option, you graciously stepped aside. Jisung gave you a quiet ‘sorry, thanks’ as he opened the back door for you. After buckling yourself into the middle seat and Chenle starting his music, everyone was ready to go.

“Y/N, Jisung,” Chenle made introductions over his shoulder, jabbing his thumb between you two. “Jisung’s on the baseball team and was in my bio lab last semester. Y/N is my annoying little sister.”

You kicked the back of his seat. “By ten months. As soon as you popped out, Mom and Dad were so disappointed they immediately decided to have another kid.”

“Regret saying yes yet, Jisung?” He asked his friend smugly.

Jisung, meanwhile, had been staring straight ahead at the road, clearly feeling uncomfortable as he didn’t want to get in the middle of your typical bickering.

“Ignore him, Jisung.” You leaned forward between their seats over the center console, your tone much more friendly. “So you’re on the baseball team? Do you have an athletic scholarship or something?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he answered hurriedly. “Uhm, it’s the only way I could afford to go here. Full ride as long as I keep my grades up.”

You all did go to a rather expensive private university—your parents were alumni, they wouldn’t have sent you anywhere else, of course.

“Wow, so you must be really good, then.”

“I mean, I don’t know—”

“A full ride, I would think they only give those out to the best players, right?”

“Well—”

Chenle cut in, “You’re making him nervous, Y/N. Back up, for fuck’s sake.”

You didn’t back up. “Am I making you nervous, Jisung?”

“No, it’s fine,” he rushed to reassure you, finally turning around in his seat to face you. He let out a squeak as soon as he did, probably not anticipating that you’d be as close as you were. He sat back in his seat, propping himself up against his seatback on his forearm. “Uhm, it’s just that this is only gonna be my second season. Still a rookie, you know. I don’t think I’m that good.”

Jisung sort of reminded you of a little hamster when he was nervous like this, and your lips twitched with amusement. He really was cute.

“When’s baseball season?”

“Practice officially starts in January, first game’s in February.”

“Don’t you get cold out on the field?”

He shrugged self-consciously. “I mean, we’re moving around a lot. And we have hand warmers and stuff for when we’re on the bench.”

You kept eagerly asking him questions. “What position do you play?”

“Pitcher. I’m a switch pitcher—I can pitch left or right-handed—so they like that.”

“So it’s a surprise for the other team?”

“No, you have to declare which hand you’re going to pitch for each batter beforehand,” he admitted, then quickly tacked on, “But it still kinda throws them off!”

You hummed thoughtfully. “What about when you’re hitting the ball?”

“I could do either, but I prefer my right.”

“You’re never this interested in my friends,” Chenle interrupted accusatorily.

“Because I already know like, way too much about the twins, Hyuck, and Mark. Wish I could unlearn some of it, actually,” you snorted. “And you’ve been trying to get me into sports for our whole lives. What’s the problem?”

“Basketball,” your brother corrected you. “I’ve been trying to get you to watch basketball with me. Jisung plays baseball. Wrong sport.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m five,” you snapped, kicking his seat again.

“Stop kicking my seat like a five-year-old and I might,” he retorted.

You scowled at the back of his big head.

“I can see you pouting in the rearview mirror.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, flopping back against your seat.

“Saw that too.”

“Wasn’t trying to hide it!” You snipped back childishly. Turning your focus back to Jisung, who was looking out the passenger window, you asked, “Is he like this to you, Jisung?”

“Don’t answer that,” Chenle directed him before the other boy could open his mouth. “She’ll tire herself out.”

“Oh, you’re insufferable!” You spat. “Talking about me like I’m not even here! Or like I’m Daegal!”

“Well, Daegal is actually trained.”

“Pull the car over, I’m going to beat your ass!”

“Hey!” Surprisingly, it was the soft-spoken Jisung who raised his voice over the sounds of you two fighting, shocking both of you into silence. He continued, “Chenle, you’ve been antagonizing Y/N ever since we pulled up in front of her dorm, man. Then you act like she’s crazy for being pissed off at you. It’s honestly pissing me off.”

Chenle huffed loudly, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, before he finally said, “Fine. Sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for apologizing because Jisung told you to.” You unbuckled and scooted over to the seat behind Jisung, buckling back in and looking out the window at the scenery rushing by.

The car was silent other than Chenle’s music, which he turned up as you pulled out your phone.

[you: i found out cute library guy’s name]

[soosoo: omfg the cia has nothing on u]

[soosoo: SPILL]

[you: i didn’t stalk him, turns out he’s my brother’s friend. his name is park jisung and he’s on the baseball team]

[soosoo: your brother’s friend that you’re going to be ALL ALONE WITH in the mountains for the next TWO WEEKS???]

[you: not ALL ALONE, chenle will be there, remember?]

[soosoo: unfortunately]

[soosoo: WAIT i found him on the team’s roster online and WHEW GIRL]

[soosoo: attached image.]

It was a screenshot of Jisung’s athlete profile on the university’s sports page. The small ID photo he had on there honestly did him no justice.

[soosoo: how is ur brother always friends w the HOTTEST GUYS who ALSO PLAY SPORTS????]

[soosoo: i need him to hook me up fr]

[you: don’t tell me ur thinking abt jeno and jaemin rn]

[soosoo: always]

[you: u don’t need chenle to hook u up if u rlly want, im friends with them too??]

[soosoo: YOU WOULD????]

[you: but you’d have to pick one]

[soosoo: god i am not your strongest soldier]

[you: exactly what i thought]

At the mountain cabin, you three were the first ones there, of course. You parents wouldn’t be arriving until Christmas Eve due to their work schedules. The house was already decorated like something straight out of a Hallmark movie—lights, red and green bows, candy canes, baubles, and other decorations all throughout.

“Wow,” Jisung breathed out, stopping in the foyer and turning around, his eyes wide as he took it all in. “Your parents are really into Christmas, huh?”

“Not really.” You had also stopped to watch his slow circle of awe. “They pay somebody to set it up.”

The wonder dropped off his face and was replaced with confusion, his brow furrowing. Chenle yelled for him from further in the house, and you jerked your head for him to follow. Your brother was at the threshold of the hallway where all your rooms were located.

“Yours is there,” Chenle pointed Jisung to one end of the hallway as you slipped by him to head to the bedroom at the other end. “Y/N’s is on the other side.”

“We share a bathroom,” you called over your shoulder as you opened the door. “Don’t use all the hot water in the morning!”

“And I’m upstairs.” Your brother indicated to a small ladder between Jisung’s room and the bathroom in the middle. “I got the loft. Won it in rock-paper-scissors almost two decades ago.”

“You cheated!” You reminded him loudly from where you had started unpacking your things in your room.

“Sore loser!”

“Sore winner!”

“Anyway, holler if you need something.”

You were still unpacking when there was a soft knock at your open door. It was Jisung leaning in your doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted you quietly.

“Hey.” You smiled at him brightly. “Bathroom’s the middle door. We both have doors that connect to it, so knock before we go in? Even if the light is off?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Jisung continued silently watching you unpack, then finally blurted out, “You egg him on.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Chenle.” He held his hands up in front of him defensively as you opened your mouth. “I know he started everything back in the car, but you didn’t help.”

You sat back on your feet in front of your open suitcase and dresser drawers. “Yeah, I know I’ve got a temper problem. I need to work on it.”

“I didn’t say anything in front of him because I kind of got the feeling that he was being extra mean because I was there.”

“When we’re hanging out with friends that we kinda share, like Jeno and Jaemin or whoever, it’s fine. You know, they met both of us at the same time. But I think when we’re with people that are his friends, it’s different,” you explained, gesturing to an armchair in the corner for Jisung to sit in while you talked. “We were always in the same grade and stuff, so obviously people assumed we were twins. That’s also why he really gets on the ‘little sister’ thing. When we got to college, we were both relieved to finally be different people, you know? Have different friends, different things that were ours.”

“You seem to understand him really well.”

“Known him my whole life,” you pointed out. “And just because I understand why he acts like this doesn’t mean it still doesn’t piss me the fuck off.”

“To answer your question from the car, no, he doesn’t treat me like that. He’s sarcastic, sure, but not like that.”

Zipping up your empty suitcase, you started on your duffel bag that was on your bed. “Sorry you had to deal with us like that, even more so that you had break us up. I’m sure the next two weeks were flashing before your eyes, huh?”

“Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t actually start beating him up,” he chuckled.

“Me too, that would’ve been embarrassing.” You added, “For him. To get his ass beat in front of one of his buddies.”

He looked out the room down the hallway, checking to see if Chenle was coming, then admitted, “Don’t tell him, but I was sort of calculating how many swings to let you get in before it would look unreasonable for me to not intervene.”

“Oh really? And how many would you have ‘let me’ have?” You grinned, using finger quotes over ‘let me.’

“One good punch and a hair pull, I think.” He looked to be sizing you up, a teasing glint in his eye. “You seem like you fight dirty like that.”

“Could claim you didn’t want to hurt your friend’s little sister, let me get a few more in.” You mimicked punching and kneeing the air. “At least let me knee him in the balls.”

“I’ll consider it in the event you two do actually brawl while we’re here.”

You looked up at the ceiling, thinking about your brother up there somewhere. “Eh, we’ll make up properly soon. One thing about us, we fight a lot, but it’s never for that long.”

“Okay, now I’m worried about the next two weeks.”

You laughed, maybe a little harder than his joke warranted, but you couldn’t help it—he was cute, he was funny, and he was making your chest feel tighter and your head spin faster the longer you were around him.

“Why are you in here?” Chenle had appeared in your doorway, looking genuinely perturbed at the visage of Jisung sitting in your chair.

“Because we’re talking?” You answered for him. “Or is he only allowed to talk to you while he’s here and I have to take a vow of silence?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he snickered, walking in and flopping on your bed.

“You first.”

“You want to do lunch in town then get the tree?” He checked the time on his phone. “Mom and Dad know how much you like Christmas tree shopping so that’s the only thing not done.”

“Or is it just another responsibility to pawn off on someone?” You snorted, opening the door into the adjoining bathroom to put your toiletry bag away.

Your brother’s distant voice called after you, “Even if it is, we can still have fun!”

You took a deep breath, and came out of the bathroom with a smile on your face. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”

“Ew, stop that, it’s creepy.” Chenle threw a pillow at you.

You caught it and chucked it right back at him. “What? Smiling?”

It hit him in the face before falling to the floor. “Yeah, exactly. I’m done trying to cheer you up, keep being a little Grinch, it suits your face better.”

You climbed on the bed and grabbed a pillow to smack him with it. “Quit being fucking rude!”

He laughed and cackled, rolling away from your pillow attack until his eyes went wide with panic as he went right over the edge of the mattress and landed on the floor. It was your turn to burst into laughter at the sound he made, and when he started groaning and complaining, you knew he was fine. Jisung was also laughing from his seat.

You finally gathered yourself enough to peer over the edge of the bed, looking down at where Chenle was sprawled out dramatically like a cartoon character that had been crushed by an anvil. As soon as he looked at you, he started giggling too.

“What about this one?” Mr. Song, the elderly man who had run the Christmas tree farm in town for as long as your family had been coming for the holidays, was showing you around to the various trees they had for sale.

“Ah, too skinny.” You shook your head. “We have a lot of ornaments. And a vaulted ceiling too, so we can get a taller one.”

“Right, of course. How could I forget?” His eyes crinkled fondly as he walked you around by the elbow. “You and your brother have gotten so big, Y/N. I remember when you two were up to my knee. Always playing hide and seek in the trees.”

“We used to think you were Santa Claus,” you giggled, gesturing to his big, bushy beard. “We told everyone we knew that we got our Christmas tree from Santa every year.”

“Good to see that Chenle and your boyfriend get along so well.” He nodded to where Chenle and Jisung were throwing snowballs at each other. More accurately, Jisung was pelting them at Chenle with scary precision, and Chenle was doing his best to throw some back in between peals of laughter.

“Oh, Jisung is Chenle’s friend from school, he’s not my boyfriend,” you clarified quickly.

“My mistake.” Mr. Song patted your arm.

After circling the next one Mr. Song showed you, you were content, inspecting how dense the branches were, the height, and general shape.

“Guys!” You yelled out to get Chenle and Jisung’s attention. They ceased their (unfair) battle, meandering over to you. “What do you think?”

Chenle gave it a once-over before nodding. “Great pick as always, Y/N.”

“Is that going to fit through the front door?” Jisung asked skeptically, trying to fit his arms around it to gauge the size.

“It will,” you promised as Chenle pulled out his checkbook.

Two of Mr. Song’s grandsons brought the tree up to the cabin in their truck, and you had to open both front doors all the way for them to carry it in. They got it set up in the corner for you, and you sent them on their way with an extra cash tip.

“We’ve got to let the branches settle before we can decorate it,” you advised Jisung. “So we’ll do that tomorrow.”

“Y/N’s got a whole thing about the tree,” Chenle added from one of the couches, turning the TV on.

“Smells nice,” Jisung piped up.

“Did your family have real trees or artificial ones?” You asked, taking up the other couch.

Jisung seemed to momentarily panic about where to sit, before taking the empty space at the end of Chenle’s couch, facing you. “A fake one. It came with the lights already on. Easier for my mom to set up.”

“One or two?” Chenle asked abruptly.

“What?”

“Two!” You answered, and Chenle immediately played a movie from whatever streaming service he was scrolling through. You went to fill Jisung in, “It’s a game we like to play. One of us will assign numbers to things in our head without telling the other, and you have to reply with a number without really knowing what you’re picking.”

“I couldn’t decide which movie to watch,” Chenle added.

“So, instead of a coin flip, you used Y/N?” Jisung clarified.

“Sort of. You can do it for more than two options. Like…” You tilted your head back and forth as you tried to think of one on the spot. As soon as you had, you perked up. “One, two or three?”

“Three?”

“Hot chocolate it is.” You stood up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen.

Jisung turned in his seat to keep you in his eyesight. “Wait, what were the options?”

“That’s part of the fun.” You smiled. “Sometimes you never know.”

A few minutes later, you came back into the room with three mugs of hot chocolate, and handed one each to Chenle and Jisung before sitting back on your couch.

Several movies, rounds of various video games, and large pizzas later, you were beat. Standing up from your couch, you stretched and started grabbing everyone’s plates.

“I’ll get these if you guys put the food away?”

Chenle gave you a thumbs-up, his eyes locked on his phone screen.

“Night!” You tossed back over your shoulder as you traipsed out of the room.

“Night!” Your brother echoed.

“Goodnight!” Jisung replied.

As soon as you were bundled up in your blankets in your room, you videocalled Sooyoung. She picked up, the familiar scenery of her childhood bedroom in the background.

“Hey!” She beamed. “How was day one? Kill Chenle? Make any moves on cute library guy?”

“We know his name now, Soo!” You laughed.

“But a nickname is so fun and mysterious!”

“I did almost kill Chenle in the first ten minutes of the car ride,” you groaned. “Jisung surprisingly came to my defense.”

“Your brother’s friend took your side against him? Wow…”

“He’s really sweet, he’s making an effort to be my friend too.”

“Friend? Or something else?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“I don’t know, it’s been one day,” you giggled, rolling over onto your back. “Anyway, how’s your family?”

You stayed up chatting for another hour before finally going to sleep, giddy with thoughts of what could happen tomorrow.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 22

In the morning, with no alarm for class to get you up, you woke up, rolled over, and went back to sleep several times. Eventually, you decided that it was time to get up, and slowly shuffled out of your room. Chenle was already up, by the stove cooking something. Jisung was nowhere in sight, probably still sleeping.

Upon hearing your footsteps, he looked over his shoulder. “Morning.”

You grunted back.

“Mom called.”

You made another noise of acknowledgment, still rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you lumbered over to your seat at the table. Your brother set a plate of pancakes down in front of you, and you squinted up at him suspiciously. Typically he would’ve made you get your own plate, or more likely, make your own food. Actually, it was kind of weird that he was up before you. He must not have gone back to sleep after talking to your mom. It wasn’t unusual for her to have called early in the morning—your parents’ work took them all around the world, and often the only free time they could find had them calling at odd hours.

“They’re not going to make it for Christmas, Y/N,” he told you softly, still standing next to your chair.

“Of course,” you scoffed, lip curling with distaste as you picked up your fork.

“They’ll be here on the 26th, and we can do everything with them then.”

“Are they staying for New Year’s?”

His silence was all the answer you needed.

“Of course,” you repeated with more venom in your tone than before, dropping your utensil back down onto the table. “What the fuck else should we have expected? Honestly, why do they even fucking bother?”

He put a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Chenle, don’t apologize for them.” You patted his hand. “It’s not your fault.” Pushing your chair back, you stood up. “I’m not hungry right now. I’m going out back.”

“I’ll save your plate.”

Shoving boots on your feet and pulling a heavier coat on, you opened the door in your bedroom that led directly out onto the back patio. It had snowed last night, so you had to shuffle through the fresh layer to get to the swing seat back here. The cold morning air bit at your nose and cheeks, and you tucked your hands into your pockets to keep them warm—you’d forgotten gloves. Sighing, you watched your breath fog up in front of your face, until your tears overtook your vision and you couldn’t see anything past them.

You pulled your knees to your chest on the porch swing, pushing your face into the thick material of your pajama pants. Why did it still hurt so bad? They did this all the fucking time.

The sound of feet crunching snow came to your ears, and you wiped at your face as you looked up at who was approaching you. It was Jisung, two steaming mugs in his gloved hands.

“Uhm, Chenle said you weren’t hungry. Does cider count?” He offered one out to you.

You chuckled, accepting it, grateful to have something warm to wrap your chilly fingers around. “No, it doesn’t. Thanks, Jisung.”

“It’s pretty out here,” he commented, looking around at the scenery. “Or not, if you want me to go back inside.”

You laughed again, gesturing to the empty half of the porch swing next to you. “You can stay.”

Jisung brushed off the snow from the rest of the porch swing before sitting down. He wedged his mug of cider between his legs and you watched him curiously as he started taking his gloves off. He offered them out to you, making you shake your head.

“I’m fine, I’ve got the cider—”

“So do I.”

“Then how about this.” You plucked one glove from him and put it on your right hand, which was holding the handle of the mug. Your left cradled the body of the mug, where all the warmth was. “Glove goes on the colder hand.”

He chuckled, slipping his remaining glove on his left, and wrapping his right hand around the mug. “Innovative.”

“Thank you.”

The smile faded as he turned more somber. “I’m sorry to hear that your parents’ plans changed.”

You took a sip of the cider, staring out at the still landscape of snow-covered trees and mountains. “Me too. You think I would be used to it by now.”

“Chenle was talking about maybe going to this ice-skating place later. If you’re feeling up to it.”

“That’s what’s nice about having him. No matter how much stupid shit we fight about, we’ve at least got each other when they do stuff like this.” You half-smiled to yourself. “You know, sometimes I think they did that on purpose. Had two kids instead of one so they wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving us alone all the time.”

The tears had come back, and you wiped at them with your bare hand, not wanting to soil Jisung’s glove that he had given you. Shaking your head at yourself, you said derisively, “I’m sure I seem pathetic to you. Rich girl crying in her family’s winter vacation home because mommy and daddy won’t make it for Christmas.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

You turned your gaze to Jisung to find him already looking at you, so sincerely, too. Swallowing down more tears, you asked, “Why aren’t you home with your family? I’m sure you’d much rather be with them than stuck here with us.”

“My parents are divorced. Every year, my dad and his wife go on some cruise for Christmas, and my mom spends it with my stepdad’s family. They say I’m welcome there, but they’re all strangers, except my mom.” He shrugged half-heartedly, blowing across the surface of his cider. “I know it’s kinda my fault too, I’m not making an effort to get to know them or whatever. But I just… don’t want to.”

“How’d you end up coming along with Chenle then?”

“Last year I stayed at school for Winter Break. Met Chenle in the spring, and when Winter Break plans came up this year, he was appalled at the idea of me eating at the dining hall for Christmas dinner.” Jisung chuckled, and you smiled fondly, able to imagine your brother’s horrified face. “It wasn’t even an offer, he decided for me.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here instead of eating dining hall food by yourself.”

“Me too.”

“And I’m sorry your parents suck too.”

“Shitty parents club.” He held his mug out to you.

You clinked your against it in a commiserative toast. “We need Chenle out here for our full membership.”

“Yeah, but this swing only fits two people…”

You smiled a little as you sipped your cider. “Then I guess it’s just us for right now.”

Jisung smiled back. “Guess so.”

That afternoon, as promised, you three went ice skating. The local nature reserve had a lake that always froze solid, and would rent out ice skates and sell hot chocolate and other treats to earn a little extra income—free admission if you brought your own skates. You were the first one to get your skates on, and shuffled onto the frozen lake excitedly. There were a few other people out here—couples, families, groups of friends—but the area cordoned off for ice skating was big enough that everyone had plenty of room to spread out. A wide smile immediately spread across your face. Chenle knew you well, which was a blessing and a curse. He knew exactly how to push your buttons and cheer you up.

Speaking of, your brother smoothly skated up next to you, smug look on his face. “Better?”

“With a head that big, I’d hope you’d have a good idea every so often,” you teased, lightly bopping him through his beanie.

“Ungrateful.” He snapped one of your earmuffs against your head, not hard enough to hurt.

You two had been milling back and forth waiting for Jisung, and you looked back over at the bench where you’d all been tying up your skates to find him still sitting there, fiddling with the laces.

Chenle followed your gaze. “What is he doing? He had them tied when I got up, I thought he was right behind me.”

You shrugged, exiting the ice to stop in front of Jisung on the bench. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just—” Jisung swallowed, squinting and scrunching up his nose nervously. “I’ve only been ice skating once, and I was a kid, so…”

“You don’t know how,” you finished.

“I mean—Yes.”

“Come on.” You offered out your arm out to him.

He waved his hands as he refused. “I’m going to do something stupid like fall and end up breaking your arm or—”

“No, it’ll be fine,” you assured him. “Seriously, I did ice skating lessons as a kid.”

“You did?”

“You’re in good hands, I promise.”

Jisung grabbed your arm, and using both you and the bench as leverage, stood up. He looked around warily as you patted his back.

“There you go, you got it. Now, you get to walk until you get to the ice.” As you coached him through the basics of operating his skates, you slowly guided him closer to the edge of the ice. You stepped onto the ice first, keeping a hold on both of his gloved hands for him to cautiously join you, one foot at a time.

“You didn’t think to tell us you’ve never skated?” Chenle questioned dryly as he joined you two.

“I have!” Jisung defended himself. “Once…”

“Well Y/N can teach you,” he offered you up. “She used to do lessons, till she got kicked out.”

“Wait, for what?”

You rolled your eyes at your brother just having to bring that up. Nudging Jisung forward to start moving his legs, you began relaying the story, “I called my coach a bitch to her face and refused to apologize.”

“Just because or…?”

“First of all, I was seven, so impulse control wasn’t even in my vocabulary. Second of all, she called another little girl in the class fat to her face! She had just gotten a new competition dress, it was this really pretty purple one with sparkles and stuff all over it, and the teacher told her she shouldn’t wear it because something about the pattern made her look bigger or something ridiculous. A seven-year-old! She’s just lucky she didn’t get an ice skate to the face!” Your rant picked up steam and volume as you continued, feeling freshly pissed off as you recalled the incident.

Jisung frowned, looking troubled as well. “That’s awful.”

“I know! Honestly, I’m glad I got kicked out. I hated that woman.” You pulled him away from a divot in the ice. “Watch out. Don’t want your blade getting caught in that.”

“Thanks. You seem to have retained a lot.”

“I didn’t get very far before I was booted,” you scoffed. “But I guess we still went to rinks and out here pretty frequently, so I haven’t lost the basics, at least.”

“So are we decorating the tree later?”

“Yep, should take the rest of the day.”

“Seriously?”

“We’ve got a lot of ornaments.” You snickered at his wide eyes, looking to your other side where Chenle had been skating for confirmation. Instead, your brother had disappeared. Confused, you scanned the figures on the ice, finally spotting him far ahead of you, skating backwards at an impressive speed. “He left us.”

Jisung finally detached his eyes from where they’d been glued on his feet, chuckling when he saw Chenle as well. “He’s not very patient, is he?”

“Not a virtue he was born with, no.” You turned your attention back to Jisung. “Think you’re getting the hang of it?”

His grip tightened on your arm. “If I say yes, are you going to let go of me?”

“No,” you laughed. “Not until you’re ready.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But let’s try this.” You moved to hold both his hands, skating backwards in front of him. “Okay?”

“You can’t see behind you,” he said, nervously glancing between your face and over your shoulder.

You checked over your shoulder. It was clear, and you redirected your path to make sure you weren’t heading directly at the next closest people. “I’ve got it.”

“I feel like I’m leaning forward too much, how do I—Wah!” The distinct clank of Jisung’s skates hitting each other rang out, and he fell forward.

Not wanting him to faceplant into your skates or the ice, you braked and tensed your arms to try to keep him up. However, since you had braked and he obviously did not, his forward momentum sent him catapulting directly into you. His arms wrapped around your waist as his legs scrambled against the ice trying to find his footing again. You readjusted your hold on him to clutch him under the arms in an attempt to keep him up, but with all the layers that you were bundled up in and the slippery ice, it was a losing battle. You were a good skater, but you couldn’t haul him back to his feet like this. So you decided to just let the two of you slowly descend, squatting down until you could plant your butt on the ice and kick your feet out on either side of Jisung, careful not to hit him with your blades.

“You alright?” You asked him, pulling his beanie back from where it was entirely obscuring his eyes.

“Please tell me I’m dead,” he groaned, the half of his face that you could see was completely pink and his eyes were squeezed shut. His head was pressed against your middle as he was still clinging onto you.

“No, you survived that,” you laughed. “And so did I. No broken arms or other bones.”

“Will you kill me anyway?”

A spray of ice showered both of you as Chenle stopped next to you guys, proceeding to double over with laughter. “Clumsy ass.”

“Nice, thank you,” you scoffed, wiping off the cold ice from your face, then a couple drops that had gotten on Jisung’s cheek. “Anytime you’d like to quit being an asshole and help us up.”

“I don’t know, you two look pretty cozy to me.”

Jisung somehow turned even redder, squirming in your grasp. “Y/N, I’m sorry!”

“Chenle, shut up!” You scolded your brother. “You’re making Jisung freak out and he’s going to hurt himself!”

“You make him sound like a scared prey animal,” he snickered. Letting out a sigh, he patted his friend’s back. “Alright, Jisung, come on.”

With Chenle’s assistance, Jisung got to his feet, and you were then able to stand back up on your own. Brushing snow off your legs, you shivered, and saw that the entire front of Jisung’s pants were soaked through thanks to the ice, and you could feel that the back of your own had suffered a similar fate.

“I think that’s enough ice skating for today,” you declared. “My ass is quite literally going to freeze off if we stay out here any longer.”

Jisung nodded quickly from where he was clinging onto Chenle to stay upright now. “I’m skated out.”

“Good thing my car has heated seats then,” Chenle said, beginning to drag his friend back towards the exit.

After a hot shower and in a fresh change of warm pajamas, you were in front of the Christmas tree with all of the boxes of decorations for it. You had already wound the lights around it when Jisung joined you in the living room, hair still damp from his shower—he’d given you first shower out of guilt.

“Hey, you know where Chenle is?” You asked, flipping open boxes of ornaments. Chenle’s loft bedroom had a private bathroom, so you figured he’d be out by now.

“He got a call—Mark, I think,” Jisung informed you.

“Oh, that’ll take an hour,” you snorted. “You can help me. Put any ornaments that have Chenle’s name on them aside, he gets to put those up whenever he’s done.”

“Any ornaments with your name are yours to put up?” He guessed, reaching into a box and pulling out an ornament in the shape of a bear with a Santa hat on. The white band of the hat had ‘Chenle’ written in cursive.

“Yep. Everything else is fair game for you. Quick tip, any bear ornaments will be Chenle’s. That’s his parent-assigned motif.”

“Got it. And what’s yours?”

You held up the honeybee ornament that you’d just fished out, letting it dangle and twist in the air, the yellow gems catching the light. “Bees. They had a theme, kind of.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” He reached up to hang a blue and gold ornament on a higher branch, though you could feel his eyes on you as you put your own up on a middle branch. Finally, he blurted out, “Are you sure you didn’t get hurt earlier?”

“Yeah, Jisung, I’m okay,” you chuckled. “Really, we were both wearing so many layers we were practically bubblewrapped.”

He visibly relaxed. “Okay, good.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. But I crashed into you, not the other way around.”

“True, but you had a much less graceful descent.”

He visibly grimaced, a bashful smile on his face. “Mm-hm. Thank you for bringing that up again.”

“Pretty sure you brought it up again,” you teased, nudging his arm with yours as you reached in front of him to hang an ornament.

“And I would love to change the topic now.” He grabbed an ornament in the shape of a snowman.

“What’s your major?” You decided to save him this time. “You and Chenle had bio lab together, but I know he took bio for non-majors, so you’re not a STEM major either…”

Jisung made a buzzer noise, and you blinked at him in surprise. He cracked a grin as he said, “Cybersecurity.”

“Ah, so you’re a baseball jock and a little computer geek…” You nodded slowly, grabbing another ornament. “The duality of man, truly.”

“Geek?” He repeated incredulously.

“What? I think it’s cute.” You giggled and put up the glass snowflake in your hand. Then, you turned back to him hopefully. “Ooh, actually, my laptop gets possessed sometimes ever since Chenle clicked on one of those sketchy porn pop-up ads when we were fourteen. You don’t think you would be able to take a look at it sometime, would you?”

Jisung visibly sustained whiplash at your words, his head jerking back and eyes going wide before he furrowed his brows. “Wait, what? How old is your laptop? He did what to it? What do you mean it gets possessed? What exactly does it do?”

“Uhm… it’d probably be easier to show you.”

“Y/N, this thing is old enough to drive.”

You put your hands on either side of your laptop’s screen as if you were covering its ears, giving Jisung a stern look. “Sh! You’re going to hurt her feelings!”

He continued to look at you over his glasses, entirely unamused. This was the first time you’d seen him wear them—even in the library, he’d had contacts in. Now, with him wearing his casual clothes, glasses, sitting on your bed and attempting to fix your laptop, you felt like you were going to lose it, truly. Especially when you’d catch a whiff of his shampoo, and you’d have to stop yourself from leaning in to follow the smell of cinnamon.

“Seriously, why do you still have it? Chenle has the newest Macbook,” he asked, fingers flitting across the keyboard.

“Because it works fine!” You insisted, removing your hands. “I get the internal stuff cleaned out regularly, and make sure all the software is updated and everything.”

“It still gets software updates?”

“It just… gets possessed every so often.”

“I wouldn’t call the occasional possession ‘working fine.’”

“When it’s not possessed, it works great! And it doesn’t even happen that much, only like, once a month.”

“Once a month since you were fourteen?” He squinted at you in disbelief where you were sitting on the opposite side of the laptop screen. “And you kept the damn thing?”

“No, once a month now,” you clarified. “It happened the first time when Chenle clicked on that porn ad, then maybe once a year for a few years after, and slowly started happening more and more often.”

“And he was watching porn on your computer because…?”

“So it wouldn’t be on his internet history.”

He snorted. “Of course. I should’ve realized.”

“Can I watch?”

“Oh, uhm, sure?” He readjusted to make room to his left side on the mattress, angling the laptop that way as well.

You shuffled around to the other side of the computer, dropping to lay down on your front, propping your chin up with your elbows to observe. Tilting your head, you rested it against Jisung’s knee that was next to you. His hands froze over the keys, and you lifted your head back up, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Sorry—Is this okay?”

“Y-Yeah, you’re fine.” He nodded quickly and pushed his glasses up as he returned his attention to the screen.

Leaning your head back against his knee, you settled in to watch him work on your laptop. You couldn’t follow what exactly he was doing to the computer, opening and closing different windows, folders, and applications. You zoned out, watching his hands and fingers deftly move over the keys instead. He was muttering to himself under his breath, his low voice pleasant to listen to even if you couldn’t make out the words he was saying. This close to him, you could smell the cinnamon better, and were starting to think that maybe it was actually a body wash or cologne.

“Y/N?” He said your name, making you snap out of a daze as you realized he was calling for you. “Hello?”

“Hm?” You perked up a little.

“We need to do an exorcism.”

That woke you all the way back up. “Wait, what?”

“Complete reset. Wipe everything and redownload the OS.”

“But I have everything on there!” You pleaded, stretching your hands over the keyboard to prevent him from doing anything else. “We’ve been through so much together! You can’t kill her!”

He sighed regretfully. “Is there an electronics store or something around here? We can get an external hard drive to back up all your personal stuff.”

“There’s a mall like an hour away. Chenle and I need to go gift shopping anyway so we can go tomorrow!”

“Why did I hear my name?” Chenle’s voice came from further down the hallway. He must have finished his call with Mark. Your brother poked his head into your room, briefly pausing when he saw you and Jisung. “I thought you guys were decorating the tree…?”

“Remember how you downloaded a virus trying to watch porn on my computer in high school? Jisung is fixing it for me,” you said pointedly, never missing an opportunity to bring that moment up. “But we need to buy something. I was telling him you and I need to go gift shopping anyway, so we can all go to that mall tomorrow.”

“Please tell me the thing you’re buying is a new laptop.”

“Never! She’s going to outlive you if I have anything to do with it!”

“Based off the fact that it sounds like a jet engine taking off right now, I’m pretty sure that was a threat on my life.”

MONDAY, DECEMBER 23

“Okay, so you’ll need at least this much storage for the files that you have right now,” Jisung explained, motioning to a few different options of hard drives that the electronics store had. He then gestured to a few more. “But if you really want to have her until Chenle’s dead, you might want to consider some more storage.”

You grinned, bumping his shoulder affectionately. “You said ‘her.’”

He covered his mouth as he let out a sputtering laugh, his cheeks turning pink. “Oh God—I didn’t even realize. That’s—Ah, you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I like that one,” you declared, pointing to one hard drive that was a similar colorway to the laptop case you had.

“Yeah, that’s more than enough storage.”

After purchasing your hard drive, you and Jisung headed out of the electronics store together. Chenle had already gone off to gift shop on his own so you and Jisung couldn’t see what he bought you.

You turned to Jisung. “Want to help me shop for Chenle?”

“Sure.”

The two of you meandered around the mall, popping into stores that seemed promising from the outside. As you passed by a jewelry display in a window, you tapped on the glass in front of a pair of earrings.

“Those are cute,” you commented, slowing down but not stopping entirely.

“You think so?” Jisung questioned, looking at them over your shoulder as you kept walking.

“Mhm.” You nodded, then clicked your tongue. “I’d get them, but I already have a pair like them.”

“You do?”

“Yep.” Keeping your gaze on the passing storefronts, you said levelly, “I don’t want to assume anything about what you think of me, Jisung, but I want you to know that I don’t expect a present from you. We only properly met two days ago.”

“Yeah, that’s… really reasonable,” he chuckled, the relief evident in his voice.

“Seriously, if you fix my computer, that’ll be the best Christmas present I get this year, hands-down. I don’t care what expensive crap my parents get me or surprisingly thoughtful, niche thing Chenle somehow manages to find.”

“I didn’t realize how much my computer exorcism skills were worth.”

“To me, they’re priceless,” you assured him. “I wish I had something to offer in return.”

“Hey, you already taught me how to skate,” he insisted, nudging your arm.

You tilted your head side-to-side contemplatively. “One could argue whether I was successful at that…”

“Completely my fault that the lesson got cut short, not yours.”

“Alright, alright. I suppose a computer exorcism can be our quid pro quo for ten minutes of ice-skating lessons.”

“I didn’t pay much attention in my high school history class when Mr. Yoo was talking about the bartering system, but I’m pretty sure those two things are equivalent, yeah.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth and squeezing your eyes shut as you started to go a little light-headed from how hard you were laughing. You were still walking forward alongside Jisung, and felt him grab your arm and tug you towards him at the same time he warned, “Watch out.”

You couldn’t see whatever you must’ve almost walked into as you were still trying to sober up from your chuckle fest, covering your face as more giggles bubbled up every time you tried to close your mouth. Jisung kept you right next to him, guiding you through the mall crowd with a gentle but steadfast grasp on your arm, not letting you bump into anybody or trip over anything.

“Are you really still laughing?” He asked, and though his words were exasperated, his tone was overly fond, letting out a soft laugh of his own at the end. “I don’t think it was that funny…”

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, shook his hand off you, and suppressed your giggles to say, “Fine. I don’t think you’re funny at all and I hate you, actually.”

Jisung’s mouth parted as he stared at you in shock, and you couldn’t keep the bit going for very long when faced with his adorable look of being totally caught off-guard and floored, even if both of you knew it was all a joke. You grabbed his arm this time, your laughs getting muffled in his sweater as you buried your face in his shoulder and leaned against him for support.

“Oh my god, you looked like I ran over your dog or something!” You gasped for air between guffaws, apologetically rubbing his arm.

“You’re…” He trailed off, letting out a sigh instead, reaching for your purse that was on your arm and now awkwardly crushed between you two with you holding his arm. “Here, I’ll take that.”

He had already been carrying your shopping bags that you’d been acquiring from the various stores, and you now stopped to wordlessly shimmy off your purse for him to shoulder on his opposite side from you. You reattached yourself to his arm that you had been holding, and though his cheeks were turning pink, he had a small smile on his face as he looked down at his phone to check the time.

“Did your family assign you an animal too?” You asked him, your eyes getting caught on a kiosk of Christmas ornaments as you continued your journey through the mall.

“What?”

“Like how my parents decided when we were born that Chenle’s a bear and I’m a honeybee,” you explained, quickly looking back over to Jisung. “Did you ever have an animal or something that was like yours?”

He scrunched his nose as he thought, then shook his head. “No, not that I can remember. I always had a bunch of different stuffed animals.”

“I think you look like a hamster,” you informed him. “Especially when you do that with your nose.”

“Do what with my nose?” He questioned, his nose unintentionally twitching and scrunching up again as his eyes flitted around nervously.

You giggled, squeezing his arm tighter as you couldn’t help but coo over how cute he was. “That!”

He covered his nose with his hand, and though it obstructed half his face, you could tell he was pouting behind it.

“I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious, I’m sorry!” You apologized, grabbing his hand and trying to pull it away from his face. “I think it’s really cute!”

He stubbornly kept his nose concealed. “You still haven’t told me what it is…”

“You just scrunch up your nose sometimes, like this—” You imitated it, doing your best not to make it look like you were mocking him. “Seriously, it’s adorable! Please don’t ever stop, I might die!”

Jisung’s eyes crinkled and he dropped his hand back down as he chuckled. “Well we can’t have that.”

Your phone buzzed in your hand then, and you saw that it was your brother calling. “Mm, hold on, it’s Chenle.”

“Hey, where are you guys?” Chenle asked on the other end.

“We’re still on the first floor,” you told him. “By the pretzel stand. Where are you?”

“What have you two been doing? I’m on the third floor; I’ve been through the whole mall already. I’m done,” he scoffed. “Stay there, I’ll come to you.”

“I had to get my hard drive first, remember? You got a head start.”

“Anyway, are you done?”

“No, I have a couple more people to find gifts for.”

“Alright, hold on, I see you.”

You craned your neck looking for Chenle, still with your phone to your ear. “Damn bitch, how many old ladies did you take out on your way here?”

“Only two,” Chenle’s voice came through your phone and from directly beside you at the same time. He was loaded up with shopping bags on both arms.

You jumped out of your skin before rolling your eyes and hanging up the call. “Did you see a place that sold bath bombs and stuff?”

“Yeah, second floor, directly to the left off the escalator.”

“That’s my next stop, SooSoo loves that stuff,” you declared.

“There’s a baseball specialty shop on the third floor,” Chenle stated, eyes lingering on where you were still holding onto his friend’s arm. “If you want to go check it out, Jisung?”

You perked up, giving him an enthusiastic smile. “That sounds awesome! You totally should.”

Jisung turned to Chenle and nodded. “Yeah, sounds cool. Let’s do it.”

“I’ve still got a couple people on my list, so I’ll call you guys when I’m done so we can meet up and go,” you said, reaching for your purse that was still on Jisung’s shoulder. He handed it back to you, and you hurried off to take care of your final errands.

Back at the house, you watched on with bated breath as Jisung performed his laptop exorcism. The screen turned on, which already was good news. After a few more progress bars, you eventually saw your homescreen and looked at him with guarded hope.

“I still need to transfer your personal files back over. And you won’t know if it worked unless it just never gets possessed again, but…” Jisung gestured to your laptop with a certain finality.

“Ahh, thank you! Thank you!” You cheered, hugging him.

“O-Oh, you’re welcome,” he mumbled, hesitantly hugging you back.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24

Christmas Eve was ushered in with a fresh snowfall overnight, and maybe the Christmas spirit finally possessed you, because all three of you were outside playing in it like little kids. A rather lumpy snowman had already been built and decorated with various rocks, sticks, and kitchen utensils. Snow angels were scattered around, and Chenle had just thrown the very first snowball, hitting Jisung squarely in the back of the head.

You laughed incredulously as the pitcher turned around and calmly started packing snow between his hands.

“Are you stupid?” You snickered at your brother, who was also preparing another snowball.

Before he could finish readying that one, Jisung wound up and launched his snowball, nailing Chenle in the face. You weren’t even focused on your brother as he desperately wiped the snow off his face with both hands, however, your eyes still watching Jisung, who was chuckling to himself. You’d been too preoccupied at the Christmas tree farm to really watch any of their snowfall fight that had happened there, and obviously hadn’t gone to any of Jisung’s games before, so this was the first time you’d seen him really use any of his pitcher skills. While it wasn’t a proper pitch, the practiced ease and skill that he clearly possessed even in doing something as silly as throwing a snowball was admittedly really attractive.

Chenle had taken his loss and grabbed a stick to start writing something in the snow, a good distance away from where you and Jisung were, his back to the two of you.

Stepping deliberately closer to Jisung, you said, “That was really cool, Jisung.”

He fidgeted with making sure his beanie was down over his ears. “Ah, I mean, it wasn’t a real pitch or anything—”

“Then can you teach me how to pitch for real?” You requested sweetly. “I’m very into baseball these days.”

“Uhm, y-yeah,” he agreed, clearing his throat and nodding. He stooped down to pack more snow between his hands into a round sphere, then held it out for you. “Here, that should be the right size.”

You graciously accepted it, then looked at him expectantly.

“Do you prefer to throw with your left or your right?” He asked.

You held up your dominant hand holding the snowball, and he nodded.

“Okay, uhm, you should stand with your feet like this.” He demonstrated the correct positioning himself, and you copied.

Jisung went through the basic steps with you, making minor adjustments here and there, and you were actually finding it sort of interesting, outside of the cute boy teaching you something he was passionate about. Learning a new skill or something to that effect. When he was showing you how to actually move your arm when throwing, you were genuinely trying to do it per his verbal instructions, but apparently there was still something wrong with the way you were doing it. And so he walked behind you, covering your gloves hand with his. You could feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, and his other hand grabbed your opposite shoulder to correct your posture as he manually moved your arm through the correct motion. Slow at first, talking through it.

“Feel how it’s different than what you were doing?” He asked, doing it again, a little faster this time.

But you were long gone, your brain white noise and your vision blurring a little bit (but that was mostly due to the cold wind hitting your eyes). He still smelled like cinnamon, and you wanted to listen to his voice all day. Jisung could read you a car manufacturer’s manual for all you cared.

“Mm, mhm,” you agreed absentmindedly.

“Alright, I’m going to step back and let you throw your first pitch.” He patted your shoulder and did just that, leaving you feeling even colder.

You momentarily panicked as you grappled in your short-term memory for anything that he had just been saying. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, deciding that you would probably suck anyway, and to just fucking do it. Trusting your gut and muscle memory of what Jisung had just been walking you through, you did your damndest to throw that snowball in something akin to a pitch.

Amazingly, the snowball actually hit the trunk of the tree that you had been aiming for, and you stared at it in disbelief, hands hanging down by your side. Jisung clapped, the sound dampened by his gloves, but his cheers were surprisingly upbeat for how soft-spoken of a guy he was.

“Wow! That was a really good first pitch!” He congratulated you, holding up both his palms for you to high-five. “So awesome…”

You high-fived him, but stayed holding onto his hands, wide smile overtaking your features. “Thank you.”

“I—You’re welcome.” He held onto your hands too, throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

“Jisung!” Chenle yelled out, reminding the both of you of his presence. “Can you get my phone? I made Daegal out of snow and I want to take a picture. It should be charging on my bed.”

“Yeah!” Jisung called back. He gave you a regretful look, letting your hands go to trudge back up to the cabin.

Rounding on your brother, you stomped over to him, observing the admittedly cute snow-Daegal for a moment before addressing him.

“You can get your own phone,” you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“I thought I might hurt Jisung’s feelings if I told him to leave to his face,” Chenle replied nonchalantly. He looked at you over his large-framed sunglasses. “I feel like I have to warn you, as your big brother—”

“By ten months.”

“—about Jisung.”

You gave him a sour look, knowing that he knew that you wouldn’t be able stop yourself from asking a follow-up question to a statement like that. “What about him?”

“I know what you’ve been trying to do this whole time. You’re not ‘very into baseball,’ you’re into Jisung.”

You immediately got fired up, hands balling into fists at your sides. “Don’t you dare start pulling the ‘my friends are off-limits’ card now. You’ve never—”

“Hey, I like Jisung.” He held up his hands defensively, an amused smirk on his face. “If I had to make a tierlist of my friends for you to date, he’d be like, the only one in S-tier.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Do you have a fantasy draft of boyfriends for me too?”

“I’m genuinely trying to help you here, alright?”

“So, what? Does he have a girlfriend or something?”

“Not exactly…” Chenle sighed. “Right before we left, during finals week, he met this girl in the library and just absolutely fell head-over-heels, okay? Like, he’s never even looked once at all the girls who show up to his games, but this one says three words to him and gives him some candy and he’s a goner. I don’t get it.”

It took everything in you to suppress your giddy grin and instead cock your head, playing dumb as you asked, “Wait, did he even get this girl’s name?”

“No, he never got a chance since they were both working on finals stuff,” he answered. “Anyway, I’m just trying to warn you. You’ve got to compete with the romanticized version of mystery library candy girl that he has in his head.”

“Mm. Tough competition,” you nodded with mock solemnity.

“I’m serious, Y/N. He called me at like midnight walking back from the library to tell me about it. He’s got it bad.” As if suddenly realizing everything he had just told you might dampen your spirits, Chenle’s entire demeanor shifted, and he gingerly patted the top of your head. “But uh, you’ve totally got this. I’m rooting for you, lil sis.”

“Right. Thanks… big bro,” you replied with intentional stiltedness, softballing a punch to his shoulder.

That night after dinner, you all sat down around the Christmas tree for your family tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve. You sifted through the presents under the tree, some of which were ones that had been shipped here ahead of time by your parents or other extended family, others from Chenle.

“Hmm… one or two?” You asked, your eyes on two particular gifts.

“One,” Chenle and Jisung answered unanimously.

You grabbed the one that had been under your left hand, returning to your seat next to Jisung. Chenle had already picked his box, and fished out a gift bag, plopping it in front of Jisung. He seemed surprised, blinking down at it.

“But—”

“I got you more than one gift, dummy,” Chenle cut him off, already guessing what his confusion was about. “Go ahead.”

“No!” You stopped Jisung. He looked at you with alarm as you snatched the gift bag away, putting it back under the tree and replacing it with a different, much smaller one instead. “Open mine.”

Jisung looked even more confused, and slightly betrayed. “I thought we agreed we weren’t doing gifts…?”

“Yeah, but then I saw this and…” You smiled sheepishly. “Just open it!”

Shaking his head, he pulled out the tissue paper, then removed the object at the bottom of the bag. It was wrapped in more tissue paper to protect it, which he carefully wrapped, revealing the ornament that you had bought yesterday while you were split up. It was in the shape of a hamster popping out of a present box, and as soon as you saw it at the mall kiosk, you knew you had to get it for him.

Jisung turned it over his hands, looking up at you still a little confused, but with a smile. “Wait…”

“It looks just like you!” You giggled, taking it from him to hold it up next to his face. Aiming your next question at Chenle, you asked, “Doesn’t it?”

Your brother started laughing, reaching forward to tweak one of Jisung’s cheeks. “Ha, she’s right. How adorable.”

Jisung pushed his hand away, rolling his eyes. His gaze softened when he looked back over at you. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s great.”

“Hang it up!” You urged, giving it back to him and gesturing to the tree.

He got up on his knees to reach forward and affix it to an empty branch, between a bear ornament and honeybee ornament.

“Okay, Y/N, you next,” Chenle directed.

Ripping the wrapping paper off the small box, you were met with a small jewelry box, and took that lid off. Inside was a pair of ornate, bejeweled earrings, a little flashy for your taste. You checked the card.

“Great-Aunt Ying,” you announced, and Chenle let out an ‘ahh’ sound in understanding. You put the lid back on the box and set it aside. “SooSoo will love those.”

“Who’s that?” Jisung asked curiously as your brother started unwrapping his present. “Not your great-aunt.”

“Sooyoung, my roommate since freshman year,” you explained. “She’s also like, my best friend. And those earrings aren’t really my style, but I know she would wear them like, all the time, so I’ll just give them to her when we get back.”

Chenle’s box was a bit larger than yours had been, and was similarly stylish. He turned it over to shake the lid off and make the contents fall out all in one go, catching the fabric that fell out in his hand. Holding it up, it was a tie in what looked like a nice material, a monochrome and not exceptionally busy pattern on it.

“Another tie, wonder who it’s from…” he snorted, picking up the card. “Oh, Great-Uncle Feng. Surprise.”

“Does he think you’re eating all the ties he gives you or something?” You snickered.

“I think he’s so old he forgets he’s given me a tie before and thinks I don’t own any.” Chenle then offered it out to Jisung. “You need a tie? If not, I’ll ask the other guys.”

“I would need a suit first…” Jisung admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Chenle stared at him in disbelief, then sighed. “Okay, so we’re getting you a suit when we get back to school.”

“What do I need a suit for?”

“Don’t you have formal stuff that you have to go to for baseball? Awards or press conferences or something?”

“That’s maybe once a year. I just rent a suit!”

“Jisung, don’t say another word, you’re going to kill me.” He put a hand over his heart as if it were going to give out any second.

You chuckled at their antics, starting to clean up the trashed wrapping paper. “Christmas movies?”

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 25

You felt like a little kid, unable to sleep the night before Christmas morning. It was after midnight, so it technically was Christmas now. And even thought you knew that neither Santa nor you parents were coming, you were still oddly giddy. You had already videocalled Sooyoung to recap the developments of the day, but you were still replaying everything in your mind, kept up with thought of Jisung. How it felt being that close to him when he was teaching you to throw a snowball, the information that apparently he was just as smitten with you after the library as you were with him. Even Chenle’s unofficial blessing put your mind at ease—not because your brother determined who you dated, but he knew Jisung better than you did and was brutally honest, so if he said that he liked Jisung for you, you knew he meant it.

Pushing your covers off, goosebumps immediately popped up on your legs that were now exposed to the cool air. You treaded over to the bathroom door. The light was off, but you still knocked. When there was no response, you opened it. You didn’t stop there, however, continuing on to the opposite door, which you knew led to Jisung’s room. Taking a deep breath, you knocked softly on that one too.

You heard the rustling of sheets and quiet padding of footsteps before the door handle twisted and opened, Jisung on the other side. He looked down at you, nose scrunched up in bewilderment.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asked, rubbing one of his eyes behind his glasses.

“Yeah. Uhm, sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, I uh, I couldn’t sleep, actually.”

“Me neither.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause, and you fidgeted with the ends of your longsleeve. “Do you want to hang out for a bit? Since we’re both up…”

“Oh! Y-Yeah, sure.” He stepped back from the door, motioning you in. “Uhm, come in.”

“Thanks.” You stepped inside, and he closed the door behind you.

The bedsheets were rumpled on one side, so you sat down on the other side, pulling the blanket over your chilly legs. Jisung watched you, frozen halfway from the bathroom to the bed for a second.

“I’m cold,” you told him, turning your phone on.

“Of course, right,” he breathed out, snapping out of his trance.

He climbed under the covers as well, putting a headphone in his ear opposite from you and pressing play on a video on his phone. Curious, you peeked over at his screen to see what he was watching. It looked like a bunch of clips of professional baseball pitchers.

“It’s my favorite pro pitcher,” Jisung blurted out, pausing the video again. He had apparently noticed you snooping at his screen. “Well, that’s currently active. He’s a lefty, and he does this thing on some of his pitches where he gets this spin and—”

You blinked as he had abruptly cut himself off in the middle of his sentence. Tilting your head, you asked, “What? Why’d you stop?”

“You’re not really interested in baseball, are you?” He questioned, turning his eyes down to his lap. “You’re just being nice.”

“Hold on—”

“It’s okay, you can go back to what you were doing, I don’t want to bore you.”

“Jisung,” you giggled, turning over on your side fully to face him. “You really haven’t figured it out?”

His brow furrowed and he pouted slightly as he seemed to genuinely be confused. “Figured what out?”

“I’m interested in baseball because I’m interested in you,” you said bluntly, watching the gears turn in his head before his eyes widened.

“Wh—Oh. Really?”

“Mhm. But Chenle did warn me that apparently you’re head over heels for some mystery girl that you met in the library during finals week who gave you candy,” you teased, letting out a wistful sigh. “So I have no chance…”

Jisung dropped his phone to cover his face with both hands, letting out a noise of embarrassment from deep in his chest, shaking his head. “Oh my God…”

“I told SooSoo about you too,” you informed him. “After the library.”

He opened his hands to peek at you meekly. “Really?”

“Really.”

Jisung glanced upwards, and you snickered.

“Chenle’s not like that. He’s not going to care unless you’re a dick to me.”

“Because only he gets to be a dick to you?” He joked, slowly removing his hands all the way from his face.

“Yep. Same for the girls he dates. Nobody gets to be a bitch to him except me.”

“So, now what?” He asked nervously, glancing around the room.

“Now, you’re going to finish telling me about your favorite pitcher,” you stated, scooting over until you were snuggled into his side, head resting on his shoulder so you could see his phone screen better.

Jisung grabbed his earbud case from the nightstand, bringing the other one out. He offered it to you, and you put it in as he turned his phone back on. He restarted the compilation, but didn’t press play yet, instead launching back into his explanation from before, excitedly talking faster now.

“So this is Hwang Myungjun. Like I said, he’s my favorite pitcher that’s in the league right now. He’s a lefty and—you’ll see it in this video, but—he does this really cool thing on some of his pitches where he can get this certain spin on the ball and…”

You listened to him go on and on with a smile on your face, breathing in the warm smell of cinnamon.

In the morning, you stirred a little, sighing and pulling the covers up to your nose. Covers that smelled like cinnamon. Opening one of your eyes, you were greeted with Jisung already wide awake, sitting up against the headboard, staring at you from behind his glasses.

You rubbed your eye and yawned. “Christ—Did you sleep at all?”

“Yeah, we get up early for baseball conditioning, so I don’t really sleep in even on days off.” He rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning pink. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Good morning…”

“Morning,” you mumbled, yawning again. “Sorry for falling asleep here.”

“It’s okay. Sorry for talking you to sleep.”

“No, it was nice. I like your voice.” You pushed yourself into a half-sitting position. Pecking his cheek, you added, “Merry Christmas.”

His face flushed as he smiled down at his hands. “Merry Christmas…”

Climbing out of bed, you stretched your arms over your head, then wrapped them around yourself. “Anyway, I should emerge from my own room. Just because he doesn’t care if we date doesn’t mean Chenle needs to think something other than watching baseball compilations happened in here last night.”

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head. “Good idea.”

“See you in a few.” You bid him a momentary farewell, opening the door to the adjoining bathroom.

Shuffling back into your own bedroom, you almost screamed when you saw a figure sitting on your bed in the dark. You grabbed for the closest thing in your reach, a candlestick on the dresser next to you, ready to swing. The figure turned on the lamp next to the bed, and you saw that it was Chenle, still contemplating hitting him anyway. You decided to set your weapon down, however.

“What the fuck?!” You hissed, stalking up to your bed and grabbing a stuffed animal to chuck at him instead. He caught the stuffed bee, holding it to his chest as he smirked at you.

“Something you want to tell me?” He raised an eyebrow. “About where you’ve been?”

You followed his line of sight between you and the bathroom door that you just came out of. “What are you, the piss patrol? Can’t a bitch pee in peace around here?”

“Toilet didn’t flush, sink didn’t run,” he immediately shot back. “Also, I’ve been in here for the past hour.”

“Don’t be weird about it—” You held up a finger in his face threateningly, and a victorious grin immediately spread across his features. “Jisung and I talked about how we felt, and I fell asleep in his room. Nothing else, okay?”

Chenle gave you a look that told you he didn’t entirely believe you, but he didn’t press you any further. “God, how am I going to choose between being your brother of honor and his best man?”

“We haven’t even gone on a date!” You grabbed a pillow and tried to pushed it over his face to shut him up. He narrowly saved himself from being smothered, cackling as you resorted to smacking him with it instead. “As if I’d even ask you to be my whatever you just made up! You’ll be lucky if you even get an invite, I swear to—”

The door to your room was thrown open from the bathroom, Jisung looking around the room wildly. “Y/N! Are—”

You stopped your assault on your brother to smile breathlessly at Jisung. “Oh. Hi.”

“I heard you yelling, I wanted to make sure…”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “Thanks, Jisung.”

“I know!” Chenle announced loudly. “I know everything, Park Jisung! Last night, you and my little sister—”

You succeeded in smothering Chenle this time, muffling whatever obnoxious things he was about to spew.

After breakfast and opening presents in the morning, Jisung excused himself to go call his parents. Chenle tsked, turning the gaming console on to start up one of the new games he’d gotten and tossing you a controller.

“He tell you how he ended up coming with us?” Your brother asked, his gaze on the screen.

“Yeah. His dad goes on a cruise and his mom is with his stepdad’s side of the family. So he would’ve just been at the school if you didn’t bring him,” you replied, only paying half-attention to the opening cutscene.

“At least ours pretend to make an effort,” he scoffed. “His mom didn’t even offer to pay for his plane ticket.”

“Hm?”

“His mom and stepdad live on the other side of the country. They technically ‘invite’ him to Christmas every year, but he’d have to get himself there and back.”

“So it’s hardly a genuine invite.”

“And you know what his stepdad does?”

“What?”

“CEO of that logistics company that Mom and Dad are always talking about. The big one.”

“Shit, really? And he can’t be bothered to pay for his wife to see her own son once a year?”

He clicked his tongue. “Apparently not.”

A few levels into the video game, Chenle’s phone lit up with a text. He paused the game, and sighed upon reading the message. “Jisung says we can eat lunch without him. He’s suddenly not feeling well.”

You winced. “I take it his phone calls didn’t go well.”

“You go check on him. You can handle crying people better than me.”

You nodded in agreement, getting up from the couch. Outside of Jisung’s bedroom door, you listened carefully first, just in case he was still on a call. It was quiet, and you knocked softly.

“Jisung?” You called out. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he replied, his voice sounding far away.

Opening the door, you saw him laying on the bed on top of his covers, his back to the door. You stayed in the doorway, asking, “Do you want to be alone?”

“No.”

You sat down on the bed behind him, still giving him his space. “Do you want to talk or do you want quiet?”

“My dad didn’t even pick up,” he muttered. “And my mom—God, I got to tell her about school for all of five seconds before she started gushing about how her grandbabies are learning how to write or whatever. I’ve never even met those kids, honestly, I don’t give a fuck about them. They’re not even her grandkids, they’re her husband’s. Apparently, one of them is on a little league baseball team. When she started saying I could teach him how to pitch when I come to visit for summer, I pretended the call was dropping and hung up. ‘When I come to visit’—I live with my dad in the summer because he didn’t move away from me.”

“I’m sorry, Jisung,” you said, feeling the hurt in your heart as his voice tightened and cracked.

“It’s funny, they used to have these-these blowout fights every year about who got me for Christmas,” he sniffled. “And now that they moved on and got their new families, they couldn’t care less about me.”

“Lucky for me and Chenle, then. Because we got you this year.”

He laughed, finally rolling over to face you. He wiped at his eyes, but you still saw the tears that had run down the side of his face. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” You gently stroked his hair, brushing some of it out of his face.

Jisung scooted closer, until he could pillow his head in your lap instead, his eyes fluttering shut as you resumed your ministrations. “I’m glad you guys got me too…”

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26

A knock on your bedroom door woke you up. It opened, and somebody who was neither Chenle nor Jisung peered in.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” your mother hummed lightly. “Are you up?”

“Mm, yeah,” you grunted, pushing yourself up against your pillows.

She came over to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“Hi, Mom. Merry Christmas,” you smiled up at her, letting her take your hand in hers. “Did you and Dad just get here?”

“A few minutes ago. Your father’s getting Chenle.”

There was a loud thunk from above you, followed by a yelp and two very familiar and similar laughs that you recognized as your families’. You chuckled as your mom rolled her eyes fondly.

“I think he was successful,” you snickered.

“We’re going out for breakfast when you’re ready,” she informed you, squeezing your hand before letting it go.

“Mmkay.” You yawned as she headed for your door. “I’ll let Jisung know.”

She paused, tilting her head. “Who?”

“Didn’t Chenle tell you his friend was coming? Park Jisung?” You pointed at the room next door.

“Oh, I thought he was bringing Mark for some reason.” She looked at you with concern. “Does Jisung like basketball too?”

“I… don’t know? He plays baseball?”

“Oh. Hm.”

“So, what are you studying, Jisung?” Your mother asked, stirring sugar into her coffee.

The five of you were at a diner in the small town at the base of the mountain, you, Jisung, and Chenle packed into one side of a booth and your parents on the other. The car ride had been filled with you and Chenle filling your parents in on your various happenings from this semester, but now your parents seemed to have zeroed in on the newcomer.

“Cybersecurity,” he rushed to answer.

Both your parents seemed impressed by that. Your dad spoke next, “And what do your parents do?”

“He’s got an athletic scholarship, Dad,” Chenle cut in before you could. You both knew what he was really asking about.

“Full ride,” you added proudly. “Baseball. He’s the pitcher.”

“Really?” Your dad’s interest was piqued—he was a bigger sports fan than your brother.

“Yes, sir,” Jisung replied.

“The school doesn’t give out full athletic scholarships frequently. You know that?”

“No, sir, I-I didn’t know that.”

Your dad took a sip of his own coffee, regarding Jisung like he was evaluating his investment portfolio. “So what makes you so valuable?”

“W-Well, uhm, I-I don’t—”

“He’s ambidextrous,” you answered for him. “He can pitch with both hands.��

“Switch pitcher?” Your dad hummed thoughtfully. “You know who the best switch pitcher in the history of the league is, right?”

“Kim Beomjin, sir,” Jisung replied firmly.

“Has he passed your test, yet, Dad?” Chenle scoffed. “Come on, stop treating him like he’s interviewing at the company.”

“I was trying to get to know—”

“You were being a bit much, dear,” your mother interrupted your dad’s attempts to defend himself.

“Alright. My apologies, Jisung.”

“It’s fine, sir, really.”

You didn’t understand why your mother had asked if Jisung liked basketball until you got back to the house. Your parents had brought a few more presents with them, including, kindly, a couple for Jisung. Except they hadn’t been expecting Jisung, they had been expecting Mark, which evident in the gifts. Both Chenle and Mark loved basketball, so the matching jerseys for their favorite team would’ve made the perfect present, if it had been Mark receiving it.

“I’m so sorry, Jisung,” your mother kept apologizing, clearly embarrassed at the mistake.

“No, I-I like basketball too, ma’am,” he tried to reassure her.

“It’s a requirement for being my friend,” Chenle helped him out. “If only I could’ve made it a requirement for being my sister.”

“If we got to pick, I would’ve made not being annoying as fuck a requirement for being my brother,” you retorted.

“Language!” Your mom scolded you, at the same time that your dad warned Chenle to “Be nicer to your sister!”

Your parents were gone again after dinner, leaving in a flurry of hugs, kisses, and promises of celebrating Christmas together properly next year. As soon as he’d shut the door behind them, Chenle turned to you, cynical disbelief on his face already.

“No way,” he chuckled and shook his head. His phone rang then, and he tutted. “Gotta take this. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Jisung was already in the living room, and you plopped down next to him on one of the couches, dropping your head into your hands.

“Your parents seem nice,” he said quietly.

“Mhm, they’re really great when they’re here,” you agreed bitterly. “Sort of makes it hurt worse. It’d be easy to just hate them if they left us all the time and changed plans last-minute and were awful when we did see them. But they do all that shit, and then I see them and it’s good. And it makes me start thinking that maybe it’ll be different, maybe they’ll really keep their promises next time.”

“I get that.” He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. “But maybe this time you just don’t get your hopes up. Might be easier on you.”

“Yeah, probably.”

With a sigh, you sat up, turning into Jisung’s side and snaking your arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around you as you buried your face in his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head. His other hand slowly rubbed your back, encouraging you to relax into his embrace even more.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 31

The morning of New Year’s Eve, the three of you were sitting around the kitchen table silently eating breakfast scrounged together from various leftovers and the singular grocery store trip you’d taken since Christmas. Then, there was a knock at the front door, and with your cereal spoon sticking out of your mouth, you gave Chenle and Jisung a bewildered look. They, however, didn’t seem put off at all.

“Y/N, can you go see who it is?” Chenle asked you, returning his gaze to his phone screen.

“Are you expecting someone?” You retorted. “You go answer it.”

The knocking came again, more insistent this time.

“Y/N! Just get it!” Chenle demanded loudly.

“Fine! Fine!” You got up, stomping over to the front door.

Opening the solid wood door, your jaw dropped when you saw six figures on the other side, before you were tackled in a hug by the one at the front.

“Surprise!” Sooyoung squealed, nearly squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“Soo!” You gasped, hugging her back. “What are you doing here?”

“We were invited!” Jaemin informed you cheerily, grabbing you for a bear hug next.

“We’d never pass up an invite to a Chenle-Y/N party,” Jeno’s eyes twinkled as he pecked the crown of your head.

“Especially a New Year’s Eve party,” Donghyuck added.

“Since when have we been throwing a New Year’s Eve party?” You spluttered, still in delighted shock as you took in all of your friends standing in your foyer.

Mark hugged you too. “Chenle texted us a couple days before Christmas to see if we could make it for New Year’s.”

You grabbed your roommate’s hand, bewildered the most by her presence. She wasn’t friends with Chenle or any of the other guys standing there, to your knowledge. “But how did you…?”

“Jisung’s idea,” Chenle had joined you all, standing at the threshold of the foyer with the baseball player. “We figured out that Renjun and Sooyoung were in a study group together this semester and…”

You’d spotted Huang Renjun, one of Chenle’s friends from college whom you’d met several times before, hanging back on the fringes of the group. You smiled at him before beelining for Jisung, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek a couple times in your excitement.

“Thank you!” You were smiling ear to ear, so much that your cheeks hurt, but you couldn’t help it.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Jisung returned the hug, rubbing your back. “My late Christmas present to you.”

You let him go to hug your brother next, hooking your chin over his shoulder and squeezing him so tight you felt like your chest might burst, and you hoped he could feel how much all of this—how much he—meant to you. Despite everything you may say or do to each other. “Thanks, Chenle.”

“Of course,” he whispered, hugging you back just as tight.

“SooSoo, I’m serious, not that much has happened!” You promised, laying on your bed to watch as she got settled in your room. She had of course insisted that you filled her in on every details of everything that’s happened between you and Jisung, including things that she had already heard before since you two talked almost every night. “It’s only been like a week, and my brother is literally here.”

“We all saw those little cheek kisses earlier,” she replied pointedly. “You’re at least going to kiss him at midnight, right?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, quite literally kicking your feet as you thought about it. “Onto you—You just spent three hours in a car with them, have you figured out if you want me to set you up with Jeno or Jaemin?”

“We took two cars. I was in Renjun’s with Donghyuck,” she informed you with a desolate sigh.

“Why did you—”

“He offered because he knew I didn’t know anybody except him, and I didn’t know how to explain why I wanted to go in the other one!”

“Foiled once more by empathy and kindness.”

“I’ll figure it out before we go back to school!”

“Maybe you can get one of their numbers on your own before then.”

Despite the reputations that ‘Chenle-Y/N’ parties carried amongst your friends, and your friends also bringing enough alcohol to host a full-blown kegger, the event itself was pretty low-key. You’d gotten the firepit on the back porch going, food ordered, music going throughout the house, and had already completed several different games.

You were fixing yourself a cup of eggnog in the kitchen when you spotted someone out by the firepit. Pouring another mug, you took both out with you. Jisung looked up when he heard the back door open. He smiled as he recognized that it was you, scooting over on the bench to make room for you to sit with him.

“Eggnog?” You offered a cup out to him. “I didn’t spike it, but I can go add something in if you really want.”

“No, this is perfect,” he chuckled, his laughs rising as white wisps in the cold air. “I’ve been thinking…”

“About?”

“Were the three options hot chocolate, cider, and eggnog?”

It took you a second to catch up, but once you had recalled your first night in the mountains, you burst into laughter, nodding. “Yeah, those were the three options when I made you pick a number.”

He smiled, taking a sip of his drink. “There was something else, that I was thinking about.”

“Oh?”

“Are-Are we going to kiss at midnight? Do you want to? I know we haven’t gone on a real date or anything—”

“I do want to kiss you,” you admitted. “Do you?”

He nodded hurriedly. “Yes, god.”

“You still seem… fidgety. We can wait, if you—”

“That’s not it.” He set his cup of eggnog down, and you did as well. “I want to kiss you. I just don’t want the first time I do to be in front of a bunch of our friends.”

You smirked, tilting your head curiously. “Are you asking to practice before?”

He blinked. “I don’t think I was before, but I definitely am now.”

You snickered a little, leaning in and gently touching your lips to his in a feather-light kiss. He let out a small sigh against your lips, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek and pull you closer, sealing his mouth over yours. Everything was warm, no matter the fire or the cold wind or the thick jacket you were wearing, you were being heated from the inside out.

When Jisung pulled back, he had such a dazzlingly soft smile on his face that you couldn’t help but stare, wanting to burn that image in the back of your eyelids forever. He moved to duck his head shyly, but you grabbed his face.

“I think we might need some more practice before midnight,” you teased, nuzzling your nose with his affectionately.

“Mm, of course,” he agreed humorously, kissing you again. And again, and again, and again.

⇢ 2024 hallmark movie marathon

TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001

@classicroyalty @giirlfriendd @shaqs-oatmeal @sofipolii01

@tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69

@winkeuu

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dollwrites · 2 years ago

Text

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!nanny!reader, married!toji ( rich toji too lmao hot take ), age gap, noncon, dacryphilia, virginity loss, heavy breeding kink, bondage, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day twenty-two [ toji fushiguro + breeding ]

you probably should’ve kept your mouth shut. you should’ve bit the bullet and swallowed your pride when Toji said he couldn’t pay you any earlier than Friday for babysitting the kids. no, couldn’t had not been his word of choice. he wouldn’t pay you before Friday. Toji was loaded with cash. you’d never bothered to ask him how he made his living, but you knew that he had plenty and his massive mansion would not be snatched up by the bank if the prick gave you your well earned three hundred and twenty dollars on a Wednesday instead of a Friday.

and you’d told him so.

which had landed you in the position you’re in now.

on a few occasions, Toji or his wife had asked you to tidy up around the house and that included their bedroom. the room was massive and luxurious, with a king size bed in the center of the room. you’d seen plenty of oddities in there— handcuffs here, a flogger there, vibrators in the drawers and even a black, pleather bench with seatbelt-like straps hanging off it in the corner— but you never thought, in all the time you’ve worked for them, that you’d find yourself on your back in nothing but your bra and panties ( which were both pulled askew to expose your breasts and give him access to your core ) against the mattress, with thick, black straps on your ankles that bind them to a long, silver bar. your legs are spread wide for Toji, he has also fastened similar cuffs to each of your wrists to separate notches on the pole. his fist is wrapped around the center of the metal, gripping it tight. he seems to use it as a lever, pulling your entire body to his.

the tears are far from dried on your cheeks, though the majority of the pain from the initial insertion has dissipated, Toji is none too gentle as he ruts into you. your walls flutter about the girth of his manhood as it stretches you to a capacity you’ve never felt before. he was so big, much too big for him to have been your first, and you felt like he was ripping you apart, especially because he had no regard for how deep he was delving into you— each thrust of his hips sent him hilt-deep into a newly devirginized interior. because of this, your face remained twisted into an expression of discomfort, eyes wide with shock.

Toji chuckles through grit teeth, “What’s with the crocodile tears, slut? Wasn’t expecting I’d pop your cherry? Daddy’s cock too big for that itty, bitty belly of yours?” his dark pair coruscate in the dim lighting as his gaze travels over your stomach, pressing his free palm against the lump just below your navel, the size and shape of his cock. you mewl, head rolling about on the mattress, and your teeth sink into your lower lip; the pressure adds to the sensation of being stuffed full. “Ooh, listen to you whine for me,” he croons with faux sympathy, poking out his lower lip. “I’ll bet you’re used to getting exactly what you want with those puppy dog eyes, aren’t you? But, I gotta tell you, baby girl, daddy’s made more girls cry than just you. You really think those little sniffles are gonna work on me? Make me go easier on you?”

his hips grind into yours as he digs as deep as possible without his thick tip bursting through your belly button ( or, at least, that’s what it feels like ), and you cry out, back arching. your fingernails claw at the restraints, arms tensed unable to do much but sting.

“Ah!” it’s more a bestial growl than a sound of pleasure you’d expect anyone to make, his eyes fiery with even more desire at your wriggling. “See, feel that? How your pussy tremors when she’s gripping my cock? You can glare up at me with those cute, puffy eyes and your makeup streaked down your cheeks, but I can tell by the way that little pussy hugs me that you don’t want it gentle. You don’t want me to be nice. You want to be fucked into submission, and daddy’s more than willing to break that bad fuckin’ habit of talking back to me with my cock.”

it was almost impossible to formulate a coherent sentence, batting tears back, but they fall anyways, squirming as if to escape the cocktail of pleasure and pain, and you turn away from him, angling your countenance towards the wall instead. “W—what— what if I t-told your, ah! Your wife about this—“

the most wicked of grins contorts Toji’s lips, and he reaches through the bar and between your arms to grip your face, turning it back to force you to look up at him. “You think she doesn’t know, girl? I’ve only been planning to breed your little body since you started working for us. I just needed a good excuse to break you in, thanks for that.” he pauses, to groan and close his eyes, pace picking up as his hips begin to buck more erratically. “She thinks you’ll make a better baby factory than she ever could, and she’s more than willing to let me keep you here and fuckin’ ruin you until the only thing you want is for me to swell that little tummy with my bastards—“ even as your whimpering escalated into screams, you can hear him. your eyes close, head wanting to angle away from his grip, his palm makes contact with your cheek in a couple, quick slaps. “You can get used to being my little breed-whore, sweet girl. And don’t you worry, you’re gonna get a nice raise every time I knock you up; as long as you learn that your place is wrapped around daddy’s cock, and that pussy is for him to fill with his loads, you’re gonna be a fine new addition to this family.”

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seospicybin · 7 months ago

Text

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU TOO.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Related chapter: I Put A Spell On You.

Synopsis: Having a common enemy, you and Hyunjin work together to secure your futures. With your witchcraft, the plan sets in motion, the boundaries between right and wrong blur, and secrets begin to unravel, leaving you and Hyunjin bound by more than just circumstance. (22,4k words)

Author's note: It's Friday the 13th, join the circle and enjoy this piece of magic ♡

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU PLAYLIST 🎧

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Neither the story, the characters nor the spells are real (but if it works, do tell me though!)

The first light of dawn filters through the blinds, painting faint golden streaks across the walls. The air is thick with the scent of burning sage, the smoke curling lazily upward before dissipating into the stillness of the room.

You stand barefoot before the altar, its surface a collection of well-worn spellbooks, crystals, and a single flickering candle. The morning ritual is second nature to you now—a daily reminder of the power simmering beneath your skin, waiting to be unleashed.

With steady hands, you trace the sigil carved into the small bowl before you. The words come easily, slipping past your lips like a promise:

“With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

The candle flame responds, leaping higher for a moment before settling back into its steady glow. The familiar hum of energy vibrates through your body, faint but undeniable. It’s not enough yet—your magic is still rebuilding, still growing—but it’s there. A spark, waiting to ignite.

You inhale deeply, the air filling your lungs with a mix of hope and resolve. Every day brings you closer to reclaiming the strength you once had, closer to the moment when the world will finally recognize your worth.

Reaching for the almanac resting at the edge of your altar, you flip to the marked date. The book feels heavy in your hands, the weight of countless predictions and warnings etched into its pages. Your eyes skim the delicate handwriting, pausing on the entry for today:

"The winds shift in the favor of the wary, but beware those who wield false crowns. Their power is fleeting, but their reach is long."

A chill runs through you, the words sinking in like a stone in still water. False crowns. Your mind flickers to the new CEO, the unsettling man who now occupies the highest seat in the company. You’ve felt his shadow looming since the day he arrived, his presence like a storm cloud waiting to break.

You close the almanac with a soft thud, the foreboding message settling heavily in your chest. The city stirs outside your window, but in this quiet moment, it feels as though time stands still.

You glance at your reflection in the nearby mirror, studying the determination etched into your features. You’ve come so far, yet there’s still so much to do.

Today is just another step forward, another piece of the puzzle. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on. The world doesn’t know it yet, but its days of underestimating you are numbered.

“Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and there he is—Hyunjin. Perfectly dressed as always, his hair immaculate, his expression cool and distant. He steps in without a glance in your direction, his presence commanding the small space like a storm that doesn’t need to rage to be felt. You step back to give him room, not that he notices. He presses the button for his floor, and the doors close, sealing you in together.

The silence is suffocating, a weight pressing down on your chest. You’ve grown used to this—his deliberate ignorance, the way he carries himself as though you don’t exist. It’s not new, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

The memory of his smile, the warmth of his laughter, and the fleeting moments when he looked at you like you were the only person in the world flash through your mind. It’s almost cruel, how vivid those memories are, knowing they mean nothing to him now. To Hyunjin, it’s as if none of it ever happened—as if the love spell never existed, as if you never existed.

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to let it show. After all, no one knows the truth but you. The weight of it is yours alone to carry. Every stolen glance, every pang of longing, every ounce of guilt—it’s all yours. You shift your gaze to the floor, pretending to study the polished tiles. You can’t let yourself get lost in the what-ifs again.

When the elevator chimes for his floor, he steps out without so much as a glance in your direction. No words. Not even a polite nod. You let out a soft sigh once the doors close again, leaning back against the wall. Despite everything—despite his indifference, his coldness, the way he behaves as if you’re a stranger—you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pride when you think about him.

Hyunjin’s name has been buzzing in the office lately. The whispers of his upcoming promotion are impossible to miss, and the thought of him moving up fills you with quiet satisfaction. He deserves it. Every bit of it. He’s one of the hardest-working people you’ve ever met, and no amount of his harshness toward you can erase that.

For all that’s happened—or hasn’t happened, in his mind—you wish him nothing but the best. It’s a bittersweet truth, but one you’ve come to accept. The elevator finally stops at your floor, and you straighten your shoulders, ready to face the day.

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps out, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. As he moves through the hallway, his mind lingers on the ride he just shared with you.

He hadn’t meant to notice, but he did. That look again—sad and distant, like you were carrying the weight of something invisible. Like you were carrying him.

It’s not the first time he’s caught it, either. The way your eyes linger on him, quiet and heavy with something he can’t name. It unsettles him, that expression. Almost as if he’s hurt you somehow.

He frowns, shaking the thought away as he reaches his office. You’re just a coworker, someone he passes in the halls. Whatever story you’ve written for yourself, whatever sadness you carry—it has nothing to do with him. It *can’t.* Hyunjin sets his bag down on his desk and exhales slowly, trying to refocus. There’s too much on his plate today to be distracted by fleeting glances and unanswered questions. He sits, pulling his laptop open, and begins sorting through the mountain of emails waiting for him.

Barely an hour has passed when his desk phone rings.

“Hyunjin, can you come to my office for a moment?” Mr. Campbell’s voice is clipped, leaving no room for interpretation.

“Of course, sir,” Hyunjin replies, already standing. He smooths his jacket, preparing himself for what he assumes is good news. After all, the whispers of his impending promotion have been growing louder by the day.

The walk to Mr. Campbell’s office feels longer than usual, but Hyunjin steadies his nerves. This is it, he thinks. Finally, recognition for all his hard work.

But when he steps into the office, Mr. Campbell’s expression isn’t celebratory. If anything, it’s tight with discomfort.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Campbell says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. Hyunjin hesitates but complies.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Mr. Campbell begins, folding his hands together. “You’ve been an exceptional employee, Hyunjin. Your performance has been nothing short of stellar, and I’ve personally been advocating for your promotion.”

Hyunjin’s heart begins to race, anticipation bubbling in his chest.

“However,” Mr. Campbell continues, his tone taking a sharp turn, “with the new CEO stepping into the role, there have been… adjustments. Your promotion has been postponed.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Postponed?” Hyunjin echoes, his voice tight with disbelief.

“Yes. The position you were being considered for has been filled by someone else, chosen directly by the CEO, Mr. Hargrave himself.”

Hyunjin blinks, struggling to process the words. The work, the late nights, the endless hours of proving himself—it was all for nothing?

“With all due respect, sir,” Hyunjin says, his voice rising slightly, “this is unfair. I’ve worked hard for that promotion. I’ve earned it.”

“I don’t disagree,” Mr. Campbell says, his tone apologetic but firm. “But this decision is out of my hands. The CEO has made his choice.”

Hyunjin clenches his fists, anger simmering beneath the surface. “So, that’s it? Years of dedication mean nothing?”

“I understand your frustration,” Mr. Campbell replies. “But I need you to remain professional about this. There will be other opportunities.”

Hyunjin stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more without letting his anger slip entirely.

“Thank you for your time,” he says curtly, turning on his heel and leaving the office.

As he stalks back to his desk, the weight of the conversation settles heavily on his shoulders. The unfairness of it burns in his chest. How could this happen? How could they just take everything he’s worked for and hand it to someone else?

His jaw tightens as he sits back down, trying to focus, but the injustice keeps replaying in his mind. He’s not just upset—he’s furious.

And for the first time in a long time, Hyunjin feels something dangerous brewing beneath the surface.

The boardroom feels unusually tense this morning. The usual low buzz of pre-meeting chatter is muted, replaced by an air of nervous anticipation. It’s your first meeting with Flint Hargrave, the new CEO, and even without the rumors, you’d know he’s not a man to be trifled with.

You take a seat at the long, polished table, your folder of documents in front of you. Flint hasn’t arrived yet, but you’ve already heard the whispers—he’s harsh, demanding, and utterly unyielding. A few employees exchange worried glances as they shuffle their papers, the tension palpable.

When the doors open, all conversation ceases. Flint strides into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. He’s tall and sharply dressed, his suit immaculate. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—cold, piercing, and calculating—scan the room like he’s sizing up prey.

You don’t falter under his gaze. If he’s looking for weakness, he won’t find it here.

As the meeting begins, you wait for your turn, forcing yourself to focus. When it finally comes, you stand, walking to the head of the room where the projector is already set up. Taking a deep breath, you begin your presentation.

Your voice is steady as you explain your proposal, detailing the steps, objectives, and the benefits it would bring to both the company and its employees. You make eye contact with the board members and occasionally glance at Flint, gauging his reaction.

Unlike some higher-ups, Flint doesn’t interrupt or appear distracted. He leans slightly forward, his hands folded on the table, giving you his full attention. His gaze is steady and sharp, making you feel like you’re under a microscope.

By the time you finish, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe Flint isn’t the tyrant everyone claims he is.

The room is silent for a moment before Flint speaks for the first time.

“Thank you,” he begins, his tone professional but firm. “Your presentation was clear, and the proposal has merit.”

You feel a small sense of relief.

“However,” Flint continues, his gaze locking onto yours, “I have a few adjustments I’d like to make before I approve this.”

He leans back slightly, his tone calm but carrying an edge of authority as he outlines his demands. The adjustments he proposes are subtle but significant, reshaping the very purpose of your proposal. They would disserve the employees, prioritizing cost-cutting and efficiency over fairness and well-being.

You clench your hands beneath the table, keeping your expression neutral. As he speaks, you realize this isn’t just a misunderstanding—Flint knows exactly what he’s doing.

When he finishes, you respond as diplomatically as possible. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Hargrave. However, I believe these adjustments might undermine the goals of the proposal, particularly in terms of employee satisfaction and long-term productivity.”

Flint doesn’t flinch and daringly holds your gaze. “I appreciate your perspective, but my priority is ensuring that the company operates at maximum efficiency. Your proposal is promising, but it needs to align with those objectives.”

“But,” you persist, your tone steady, “if we implement those changes, it could lead to dissatisfaction among the employees, which in turn could impact overall morale and performance. This proposal was designed to balance both efficiency and employee well-being.”

Flint leans forward, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you want my approval, you’ll make the adjustments.”

The room falls silent. Every pair of eyes is on you, waiting to see how you’ll respond. You swallow your frustration, your mind racing. Flint isn’t just demanding changes—he’s testing you, pushing to see how far you’ll bend.

“Understood,” you say finally, your voice even. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you rattle.

Flint nods, his expression unreadable. “Good. I expect the revised proposal on my desk by the end of the week.”

As the meeting adjourns, you gather your materials, your stomach sinking. Flint has made it clear that he’s not a man who compromises—and now you’re left to figure out how to deal with him.

The meeting room empties slowly, the air still charged with the weight of Flint’s words. You gather your things methodically, trying to shake the tension from your shoulders.

As you step out, the sight of Hyunjin catches your attention. He’s on your floor. For a moment, your heart stirs with hope, and you almost smile.

Has he finally been promoted? The thought alone is enough to bring a flicker of happiness amidst the dread of Flint’s demands.

But that moment of hope is short-lived.

Hyunjin’s stride is brisk, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating anger. He brushes past you without so much as a glance, his eyes locked on one target: Flint.

You pause, watching as he storms toward the man who’s still lingering near the doorway of the meeting room, flanked by his assistant.

“You!” Hyunjin’s voice echoes across the floor, sharp and furious. Heads turn as his words cut through the low hum of office chatter. “How dare you sabotage my promotion!”

Flint doesn’t flinch, his expression as calm as ever. If anything, his interest seems mildly piqued, as though Hyunjin’s outburst is merely an inconvenience he anticipated.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop, one index finger pointed at Flint’s chest. “I’ve worked my ass off for this position! I’ve earned it!” His voice rises with every word. “You think you can just walk in here and decide I’m not good enough? You don’t even know me!”

The assistant takes a nervous step back, but Flint doesn’t move. His hands rest loosely at his sides, his gaze locked on Hyunjin with unsettling composure.

“Mr. Hwang,” Flint finally says, his voice smooth and unbothered. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Upset?” Hyunjin snaps, cutting him off. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re not fit to be CEO if this is how you run things! Favoring people who haven’t put in half the work I have? What kind of leadership is that?”

You stand frozen, your files clutched tightly in your hands. You’ve seen Hyunjin upset before, but this is different. His rage is fiery, unrestrained, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s about to lunge at Flint.

But Flint remains unshaken. His calm is unnerving, as if he’s watching a predictable scene unfold rather than being the target of Hyunjin’s anger.

Security steps in before things escalate further. Two guards approach swiftly, placing themselves between Hyunjin and Flint.

“That’s enough, Mr. Hwang,” one of them says firmly, motioning for Hyunjin to step back.

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his jaw tight. For a moment, it looks like he might resist, but after a tense pause, he takes a step back, his breathing heavy and labored.

“This isn’t over,” Hyunjin mutters, his glare piercing.

The guards escort him away, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. You glance back at Flint, hoping to gauge his reaction, but his expression remains unreadable.

As the hallway clears, Flint turns to his assistant, his voice low but deliberate. “Have Hwang’s file on my desk. Immediately.”

The assistant nods and rushes off without a word.

Your stomach sinks. You’ve already seen how Flint operates—calculated and unyielding. And now, with Hyunjin’s outburst, it’s clear he’s caught Flint’s attention in the worst way.

A chill runs down your spine as you walk back to your desk, your thoughts racing. Flint doesn’t let things go. He doesn’t forgive. And after what you’ve just witnessed, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s already planning something sinister for Hyunjin.

You sit down, your hands trembling slightly as you replay the scene in your mind. Hyunjin’s fiery passion versus Flint’s icy composure—it’s a clash that could destroy everything.

And for the first time, you wonder if Hyunjin’s rage will be his downfall.

The night is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustling of pages as you flip through your book of spells. The faint light from a single candle flickers, casting long shadows across your workspace. The book lies open before you, its yellowed pages filled with faded script and intricate diagrams.

Your eyes scan the instructions, pausing on a ritual for protection. It’s a spell you’ve never attempted before, but tonight, it feels necessary. Flint’s chilling composure and whispered orders earlier still linger in your mind, and the memory of Hyunjin’s fiery rage has etched itself into your heart.

You gather the ingredients, laying them out meticulously: A sprig of rosemary for clarity and purification. A small piece of obsidian for shielding against negativity. A dried bay leaf for protection. A strand of your own hair, tying your energy to the spell.

You pull out a small black pouch and place it beside the items. The air feels charged as you light a bundle of sage, letting the smoke cleanse the space. You place the rosemary and obsidian into the pouch first, followed by the bay leaf. With each addition, you focus on Hyunjin—his face, his energy, his fiery determination. Finally, you add the strand of your hair, knotting the ends to hold your intent firmly in place.

With the pouch in your hands, you draw a protective circle around yourself with chalk, marking the edges with small crystals. Sitting cross-legged at its center, you hold the pouch close to your heart, the candlelight reflecting in your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you chant: “By leaf and stone, by flame and thread. Shield him well from paths of dread. Let no harm pierce, let no ill stay. Protect him now, by night and day.”

You repeat the words three times, your voice steady, each syllable carrying your intent into the universe. As you chant, you feel a warmth build in your chest, spreading through your hands and into the pouch. The air grows still, as if the world is holding its breath.

When the final word leaves your lips, the candle flickers wildly before extinguishing itself, leaving you in darkness. A shiver runs down your spine, but you know the ritual is complete.

Carefully, you tie the pouch shut with a red thread, knotting it three times for strength. You hold it in your hands, the weight of it light yet significant.

“This will protect you,” you whisper, imagining Hyunjin’s face. “This will keep you safe.”

For a moment, you allow yourself to hope. Even if Hyunjin never knows what you’ve done for him, even if he never remembers what you once shared, at least you can still protect him.

The office is unusually quiet during lunch breaks, and you know this is your best chance. Taking a deep breath, you reach into your bag and pull out the small talisman you crafted for Hyunjin.

The pouch feels warm in your hand, almost pulsing with the protective magic you infused into it. You look around to make sure no one is watching and quickly make your way to Hyunjin’s desk. His briefcase is propped open, papers and files neatly organized inside. With steady hands, you slip the talisman into one of the inner compartments, tucking it safely beneath a folder.

A sense of relief washes over you as you straighten up. It’s done. Hyunjin might not know it, but he has a layer of protection now. Even if you’re unsure of how strong your magic is, you’ve done everything you can to help him.

You return to your desk, a small flicker of hope settling in your chest. Despite everything, you’ve done something good for him.

Later that day, as the clock approaches the hour for your meeting with Flint, an uneasy feeling creeps into your stomach. The hallway to his office feels colder than usual, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Clutching your notebook to your chest, you silently chant your usual spell under your breath as you walk:

“With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

The words give you a fragile sense of courage, but it falters when you reach the heavy oak door. Taking a deep breath, you knock.

“Come in,” Flint’s voice calls, low and authoritative.

You step inside, shutting the door softly behind you. Flint is seated at his desk, an imposing figure with a sharp suit and an even sharper gaze. The room smells faintly of leather and coffee, and the blinds are half-drawn, casting slanted shadows across the desk.

As you stand there, your eyes flicker briefly to the stack of files on his desk. Among them, unmistakably, is Hyunjin’s file. Your stomach tightens, but you quickly shift your focus back to Flint as he speaks.

“Well?” Flint says, his tone cool but demanding. “Have you made the adjustments I requested?”

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve reviewed your demands, sir, and I wanted to suggest a few alternative approaches that could meet the company’s goals without—” Flint raises a hand, silencing you. His gaze is sharp, almost predatory. “Let me stop you right there. I wasn’t asking for alternatives. I was asking if you’ve done what I told you to do.”

Swallowing hard, you summon your courage. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe those adjustments align with the purpose of my proposal. They would negatively impact employee morale, and—”

Flint leans back in his chair, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across his face. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you? I admire your spirit, though I’m starting to wonder if it’s misplaced.”

The air in the room grows heavier as he continues, his voice cutting like a blade. “You know, for someone in your position, you’d think you’d know better than to argue with your superior. Maybe this is why women like you struggle to make it past middle management.”

His words hit you like a slap, but you keep your expression steady. “I don’t see why that has something to do with my ability to do my job, Mr. Hargrave?” you ask, your voice firm but controlled.

Flint’s smirk doesn’t waver. Instead, he leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled. “Oh, I’m sure you think that. But let me remind you, this isn’t about fairness or ideals. This is about doing what you’re told.”

You feel your pulse quicken, your grip on your notebook tightening as he continues.

“If you want to keep rebelling against me,” he says, his tone almost taunting, “go right ahead. But I’d be very careful if I were you. You might not like what happens next.”

For a moment, you’re frozen, staring at him as the weight of his words settles over you. Flint is dangerous—more dangerous than you realized. His calm demeanor only makes him more threatening, and you’re reminded once again that this is not a man to cross.

Summoning what little composure you have left, you nod. “Understood, sir,” you say, your voice quieter now.

Flint leans back in his chair, satisfied, and waves a hand dismissively. “Good. Now, get back to work.”

You turn on your heel and leave the office, your heart pounding as you step into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you, and only then do you allow yourself to take a shaky breath.

Walking back to your desk, you can’t shake the image of Hyunjin’s file sitting on Flint’s desk. Whatever Flint is planning, it won’t just affect you—it’ll affect him too. And no matter how dangerous Flint is, you know you have to do something.

A few days have passed, and you begin to feel a slight sense of relief. The talisman is working, or at least you hope it is. Despite seeing Hyunjin's file on Flint’s desk that day, nothing significant has happened. Hyunjin still walks through the halls, just as indifferent as ever. And you... well, you’re still the same.

Watching him from afar, your heart quietly aching for the bond you both shared, but knowing it’s gone, just like the magic you once cast on him.

As usual, you take the elevator down to the parking basement, stealing glances at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye. The elevator is crowded, and it’s hard to even think of doing anything but keeping your distance.

The silence between you two is deafening, as if the space around you had a barrier, both emotional and physical. You want to say something, anything, but the words are lost before they can even form.

The elevator dings, signaling your stop. The doors open, and you step out, your eyes lowering to the ground as you make your way toward your car. You tell yourself to let go of the past, but the weight of it lingers, thick in the air.

You unlock the door to your car, your hand trembling slightly as you grip the handle.

"Wait."

You spin around at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice, your heart pounding in your chest. Before you can react, he grabs your elbow and flips you around, his grip firm but not painful. The world seems to slow as you look up into his eyes—eyes that are no longer filled with warmth but something else. Something searching.

“What is this?” Hyunjin demands, holding up the small talisman you slipped into his briefcase, his expression tense, almost accusing. His eyes narrow as he waits for your answer.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You hadn't expected this. He found it. The talisman.

"It's... it’s uh..." you say, trying to steady your voice, but it comes out quieter than you intended. "A talisman."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his expression hardening. “A talisman?” His tone is sharp with disbelief. "What did you do to me? Did you curse me?"

The accusation stings, but you quickly shake your head. "No, no curse. It’s meant to protect you."

He doesn't let go of your wrist. "Protect me?" His eyes search yours, but there's a flicker of something else—suspicion. "Why would you protect me?"

The question hangs in the air, and you feel the truth swelling in your chest, but you can’t speak it. The reason you want to protect him... because you care. You care too much. But you can’t admit that to him. Not now. Not when everything between you has been reduced to this awkward distance.

You swallow hard and blur the truth. "I saw your file on Flint’s desk. I know he plans on doing something to you. I don’t want you to get hurt," you say quickly.

"And I hate Flint too. I do. I know this one spell so I think we could work together to take him down. I just need your—”

You can feel his grip falter slightly, but then his gaze flickers to something else entirely. Something that causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

"Wait... are you saying you actually practice witchcraft?" he asks, his voice shaking with a mix of incredulity and fear.

The world spins. You don’t even know how to respond. You could lie, but his eyes are burning into yours, and for some reason, lying doesn’t feel like an option. Not now.

"Yes," you say softly, unable to stop yourself.

He stares at you in silence for a long moment, and you feel as if the air has been sucked out of the world around you. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the shock, the disbelief, the fear all rising to the surface. It’s too much. Too much for him to process.

And then, before you can say anything else, you hear it—the words you never wanted to hear.

“Stay away from me.”

The coldness in his voice cuts through you like a blade. It’s like an icy wall has been erected between you, one you can’t get past. The small spark of hope you’d held onto—the hope that Hyunjin might remember, might somehow feel something for you again—dies in that instant.

You take a step back, unable to move for a moment, before you finally blink and lower your gaze. His words echo in your mind, a cruel reminder of how much you’ve lost.

“Hyunjin, I—”

He interrupts, his tone harsh now. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Don’t ever come near me again. Don’t use your... your magic on me.”

His words sting, like acid on an open wound. And all you can do is nod, silent tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there. The good you tried to do has backfired completely. The last shred of hope you had is shattered.

And now, it’s clear: Hyunjin will never see you the way you want him to.

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens when he spots you heading toward the elevator at the same time as him. His gaze sharpens, and he throws you a glare as if to remind you of the boundary he firmly set. You stop in your tracks, hesitating as if his silent warning alone is enough to keep you at bay.

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps inside without sparing you another glance. But just before the doors close, he catches that look on your face again—the same sad, almost resigned expression that’s been haunting him lately. It lingers in his mind for a moment before he forces it away with a shake of his head.

Arriving at the office floor, Hyunjin immediately senses something is off. Several of his colleagues are gathered around his desk, rifling through his drawers and gathering his belongings. Anger bubbles to the surface as he storms over.

“What the hell are you doing with my stuff?” Hyunjin demands, his voice cutting through the commotion.

One of his coworkers flinches, looking away uncomfortably, while another mutters, “Sorry, Hyunjin, we were told—”

“Told by who?” he snaps, but before he can press further, someone places a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Hyunjin,” comes the calm yet weary voice of Mr. Campbell, his superior. “I need you to come with me to my office.”

Hyunjin hesitates, his eyes darting to the boxed-up items on his desk. “What’s going on?”

Mr. Campbell only sighs and gestures for him to follow. Reluctantly, Hyunjin obeys, but unease twists in his stomach as he steps into the office.

Once seated, Mr. Campbell doesn’t waste time. “Hyunjin, the company has received an anonymous tip that you’ve been sharing confidential intel with a competitor.”

The words hit Hyunjin like a punch to the gut. His brow furrows in disbelief. “What? That’s ridiculous! I would never—”

“I know, and frankly, I don’t believe it either,” Mr. Campbell interjects. “But these are serious allegations, and the audit team is already investigating. Until they conclude their review, you’re suspended.”

Hyunjin shoots to his feet, his frustration boiling over. “This is Flint, isn’t it? He’s trying to get rid of me!”

Mr. Campbell raises a hand to calm him. “Hyunjin, I understand your anger, but making accusations without evidence will only make things worse for you. If you want to keep your job, I suggest you go home and let the audit team do their work.”

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his mind racing. Every fiber of his being screams at him to march straight into Flint’s office and confront him, but Mr. Campbell’s warning rings in his ears. After a tense moment, he exhales sharply and storms out of the office.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Instead of heading home as Mr. Campbell suggested, Hyunjin finds himself at a bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in the middle of the day. The amber liquid burns his throat, but it’s a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in his mind. He feels angry, frustrated, and—though he hates to admit it—utterly defeated. Flint had outmaneuvered him, and now he was sidelined, his career hanging by a thread.

He shoves a hand into his coat pocket, his fingers brushing against something unfamiliar. Frowning, he pulls it out and stares at the small pouch you had slipped into his briefcase. The talisman.

For a moment, he debates tossing it right then and there, but something stops him. He knows he should’ve burned it the second he discovered it, should’ve gotten rid of it if he truly believed it might bring him bad luck. Yet, as he observes it now, he feels a flicker of curiosity rather than fear.

Your words echo in his mind. “I hate Flint too. We could work together to take him down.”

Hyunjin takes another sip of his drink, the idea slowly settling in. Teaming up with you doesn’t seem entirely ridiculous anymore. After all, the enemy of his enemy should be his ally. But before he makes any decisions, he wants to confirm something first.

By the time he steps out of the bar, the sun has already begun its descent. With his phone in hand, he searches for the address of a shop he’d found online earlier—a place that specializes in witchcraft. It’s not long before he arrives at an unassuming storefront with a sign that reads “Moonlit Mystics.”

The moment Hyunjin pushes open the door, he’s hit by the pungent scent of sage. The interior is dimly lit, cluttered with shelves full of crystals, candles, herbs, and other esoteric items. It’s exactly what he expected, almost to the point of being a cliché.

“Welcome,” a woman’s voice greets him from behind the counter.

Hyunjin turns to see a middle-aged woman with a serene expression, her dark hair streaked with silver. She’s dressed in flowing fabrics, her bracelets jangling as she leans forward.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice warm yet curious as she studies him.

Hyunjin hesitates for a second before stepping closer and placing the talisman on the counter. “I found this in my bag and I need your help to know what is this.”

The woman picks it up delicately, her eyes narrowing as she examines it. She unties the pouch and carefully empties the contents—a sprig of rosemary, a small piece of obsidian, and other small tokens—onto the counter.

“This,” she says, her tone thoughtful, “is a protection talisman.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “Protection?”

She nods, pointing at each item as she explains. “The rosemary wards off negative energy, the obsidian absorbs harmful intentions, and the other elements… they’re all chosen to shield the bearer from harm. Whoever made this put a lot of care into it.”

Hyunjin stares at the talisman, a strange mixture of relief and unease washing over him. Your explanation was true. There was no curse, no sinister intent—just protection.

“That’s all?” he asks, needing the reassurance one more time.

The woman smiles and slides the opened talisman back to him. “That’s all. You’ve got nothing to fear from this.”

Hyunjin thanks her quietly and leaves the shop, slipping the talisman back into his pocket. As he steps into the cool evening air, a thought settles in his mind.

Maybe you weren’t as dangerous as he’d first assumed.

Your fingers skim over the faded pages of the spellbook, the faint scent of aged parchment and herbs filling the air around you. The ritual you’ve been studying for days is intricate, layered with steps that demand precision and, more dauntingly, someone else’s involvement.

You’ve read and reread every line, trying to find a way to execute it alone. Hyunjin is no longer an option, and though the thought leaves a bitter pang in your chest, you know you can’t afford distractions. Flint has to be dealt with, and you can’t let emotions—especially feelings for someone who now despises you—get in the way.

A sharp knock at the door snaps you out of your thoughts. You jolt upright, your heartbeat quickening. You aren’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, paranoia creeps in. Has Flint somehow discovered your plans? Bracing yourself, you approach the door and crack it open, only to freeze in place.

Hyunjin. It’s impossible not to think of the last time he showed up unannounced. Back then, his smile was warm, lighting up the space between you like a ray of sunshine. Now, that warmth is gone, replaced with a neutral expression that borders on cold. Still, it’s him. And despite everything, seeing him standing there stirs a flicker of hope deep inside you.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone low and guarded.

Wordlessly, you step aside, letting him in. Hyunjin walks past you, his gaze sweeping over your small apartment. His eyes linger on the shelves lined with books, jars of herbs, and candles. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he takes it all in, piecing together your world.

Finally, he turns to face you. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You cross your arms, unsure of where this is going. “What about it?”

“That we could work together to take Flint down.”

Your eyes widen. Of all the things you expected, this wasn’t it. “You’re serious?”

He nods. “We have a common enemy, don’t we? And after everything that’s happened…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “Let’s just say I’m willing to reconsider.”

You study him carefully, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Why the change of heart?”

Hyunjin shrugs, his tone nonchalant. “Because I hate him. And I think you do too.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “That’s putting it lightly.”

He takes a step closer, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “So? What’s the plan?”

For a moment, you hesitate. Bringing Hyunjin into your world again—after everything that’s happened—feels risky. But he’s here, willing, and you need his help.

Wordlessly, you walk over to the table where your spellbook lies open and gesture for him to follow. As he approaches, you turn the book toward him, pointing at the page outlining the ritual.

“This,” you say, your voice steady, “is the ultimate plan.”

Hyunjin leans in, his eyes scanning the intricate diagrams and detailed instructions. The more he reads, the more his brows furrow. When he finally straightens up, his expression is a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“You’re serious about this?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes,” you reply.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, breaking the tension in the room. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You can’t tell if it’s an insult or a compliment, but you choose to ignore it. Instead, you get straight to the point.

“I need you to follow Flint,” you say. “Learn his routine, his habits, where he goes when he’s not at the office. It’ll help me figure out the best time and place to execute this.”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, still smirking. “So I’m your spy now?”

“If you want Flint gone as much as I do, then yes.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to believe in all this…” He gestures vaguely at the book. “Magic stuff.”

You meet his gaze, your voice firm. “You don’t have to believe in it. You just have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. Let’s see where this takes us.”

For the first time in days, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you can pull this off.

Hyunjin knocks on your door, his mind a whirlwind of frustration. He’s spent the entire day tailing Flint, only to come up empty. Tight security, bodyguards, private drivers—Flint might as well be untouchable. He’s ready to let you know just how impossible your plan is when the door swings open, and there you are.

You don’t look surprised to see him, but your calm demeanor only adds to his irritation. “Come in,” you say simply, stepping aside.

Hyunjin steps into your apartment, glancing around out of habit. The room feels different tonight—dim, shadows stretching across the walls, and that faint smell of something herbal lingering in the air. It makes his skin prickle. His eyes land on the open spellbook on your table, pages marked with symbols he doesn’t understand, and for a second, he wonders just what kind of person he’s teamed up with.

“Did you find anything?” you ask, sitting down at the table.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, dropping into the chair opposite you. “Flint’s a ghost wrapped in money and muscle. He lives in a penthouse with security tighter than a vault. He’s got his assistant slash his bodyguard with him at all times, a driver who doesn’t leave his side, and the only place he goes after work is some exclusive club. And guess what? That place is crawling with security too.”

You nod slowly, processing his words without a hint of panic. It annoys him. “So, no easy access,” you say, almost to yourself.

“None,” Hyunjin says bitterly. “This whole thing is a waste of time.”

But you don’t look deterred. Instead, you lean back in your chair, tapping a finger against the table. “There is one way,” you say, voice steady.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “And what’s that?”

“I’ll seduce him.”

He blinks, sure he must have misheard you. “What?”

You meet his stare, unwavering. “If I make him interested in me, I can get close to him. Close enough to do what needs to be done.”

Hyunjin stares at you, caught between disbelief and a strange, simmering unease. “Are you serious? You think Flint would go for someone like you?”

Your lips twitch into a smirk. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”

Something about the confidence in your voice sends a shiver down his spine. He tries to shake it off, folding his arms across his chest. “This is insane. And dangerous.”

“Everything about this is dangerous,” you shoot back, leaning forward now. “But do you have a better idea?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. He knows you’re right—there’s no other way. Still, the thought of Flint and you in the same room, let alone this… plan, twists something uncomfortable in his gut.

“What do you need from me?” he asks reluctantly.

“I need you to get something for me,” you say, your tone shifting.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Flint’s hair.”

For a moment, he thinks you’re joking. When your expression doesn’t change, he feels his stomach drop. “His hair? Why the hell do you need that?”

“For a spell,” you say simply, as if that’s supposed to make sense.

Hyunjin stares at you, his jaw tightening. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What kind of spell?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

The casual way you dismiss his question only makes his unease grow. He leans forward, trying to read your expression, but you’re impossible to decipher. “You’re asking me to steal a piece of his hair, and you’re not even going to tell me why?”

“Exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze head-on.

Hyunjin leans back, running a hand through his own hair. This is reckless. This is dangerous. And yet…

“Fine,” he says finally. “I’ll figure out a way to get it. But this better not blow up in our faces.”

“It won’t,” you say quickly.

Hyunjin doesn’t believe you, not fully. But he’s already in too deep to back out now. Standing, he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and heads for the door. Before he leaves, he glances back at you, still sitting at that table with your strange book and your even stranger confidence.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he mutters before stepping out into the night.

As the door shuts behind him, a chill creeps up his spine. This alliance feels like walking a tightrope over a pit of flames, but what choice does he have?

After Hyunjin leaves, the apartment feels eerily quiet. You close the door and stand there for a moment, staring at the space he just occupied. There’s a heaviness in your chest, but you push it aside. There’s no time to dwell on emotions when there’s so much to be done.

You grab your spellbook from the table and flip through its worn pages, searching for the ritual you need. The words blur slightly under the dim light, but you recognize the spell when you see it—the ritual to enhance allure, to make yourself irresistible, particularly to a specific target.

Flint may be powerful, but magic is older and stronger than any man.

Taking the book with you, you head to the bathroom. You start by filling the tub, the sound of running water echoing around the small space. As the water rises, you gather the ingredients: dried rose petals for attraction, cinnamon for warmth and desire, honey to sweeten your aura, and a single white candle for purity of intention.

You kneel by the tub, the steam rising to kiss your face. One by one, you add the ingredients to the water, watching as the petals swirl and the honey dissolves. The cinnamon spreads like whispers of fire across the surface, and you swirl it all together with your hand, moving clockwise.

Closing your eyes, you begin to chant:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night. Rose and honey, sweet and true. Let my charm be seen by you. By earth and air, my power takes flight. Grant me allure, shining bright."

The words feel heavy on your tongue, their weight sinking into the water as you chant. The air in the bathroom shifts, thickening with an unseen energy.

You remove your clothes and step into the tub, the warm, fragrant water enveloping you. A shiver runs through your body—not from the temperature, but from the unmistakable pulse of magic that seems to seep into your skin, wrapping itself around you like a second layer.

As you sink deeper into the water, you chant the spell again, your voice softer this time, almost a whisper:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night."

The energy hums beneath your skin, subtle but undeniable. You lean back, letting the water cover your body, and close your eyes. For a moment, you feel powerful, invincible.

When you finally step out of the tub, droplets of enchanted water slide down your skin, leaving behind a faint warmth that lingers. You wrap yourself in a towel, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. There’s something different in your eyes—something sharper, more confident.

The almanac is clear: wear blue today. Blue is the color of trust, calmness, and, most importantly, attraction. It’s a shade that commands attention subtly, not overtly.

You pull out a fitted blouse and a pencil skirt, pairing them with heels that click confidently against the floor as you move. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjust your hair and take a deep breath. This isn’t just about Flint seeing you; it’s about him wanting to see you again.

Arriving at work, you keep your plan simple. Flint always leaves his office at some point during the day—whether it’s for a meeting or simply to make his rounds. That’s when you’ll strike.

You grab a stack of files, deliberately choosing ones that look bulky and hard to manage. The weight of them grounds you, keeping your hands from trembling as you wait near the corridor. Minutes feel like hours, but finally, Flint’s door opens, and he steps out, his usual bodyguard trailing behind him.

You start walking, eyes cast downward, pretending to be absorbed in your papers. Just as he’s about to pass you, you execute your move.

“Oh!” you gasp as you stumble slightly, letting the files slip from your grasp. Papers scatter across the floor in a dramatic mess, a symphony of fluttering pages.

You immediately bend down to pick them up, keeping your movements deliberate. You arch your back slightly, your skirt hugging your curves as you gather the scattered papers.

“I'm so sorry, sir,” you say softly, glancing up at Flint through your lashes. Your tone is humble, apologetic, but not groveling.

For a moment, he does nothing but stare. His expression is unreadable, his sharp eyes watching your every move. Just as you’re starting to feel the tension in the air thicken, he moves. He bends down—not fully, just enough to pick up a stray document near his polished shoe.

“Here,” he says, handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you reply, your fingers brushing his briefly as you take the paper. Your heart beats a little faster, but you keep your composure.

You stand, clutching the files to your chest, and smile shyly. “I’m so sorry again. I wasn’t paying attention.”

For a moment, your eyes meet his, and you take your chance. Quietly, subtly, you chant the spell in your mind:

"With this gaze, let me linger in your thought. A presence remembered, a web unwrought. See me, recall me, let me stay. In your mind, come what may."

There’s no way to know if it works—not yet. Flint straightens his tie and gives you a curt nod before walking away, his assistant close behind. You sigh softly, relieved the interaction is over, and start to collect the rest of your scattered papers.

But then, just as you’re stacking the last of the documents, you feel it. A faint prickle at the back of your neck. You glance up and catch Flint looking over his shoulder at you before disappearing down the corridor.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. It’s not confirmation, but it’s a start.

Hyunjin leans back in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. The leather creaks beneath him as he shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position in his cramped car. He’s been parked across from Flint’s office building for hours, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Suspension has its perks, he tells himself, though the bitterness lingers in the back of his mind. No endless meetings, no rushed deadlines. Just this: a stakeout that feels like a low-budget spy movie. His career might be teetering on the edge of collapse, but at least he has time to figure out what Flint’s up to.

Finally, just as dusk begins to settle over the city, Flint emerges from the building. Hyunjin straightens in his seat, his heart giving a small jolt of anticipation. Flint strides confidently to his car, his ever-present assistant trailing close behind. Hyunjin starts his engine, keeping a safe distance as he tails them through the city streets.

After a short drive, they pull into the parking lot of a high-end restaurant. Hyunjin follows, finding a discreet spot to park before slipping inside. He tugs his cap lower over his face and scans the dining area, his eyes locking on Flint almost immediately.

To his surprise, Flint isn’t dining alone. Seated across from him is a woman Hyunjin recognizes instantly—Brownwyn, the secretary to the head of the legal team. Flint’s body language is relaxed, his attention fully on her. Brownwyn leans in slightly, a coy smile playing on her lips as she twirls the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

Hyunjin’s brow furrows. This doesn’t look like a business dinner.

Sliding into a corner booth with a clear view of their table, Hyunjin orders a coffee he doesn’t intend to drink and settles in for the long haul. The restaurant buzzes with quiet conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery, but Hyunjin’s focus never wavers.

He watches as they share a meal, the interaction between them confirming his suspicions. Flint laughs at something Brownwyn says, leaning closer as the evening progresses. There’s an intimacy in their exchange that has nothing to do with work.

When they finally leave, Hyunjin follows them outside, keeping his distance as they climb into Flint’s car. He trails them through the city once more, his pulse quickening when they pull into the parking lot of a nearby hotel.

Hyunjin parks and enters the lobby just in time to see Flint and Brownwyn at the reception desk. He watches from the shadows as they’re handed a keycard and head toward the elevators, Flint’s hand resting casually on the small of Brownwyn’s back.

That’s all he needs to see. Hyunjin lets out a low breath and turns back toward the exit. He doesn’t need to guess what’s going to happen next, and honestly, he doesn’t want to. What matters is that he now has something tangible to work with—a secret Flint wouldn’t want getting out.

Slipping into his car, Hyunjin pulls out his phone and jots down a few notes. His night hasn’t been wasted after all.

Hyunjin stands outside your door, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates, then does it anyway. It’s late, but this couldn’t wait.

When you open the door, he’s taken aback. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but something about you is… different. There’s a subtle glow to your skin, a softness to your features that wasn’t there before. He shakes the thought away as you invite him in, your voice as composed as ever.

Once inside, Hyunjin gets straight to the point. "I followed Flint today," he says, his tone clipped.

He recounts everything—the restaurant, the intimate dinner with Brownwyn, the trip to the hotel. “I think we should spread it around the office,” he concludes. “If people know about his fling with Brownwyn, it could ruin his reputation.”

But you shake your head, crossing your arms. “That’s not enough to bring him down, Hyunjin.”

Frustration bubbles in his chest. “Not enough?” he snaps. “I’m suspended. Do you understand what that means? I might not even have a job to go back to!”

You meet his glare with a steady gaze. “Once Flint is taken down, it’ll be easier for you to get your job back,” you say firmly. Your confidence in your plan only makes him angrier, but he knows you’re right. Flint is the key.

You shift the topic. “Did you get the hair?”

Hyunjin sighs and pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket, holding it up like it’s a prize. “Yeah. I snuck into the coat room at the restaurant and found a strand on his coat.” He places the tissue on the table, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment despite himself.

Your lips curl into a small smile. “Good. That’s one step closer.”

He watches as you carefully pick up the tissue, your fingers grazing the edge of it with reverence, as if it holds the answer to everything. Then a thought strikes him.

“What about your plan to seduce him?” he asks. “You really think that’s going to work?”

You glance up at him, and for a moment, there’s something in your eyes—something sharp and knowing. “I’ve already started,” you say simply.

Hyunjin scoffs, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know if you’re the type he’d go for,” he mutters, though the words sound more skeptical than cruel.

“I’ve done it before,” you reply confidently, your voice carrying a weight that makes him uneasy.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, trying to read between the lines. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

Your gaze flicks to him, lingering for a second too long. There’s something in your expression—a glint of mischief, but also a flicker of sadness. It’s unsettling, like you’re holding onto something he can’t see.

“It means,” you say slowly, “I know how to get what I want.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, Hyunjin feels like you’re not talking about Flint at all.

The night feels heavy, the air thick with unspoken urgency as you prepare for the ritual. Hyunjin’s growing anxiety about his suspended career gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you’re running out of time. If Flint doesn’t fall into your trap soon, the plan will crumble, and with it, any chance of saving Hyunjin's job—and perhaps even yourself.

You glance at the small tissue placed carefully beside the almanac. Inside it lies Flint’s hair, the most critical component of the spell. Hyunjin came through, and now, there’s no time to waste.

With steady hands, you gather the rest of the ingredients: rose petals for passion, honey for sweetness, and a drop of your own blood for power and intent. Each item is laid out before you in a precise circle, their arrangement forming the spell’s foundation.

You light the candles one by one, murmuring the incantation under your breath as each flame flickers to life. The room grows warmer, the air thick with the scent of herbs and wax.

Sitting cross-legged before the altar, you pick up the strands of Flint’s hair, weaving them carefully into the rose petals. Closing your eyes, you focus on the image of him—his sharp gaze, his commanding presence. You imagine him looking at you, drawn to you with an uncontrollable desire.

You begin the chant, your voice steady and low at first, then rising in intensity. Each word carries your intent, your need, your determination. The energy in the room shifts, buzzing like static electricity.

"By fire’s light and heart’s desire. Let him be drawn, his soul inspired. Through thought and dream, he seeks for me. Bound by will, so let it be."

As you chant, you feel the power building within you, a heady sensation that sends chills down your spine. Your hands move instinctively, blending the ingredients with precision, each motion an extension of your will.

When the final words of the spell leave your lips, you take a deep breath and release it slowly, feeling the magic settle over you like an invisible veil. You open your eyes and look at the small bundle of ingredients now bound together with red thread. It hums with energy, glowing faintly under the candlelight.

You place the bundle into a small pouch, clutching it tightly in your hands. The ritual is complete, but the true challenge lies ahead—facing Flint and testing the spell’s power.

The next morning, you wake up earlier than usual, carefully selecting your outfit and ensuring every detail of your appearance is flawless. If the spell worked, today will be the day Flint notices you, truly notices you.

As you step into the office, a surge of determination courses through you. When you knock on Flint’s office door, your pulse quickens. His voice calls for you to enter, and you step inside, flashing your most charming smile. He barely glances up from his paperwork, his usual cold demeanor intact.

“Sir,” you begin, stepping closer to his desk. “I heard you have a meeting with a client this afternoon. I’d like to take care of the presentation for you.”

His pen pauses mid-stroke, and he looks up at you. For a moment, there’s nothing in his expression—just the same sharp, calculating stare you’ve come to expect. But you press on, your voice warm and persuasive.

“I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve reviewed the files. I’m confident I can handle it, and it’ll give you more time to focus on… other matters.” You let your words linger, tilting your head slightly as if you’re offering more than just a simple favor.

He studies you in silence, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. Finally, he exhales through his nose and leans back in his chair.

“Fine,” he relents. “But don’t mess it up. The meeting’s at two. Be ready.”

You nod, trying not to let the victorious smile show too much. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

By the time two o’clock rolls around, you’re impeccably prepared. Standing in the elevator beside Flint, you notice his usual air of authority, but there’s something else—something quieter, like curiosity.

As the elevator hums to life, you turn to him with a polite smile. “May I?” you ask, gesturing to his tie, which is slightly askew.

He glances at you, then nods. “Go ahead.”

You step closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the fabric as you adjust the knot. His eyes remain fixed on you, his expression unreadable but intent. You can feel his assistant’s glare burning into you from behind, but you ignore it, focusing on Flint.

“There,” you say softly, straightening the tie and stepping back. “Perfect.”

His gaze lingers on you a moment longer, and you meet it with a confident smile before turning away as the elevator doors open.

In the meeting room, you deliver the presentation with practiced ease, your voice steady and your points concise. You notice, however, that Flint’s eyes remain locked on you the entire time. It’s not the typical critical gaze he gives his employees—it’s something heavier, something that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

You meet his eyes briefly during the presentation, letting a small smile play on your lips before returning to your slides. Each time you glance his way, he’s watching, his expression unreadable but intense.

When the meeting concludes, you gather your papers, feeling a rush of pride and anticipation. As everyone files out, you linger slightly, hoping Flint will say something—anything—to confirm the spell is working.

But he doesn’t. He simply nods at you before walking away, his assistant trailing after him.

You stand there for a moment, the air of victory you’d felt earlier evaporating. Did it work? you wonder, doubt creeping into your mind.

Maybe the spell wasn’t strong enough. Maybe Flint’s will is stronger than you anticipated. Or maybe… just maybe… it’s working more subtly than you realized.

Hyunjin paces in front of your door, his frustration bubbling under the surface. He hasn’t felt this restless in a long time—his career hanging by a thread, his life spiraling out of control, and no certainty in sight. He clenches his fists, trying to push back the overwhelming sense of failure creeping in.

Every sound in the hallway makes him turn his head, and when the elevator dings, he freezes. You step out, a look of surprise flashing across your face when you see him.

“Hyunjin?” you ask, your voice soft yet cautious.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, the floodgates open. “I’m losing my mind here. Do you know how hard it is for me to just sit and wait? To follow your plan when I don’t even know if it’s working?” His voice rises slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “My career is on the line, my life is on the line, and all I’m doing is running around in circles for this!”

You stand there, calm and collected, letting him vent without interrupting. When he finally pauses to take a breath, you step closer, your tone steady but firm.

“It is working, Hyunjin. You just have to trust me.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Trust you? I don’t even know if—”

“Have you eaten?” you cut him off, your eyes narrowing slightly as you take in his pale complexion.

“What?” he asks, caught off guard.

“You look like you haven’t eaten all day. Come in, I’ll make you something,” you say, unlocking your door and holding it open for him.

Hyunjin hesitates, but the gnawing hunger in his stomach betrays him. He follows you inside, sinking into a chair at your kitchen table while you move around with ease, preparing a simple meal.

The smell of food fills the small space, and despite himself, Hyunjin feels his tension begin to ease. When you set the plate in front of him, he doesn’t even bother to argue, picking up his fork and digging in.

As he eats, a strange sensation washes over him. He glances around the room, the soft lighting, the faint scent of whatever incense you burned earlier, and the way you’re moving about the kitchen—it all feels familiar.

Too familiar.

He pauses mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air as a wave of déjà vu hits him like a freight train. He’s been here before. He’s sat at this table before, eating a meal you prepared, sharing this moment.

But that’s impossible.

“Have we…” he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He shakes his head, trying to push the strange feeling aside.

Before he can finish his thought, your phone buzzes on the counter. You glance at the screen, and your demeanor shifts instantly. You grab the phone, answering it with a tone that’s light and professional.

“Hello?” you say, your back to him as you pace slightly.

Hyunjin can’t help but strain to hear the conversation, catching snippets of your words. “Yes… tomorrow night… drinks? Of course… I’ll be there.”

When you hang up, you turn back to him with a spark of triumph in your eyes. “That was Flint.”

Hyunjin sits up straighter, his curiosity piqued.

“He just invited me for drinks tomorrow night,” you casually say as you pick up your fork to continue eating.

In that moment, Hyunjin instantly regrets that he didn't trust you in the first place.

The almanac doesn’t leave room for second-guessing, so you stick to its advice, dressing in the suggested color—a deep, alluring shade that accentuates your figure. You take extra care with your appearance tonight, ensuring every detail is perfect. Flint has to notice you; he has to want you.

The pub Flint mentioned in his call is nothing extravagant, but its cozy, vintage atmosphere is charming in its own way. You arrive purposefully late, just enough to seem like you’re not desperate for his attention.

As you step inside, the warm lighting and low hum of conversation wrap around you. You spot Flint almost immediately, seated in a booth near the back. His ever-present assistant slash bodyguard is by his side, like a shadow that never strays too far.

But tonight, Flint looks different—dressed casually, the stiffness of his usual office attire replaced with a relaxed charm. He seems more his age, and it strikes you that he’s only three years older than you.

When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face, and as you approach, his eyes trail over you. The attention is unmistakable, almost palpable.

“You look stunning,” he says, his voice smoother than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you,” you reply with a small smile, tilting your head just enough to let your earrings catch the light.

He leads you to the booth, and to your relief, he gestures for his assistant to leave. As the assistant fades into the background, you feel a slight wave of freedom—it’s just you and Flint now.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, motioning for you to sit.

“Of course,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him.

He leans back slightly, studying you with an intensity that feels almost disarming. “I wanted to thank you for the presentation yesterday. You did a great job.”

You smile, dipping your head modestly. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I have to admit,” he continues, a playful edge in his tone, “I didn’t think you had it in you. You’ve surprised me.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh? And how exactly did you see me before?”

His smile turns flirtatious, his eyes gleaming. “I thought you were uptight, always buried in your work. I didn’t know there was this… fun side to you.”

You feign a pout. “That’s disappointing. I’m sad you never paid enough attention to me to notice before.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich. The conversation flows easily, growing more intimate with each passing minute. His charm is undeniable, but you keep reminding yourself this isn’t about you; it’s about the plan.

And then, he leans in.

His face is close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his gaze locked onto yours. Your heart races, not with excitement but with the weight of the moment. You promised yourself you’d do anything to make this work, anything to bring Flint to his knees.

But as his lips move closer, something in you snaps.

At the very last second, you dodge, turning your head slightly so his kiss lands awkwardly near your cheek. The air shifts instantly.

When you look back at him, the expression on his face tells you everything. The interest, the desire—it vanishes like a flame snuffed out.

Flint pulls back, his demeanor cool and detached. “I just remembered,” he says, his tone suddenly businesslike, “I have something I need to take care of.”

You nod, even though you know the truth. His excuse is nothing more than a polite dismissal.

As he stands and adjusts his jacket, you force a smile, pretending you don’t see the disappointment in his eyes—or feel the failure burning in your chest.

When he leaves the pub, you remain seated, staring down at the untouched drink in front of you. Your plan has failed, and the weight of that realization sits heavy in the pit of your stomach.

Hyunjin hesitates as he steps off the elevator and walks toward your door. He isn’t sure if you’re back yet, but the uncertainty doesn’t stop him. He’s been restless since earlier tonight, an uneasy feeling gnawing at him.

When the door opens, his breath catches for a moment. You’re standing there in a bathrobe, your hair damp and clinging to your neck. Your expression is unreadable, but it’s enough to tell him that things didn’t go as planned.

You don’t say a word, just push the door open wider, allowing him to step inside. Hyunjin walks in slowly, his eyes flickering to you as you close the door behind him.

The silence feels heavy, but he doesn’t press you. He moves to the dining table and takes a seat, his gaze following you as you head to the kitchen. The way you saunter to the counter, grab a glass, and fill it with water is oddly mesmerizing. There’s something different about you tonight—no sharp quips, no smug assurance.

Finally, he breaks the quiet. “How did it go?”

You pause mid-sip, the rim of the glass pressed against your lips. Lowering it slowly, you let out a bitter laugh and lean against the counter. “It went fine... until it didn’t.”

Hyunjin frowns. “What do you mean?”

You recount everything—the pub, the conversation, how everything seemed to be going perfectly until you dodged Flint’s kiss. Your voice remains steady, but Hyunjin can hear the frustration laced in your words, the self-reproach hiding beneath them.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do all that. Really.”

But you shake your head, your eyes narrowing. “No, it’s not okay. I wasn’t enough. I should have done my part right. If I had just—”

“You don’t have to push yourself this far,” Hyunjin interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve already done so much.”

You glare at him, the fire in your gaze a stark contrast to the exhaustion etched into your features. “You don’t get it,” you snap, but your tone lacks venom. It’s frustration—at yourself more than anything.

Hyunjin stares at you, trying to find the right words. But as he watches you stand there, gripping the edge of the counter as if trying to hold yourself together, something shifts in him.

This whole time, he’s been so focused on his own frustrations, his own doubts about the plan, that he never stopped to consider how much you’ve been sacrificing, how much you’ve been giving to make this work.

For the first time, Hyunjin sees the weight you’re carrying—and how deeply determined you are to see this plan through.

“I see it now,” he says softly, almost to himself.

You glance at him, your expression wary. “See what?”

He shakes his head, offering you a faint smile instead of answering. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Then you sigh, push off the counter, and make your way to the table.

“I’m not giving up,” you say, sitting across from him. There’s a quiet determination in your voice, one that Hyunjin can’t help but admire.

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady. “And I’ll make sure we see this through.”

The plan you created with Hyunjin echoes in your mind as you park your car in the office lot, waiting for most people to leave. You glance at Flint’s car still parked a few spaces away, and your heart races. This is your moment to get his interest back.

Taking a deep breath, you pop the front hood of your car and adopt a distressed expression. You lean over the engine, pretending to inspect it, though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Pulling out your phone, you stage a fake call for help, your voice carrying just enough to be heard if someone were near.

Time stretches painfully slow until you finally spot Flint walking out of the building with his ever-present assistant trailing behind. Your pulse quickens, but you keep your expression pitiful, glancing down at the engine in feigned confusion.

Flint walks straight toward his car without sparing you a glance, his assistant opening the car door for him. Your chest tightens as doubt creeps in—this might not work.

Swallowing your hesitation, you take the next step. You approach his assistant with timid steps, clutching your hands together nervously.

“Excuse me,” you say, your voice soft but loud enough to stop him. “Can you help me check what's wrong with my car? Please?”

The assistant glances at Flint, who gives him a slight nod. Without hesitation, the assistant walks over to your car and leans over to inspect the engine.

“Looks like your car’s out of commission,” he declares after a quick glance. “You’ll need a mechanic.”

You let your shoulders sag in an exaggerated display of disappointment, biting your lip as you feign helplessness. Flint watches from the comfort of his car, his expression unreadable. It isn’t until his assistant walks back and murmurs something to him that he rolls down the window slightly.

“It’s late,” Flint says, his tone casual but laced with authority. “I’ll have my driver drop you off. Get in.”

You flash him a grateful smile, walking to the car and slipping into the seat next to him. The door shuts with a solid thud, and you feel his presence keenly, even in the spacious interior.

“Thank you,” you murmur, adjusting your posture to seem both grateful and charming.

As the car begins to move, you glance at him shyly. “I really appreciate this. And, by the way, I had fun the other night. It’s a shame it ended so soon.”

Flint turns to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if gauging your sincerity. “Is that so?”

You nod, letting a coy smile grace your lips. “I guess I was just nervous. You caught me off guard.”

The ride feels both endless and fleeting. By the time the car pulls up in front of your apartment building, you steel yourself for the final step. The driver opens your door, but you make no move to leave just yet.

Turning to Flint, you lean in closer, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes widen slightly, his body going rigid as you press your lips to his in a soft but deliberate kiss.

When you pull away, his expression is a mix of surprise and intrigue. You smile at him, your voice sultry. “I should’ve done that sooner.”

Before stepping out, you cast him one last glance, your lips curling into a playful smile. “See you tomorrow at the office, Mr. Hargrave.”

With that, you step out of the car, feeling his gaze linger on you as you walk toward your building.

The plan is officially back on track when you catch the sight of Flint’s sleek car parked right out front of your apartment building the next morning. Your pulse quickens with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.

As the car door opens, Flint steps out, looking as polished and composed as always. His lips curve into a smile, and for a moment, you revel in the small victory. The spell is working.

“Good morning,” he greets warmly, gesturing toward the open car door. “Shall we?”

Feigning surprise, you raise an eyebrow and offer him a playful smile. “What’s this? You went out of your way to pick me up?”

He chuckles softly, brushing it off. “Your car broke down, didn’t it? I thought it’d be a shame if you were late to work because of that.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with a curious gaze. He looks so nonchalant, but you know better. Beneath his composed exterior, the spell is undoubtedly weaving its magic.

“Well,” you say, stepping closer to him, “thank you for the thoughtful gesture.”

Your smile deepens as you slip into the car, catching the faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes before he closes the door behind you.

As the car glides through the streets toward the office, you can’t help but feel a surge of confidence. The plan is back in motion, and Flint is right where you want him—under your spell.

Hyunjin leans against the wall of the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed tightly as he watches Flint’s car pull up outside your building.

It’s become a routine he hates—Flint stepping out, opening the car door for you like some picture-perfect gentleman, and the two of you exchanging pleasantries that seem far too intimate.

Tonight is no different. Hyunjin’s jaw tightens as Flint helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your arm longer than it should. You and him exchange a few words, Flint’s deep voice carrying softly in the still evening air.

Then, as if to push Hyunjin further into frustration, Flint tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips before stepping back.

Hyunjin’s fists clench at his sides. If he didn’t know this was all part of a carefully crafted plan, he might have believed the two of you were genuinely in love. But the knot in his chest isn’t just frustration—it’s jealousy. Why?

The question eats at him as he waits for Flint’s car to drive away. When it finally disappears down the street, Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and heads up to your apartment. He knocks sharply, his impatience barely contained.

You open the door almost immediately, as though you were expecting him. Your expression is calm, maybe even a little amused.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks, his eyes scanning your face for any sign that something is wrong. “Did Flint… do anything to you?”

Your lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “I’m fine,” you say coyly, stepping aside to let him in. “You don’t need to worry so much.”

Hyunjin follows you into the living room, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “We should speed this up,” he says, his voice sharp with urgency. “Let’s execute the plan quickly so you don’t have to keep being around him.”

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t enjoy his company, either,” you say with a shrug. “But the best time for the ritual is Friday. Until then, I have to keep the act going.”

Hyunjin stares at the floor, jaw tight. “I just don’t like seeing you with him,” he admits, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “He’s… he’s dangerous. I’m afraid he’s going to do something to you.”

You step closer, your expression softening. “Hyunjin, I can handle Flint,” you say gently, your voice steady.

But your reassurance doesn’t ease the tightness in his chest. Hyunjin looks up to meet your gaze, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. Is it really Flint’s cruelty that bothers him, or is it something else entirely?

In the office, you step into Flint’s room, proposal folder in hand. He looks up from his desk as you enter, offering a faint smile as you approach. You present your proposal with a professional demeanor, walking him through every point with precision. Once you’re done, you pause, your hands resting lightly on the edge of his desk.

“Mr. Hargrave,” you say, your tone shifting slightly, “may I be unprofessional for just a moment?”

Flint raises an eyebrow but leans back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Go ahead,” he says with a small smile.

You smile back, your gaze steady. “You once promised me dinner,” you begin, tilting your head slightly. “I was wondering… when you plan on making good on that promise.”

Flint chuckles, his amusement deepening. “If you’d like,” he says smoothly, “we can have that dinner tonight.”

Feigning a thoughtful expression, you shake your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I have a better idea,” you say, leaning in just slightly. “How about I cook you dinner? At my place.”

Flint’s eyebrows lift, curiosity sparking in his expression. “Your place?” he repeats, clearly intrigued.

You nod, adding with a sly smile, “A dinner at my place is far more intimate. Besides…” You glance over your shoulder, as if expecting to see his ever-present assistant lurking nearby. “I hate seeing your assistant hovering around all the time.”

Flint lets out a low laugh, nodding his agreement. “Fair enough,” he says. “Dinner at your place it is.”

Satisfied, you excuse yourself, turning to leave. But before you can take more than a step, Flint stands and closes the distance between you.

“Since we’re still being ‘unprofessional,’” he says, his voice low, before his hands find your waist and he pulls you closer. His lips meet yours in a firm, calculated kiss, one that you have no choice but to return.

As you kiss him, your eyes flick to the mirror on the wall. Your reflection stares back at you, your lips curved in a small, knowing smile. Mischief glints in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the game you’re playing and the plan that’s slowly coming together.

Hyunjin knocks on your door, shifting uncomfortably as he waits. When you open it, his breath hitches slightly. You’re dressed in a stunning silk dress, its fabric clinging perfectly to your frame, and your hair is styled in a neat bun that leaves your neck and shoulders elegantly bare.

For a moment, he forgets why he’s here, caught off guard by how effortlessly beautiful you look.

“Come in,” you say with a faint smile, stepping aside to let him in.

He follows you inside, watching as you glide toward the kitchen, your heels clicking softly on the floor. The table is already set, and Hyunjin can see the attention to detail you’ve put into everything.

“Did you get it?” you ask, your tone calm but firm as you begin arranging utensils.

Hyunjin quickly retrieves a small bottle from his pocket—the sleeping pills you asked for—and hands it to you. You take it without hesitation and tuck it away in one of the kitchen drawers.

“Anything else you need?” Hyunjin offers, his voice tinged with concern.

You glance at him over your shoulder and shake your head. “I’ve got it under control. You should go now, before Flint gets here.”

Hyunjin hesitates, standing awkwardly by the counter. “Are you sure? I can stay a little longer—”

You cut him off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just be ready for my call when it’s time.”

He nods, but his feet remain rooted to the floor. He can’t shake the unease bubbling in his chest. Part of him worries about what Flint might try tonight, and another part—one he doesn’t want to acknowledge—resents the entire situation.

Finally, he sighs and heads for the door, turning back one last time. “Be careful,” he murmurs, his voice quieter than he intended.

You meet his gaze, your expression steady. “I will.”

Reluctantly, Hyunjin leaves, the knot in his stomach tightening with every step away from your apartment.

After dinner, Flint takes a leisurely stroll around your small apartment, his curious eyes wandering over the space. You remain in the kitchen, slicing fruit and arranging cheese to go with the wine. Thankfully, you had the foresight to stow away your witchcraft tools earlier, hiding them in the closet where they’re safely out of sight.

“It's a small apartment so there's not much to see,” you tell him with a small smile.

“I like it. It's cozy.” Flint responds from across the room.

As you glance over your shoulder, making sure Flint’s attention is elsewhere, you slip two sleeping pills into his glass of wine. Your heart races slightly as the pills dissolve into the deep red liquid, but you maintain your composure. With everything ready, you carry the tray to the living room and place it on the table.

Flint returns to the sofa, smiling as he settles beside you. “You’ve really gone all out,” he says, raising his glass in a toast.

You raise your glass as well, playfully saying. “Anything to impress you.”

You clink glasses with him, forcing a smile, and take a small sip of your own wine while keeping a careful eye on him. As he drinks, you ensure his glass never stays full for long, subtly encouraging him to refill it.

After a while, Flint pulls you closer, draping an arm around you as he begins kissing your neck. You suppress the instinct to recoil and instead lean into his embrace, pretending to enjoy the intimacy. You kiss him back, but your mind is elsewhere, silently urging the sleeping pills to take effect.

When his hands begin to wander, you gently push away, offering an apologetic smile. “I need to use the bathroom,” you say softly, slipping out of his grasp.

He nods, clearly disappointed so you place a quick peck on his lips as consolation. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you take a deep breath, counting the seconds as you hope the pills are working.

After a few minutes, you return to find Flint still sitting on the sofa, though his eyelids are heavy, and his movements sluggish. He looks up at you with a faint smile, oblivious to what’s happening.

“You look tired,” you say, sitting beside him and offering your arms. “Here, rest for a bit.”

Flint leans into you, his head resting against your chest as his breathing grows slow and steady. A moment later, he’s fully asleep.

Once you’re certain he’s out cold, you carefully ease him off you and grab your phone. Dialing Hyunjin’s number, you speak in a hushed tone. “It’s time.”

Hyunjin doesn’t bother knocking; you’re already there, opening the door as if you’ve been waiting for him. The moment he steps inside, his eyes land on Flint, sprawled out on the sofa and deeply asleep thanks to the potent sleeping pills Hyunjin sourced from his pharmacist friend. He notices you tidying up the remnants of your staged evening, clearing the glasses and dishes from the coffee table.

“What do you need me to do?” Hyunjin asks without preamble, his voice low.

You motion toward the furniture. “Help me move everything.”

Together, the two of you shift the furniture to the edges of the room. Once the space is cleared, you roll up the carpet, revealing a carefully drawn rune beneath it, etched onto the floor in a pattern that Hyunjin can only describe as intricate and otherworldly.

“Lift him,” you say, gesturing to Flint.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate, though he grits his teeth as he hauls Flint’s limp body off the couch and carries him to the center of the rune. Once Flint is positioned as instructed, you disappear into the bedroom to retrieve more items.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on the rune as he waits, a sense of unease creeping into his chest. When you return, you’re carrying an array of tools and objects he can’t even begin to identify. Candles, vials, a small chalice, and—most unsettling—a dagger.

“Set the candles around the circle and light them,” you instruct, kneeling on the floor as you arrange your witchcraft materials.

Hyunjin obeys, carefully placing the candles at specific points around the rune and lighting them one by one. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the room, the atmosphere growing heavier with each passing second. He finishes and steps back, watching as you lay your tools in front of you and take a deep, steadying breath.

“Anything else?” he asks, though the tension in his voice is clear.

You glance up at him briefly. “Step back. I need to start.”

Hyunjin retreats to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall as he watches you. He’s never been one to believe in witchcraft or rituals, but something about the way you move, the focus in your eyes, makes him hesitate.

You begin chanting, your voice low and rhythmic, as you add ingredients one by one to the chalice. Hyunjin watches as you pour liquids, crush herbs, and sprinkle powders, each action deliberate and precise. Then, you take the dagger, holding it with a calm determination that makes his stomach churn.

Without hesitation, you press the blade against your palm, cutting deep enough for blood to bead and then flow freely. You ball your hand into a fist, letting the blood drip steadily into the chalice. Hyunjin stiffens, torn between stepping in and letting you continue.

As the blood mingles with the other ingredients, you set the chalice on the floor and light a small flame beneath it. The mixture begins to burn, smoke curling upward as you chant louder, your voice rising with each repetition.

Hyunjin’s unease deepens as the room seems to shift around him. The air grows thick, pressing against his skin, and the flickering candlelight feels almost alive. He tries to convince himself it’s just his imagination, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is happening.

Hyunjin watches in tense silence as you place the chalice at the heart of the rune, the contents still smoldering. You close your eyes, steadying your breathing as you stretch your arms outward, the dagger still held tightly in one hand. Then, in a language that sounds ancient and otherworldly, you begin the incantation:

"To the peace of death, I call you forth. Let your life fuel my flame. Through natural fate, this path unfolds. From blood and soul, my magic returns to me."

Your voice resonates, starting low but growing with intensity. Each word seems to ripple through the room, vibrating in Hyunjin’s chest like an unearthly hum. The candles, though extinguished, seem to glow faintly, the runes on the floor pulsing with a strange energy.

You move to the chalice, gripping it tightly, and continue the spell, your voice now echoing as if the words are being spoken in tandem by someone—or something—else:

"From the shadows of this world, I draw the light. Flint Hargrave, I take your life. Nature shall not see this as betrayal. For your soul becomes my tool."

Hyunjin can’t look away as you pour the remaining contents of the chalice over the center of the rune, the liquid sizzling against the air as if it were molten. A deep rumble vibrates beneath his feet, subtle at first but growing stronger.

Then, gripping the dagger tightly, you press it against your palm once more, fresh blood dripping onto the circle as you chant the final, most powerful lines:

"My blood, your blood. I give life to reclaim my magic. Let my soul be eternal. And let your death appear as nature’s will."

The air explodes with energy as the rune flares to life, a bright, unnatural light illuminating the room. Flint’s body jerks as if an invisible force is gripping him. His chest rises once in a shallow breath before his entire body relaxes, utterly still.

Hyunjin shivers as the room goes deathly quiet again, save for the soft crackle of dying embers from the chalice. The energy in the air feels different now—charged and alive, yet cold and foreboding.

You rise slowly, wiping the blood from your hand onto a cloth as you look over your shoulder at Hyunjin. For a moment, he sees something in your eyes—a glint of power, or perhaps something darker.

“It’s done,” you announce.

Hyunjin stares at you, uncertain of what he just witnessed but knowing, without a doubt, that something far more significant than a simple ritual has taken place.

You and Hyunjin are moving the furniture back into place, the room slowly returning to normal. Hyunjin keeps glancing at your hand, his brows furrowed as his eyes linger on the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around it.

“Just a small cut,” you assure him, catching his concern. “I’ll handle it later.”

Hyunjin doesn’t look convinced but says nothing as you direct him to help move Flint to your bed. He pauses, clearly uncomfortable. “Why not just leave him on the sofa? He’s out cold. He won’t even notice.”

“It’s better if it looks like we slept together,” you reply, your tone even and practical. “It makes the story more believable.”

Hyunjin mutters something under his breath but follows your instructions, carefully lifting Flint’s limp form and carrying him to your bed. As he starts undoing Flint’s tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he glances up—and freezes.

Across the room, you're changing out of your dress, slipping into a silk nightgown that clings to your form. The dim light casts shadows that highlight every curve, and for a moment, Hyunjin finds himself staring at the bare expanse of your back. His throat tightens as unease washes over him.

He quickly looks away, focusing on pulling the blankets over Flint’s body.

“You okay over there?” you ask, your tone light but teasing as you tie the straps of your gown.

Hyunjin clears his throat, his voice coming out a bit strained. “Yeah, just... making sure everything looks convincing.”

Once Flint is settled, Hyunjin hesitates by the doorway, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

“Nothing left but to wait,” you say, brushing a hand over your hair as you settle into the chair by your vanity.

Hyunjin nods slowly, his jaw tightening. His eyes flicker to the cloth on your hand again, and his uneasiness spills into his words. “Just uh... take care of that cut, okay?”

“I will,” you reply softly, offering him a faint smile.

Reluctantly, Hyunjin turns to leave, his footsteps heavy as he makes his way out of your apartment. As the door closes behind him, a strange silence settles over the room, leaving you alone with Flint—and the heavy weight of what you’ve just done.

The sleeping pills must be far stronger than you anticipated because Flint sleeps through the entire morning. His phone vibrates on the nightstand for what feels like the hundredth time, the name "Assistant" flashing on the screen. You sigh, brushing your hair out of your face as you glance at the time.

Climbing onto the bed, you carefully settle yourself next to him, your movements deliberate and gentle. Leaning over, you softly shake his shoulder. "Flint," you say, your voice light and melodic. "Time to wake up."

He stirs, letting out a small groan before squinting up at you. His eyes struggle to focus, confusion flickering across his face.

You smile warmly, tilting your head. "Good morning, sleepyhead," you sweetly greet, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. "Your phone’s been ringing non-stop. I think your assistant’s starting to worry you’ve dropped off the face of the earth. If you don’t pick up, they’ll probably assume you’re dead."

That earns a groggy chuckle from him as he sits up, rubbing his face. He grabs his phone and answers it briefly, mumbling reassurances before hanging up.

When his gaze finally returns to you, his brows knit together slightly. “What... happened?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

You let out a light laugh, reaching out to straighten the rumpled sheets around him. “Oh, come on!” you tease, feigning a hint of hurt. “I can’t believe you don’t remember. We had such a good time last night.”

He blinks, his confusion shifting to realization as he looks down, noticing for the first time that he’s naked under the blanket. His eyes widen slightly, and a slow smirk creeps onto his lips.

You giggle, playfully running a hand through your hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you take your time piecing it together,” you say, slipping off the bed with a practiced grace.

“For now, how about breakfast?”

As you walk toward the kitchen, a quiet, satisfied smile graces your lips. Inside, you’re celebrating your triumph. Everything is moving perfectly according to plan.

Three days have passed, and Hyunjin finds himself pacing his apartment, his mind restless. The uncertainty gnaws at him, a constant hum of tension in the back of his thoughts. He’s not sure how long the spell takes to work—or if it’s even working at all.

His mind circles back to you, as it often does these days. He worries about you being stuck in this fabricated relationship with Flint if things don’t go as planned. Worse, he can’t shake the thought that you might have to keep playing along indefinitely, enduring Flint’s company far longer than you should.

Hyunjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s not just his own career hanging by a thread—it’s yours too. The weight of it all feels suffocating.

The sudden ringing of his phone snaps him out of his thoughts. Glancing at the screen, he sees the office number flashing and hesitates for a moment before answering.

“Yes?” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“We need you to come in tomorrow for further examination,” the voice on the other end informs him. “Please be on time.”

Hyunjin’s grip tightens around his phone. “I’ll be there,” he says, keeping his response curt before hanging up.

He stares at the phone in his hand, unsure of how to feel. Does this mean things are moving forward, or is it just another step in prolonging his uncertainty? He can’t tell if this is a good sign or a bad one. What he does know is that his future remains unclear—and yours feels equally bleak.

On the way to your apartment, as he waits for the traffic light to turn, Hyunjin catches sight of Flint’s car pulling up in front of your building. He sees you step out, Flint following to open the door for you. Flint leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips before returning to his car.

From where Hyunjin stands, he can’t see your expression. He can’t tell how much effort it’s taking you to keep up the charade. Hyunjin clenches his fists and forces himself to calm down as he crosses the street.

When you open the door for him, you’re as composed as ever. You step aside, letting him in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But as he looks at you, something feels off. There’s no spark of confidence in your eyes, none of the determination you’d had when you first presented this plan.

“Do you think it’s working?” he asks cautiously.

You hesitate. Your gaze flickers to the floor, then back to him, and he feels the weight of your silence before you even speak.

“There’s a chance it’s not working,” you admit quietly. “I’ve… lost my magic.”

Hyunjin blinks, the words taking a moment to sink in. “What do you mean you’ve lost it?”

You press your lips together, avoiding his gaze. “I did something. Something that cost me my power.”

Hyunjin’s brows knit together, his unease mounting. “And you’re only telling me this now?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it.

You look at him, guilt etched into your features. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I—” You pause, then force the words out. “I cast a spell on you, Hyunjin.”

The room feels colder all of a sudden, and Hyunjin steps back, staring at you. “What?”

“I used my magic on you,” you say, voice trembling. “And I gave up my powers in exchange for being able to revoke it.”

Hyunjin stands there, frozen, trying to process what you’ve just told him. His mind flashes through your time together, questioning every moment, every interaction. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. The betrayal, the shock, the confusion—it’s all too much.

Finally, he looks at you again, his expression unreadable. “You… cast a spell on me?” His voice is quiet, strained.

You nod, guilt heavy in your eyes. "I didn’t know it would lead to this."

Hyunjin turns away, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t speak either, his mind spinning as he tries to come to terms with what you’ve just confessed.

When Hyunjin shows up at your door, his expression says everything before he even speaks. He steps inside, and you prepare yourself. After the initial pleasantries, he asks the question you knew was coming.

“You… cast a spell on me?”

The moment hangs heavy between you, and you realize there’s no way out of this. You have to tell him everything. So you do. You confess to casting a love spell on him, to manipulating his feelings. You explain how you sacrificed your magic to undo the damage, thinking it was the only way to make things right.

As you speak, you watch the light in his eyes dim, the distance between you growing with each word. You can feel him slipping away from you all over again, and it makes your heart ache in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

When you finish, silence fills the space between you. Hyunjin doesn’t say a word, his expression unreadable. You don’t know if he’s upset, angry, or simply in shock.

You force yourself to look at him, your voice trembling as you speak. “I’ll understand if you want nothing to do with me. I promise I’ll stay away from you.”

He doesn’t respond, his silence louder than any words he could have said. Finally, he turns toward the door, and you realize this might be the end. The final goodbye.

“Wait,” you say, your voice cracking.

Hyunjin pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You rush to your bedroom, grabbing something from a small box tucked away in the corner. When you return, you hold out a talisman.

“I know you’re being called to the office tomorrow,” you say, your voice soft. “Please, take this.”

He takes it from you without a word, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment before he steps out of your apartment.

As the door clicks shut, you stare at the empty space where he stood, the sound of your whispered “Goodbye” barely audible even to yourself.

Hyunjin’s head feels like a chaotic storm, each thought crashing into the next, leaving him unable to focus. The talisman you gave him is tucked into his pocket, but he hasn’t thought much about it since leaving your apartment. Right now, none of it seems to matter. Not the examination, not his job, not even the mess he’s left behind with you.

As he sits in the cold, sterile interrogation room, he stares blankly at the table, his mind drifting. He’s been waiting here for nearly an hour now, and the oppressive silence only amplifies the noise in his head.

Maybe I should just resign, he thinks bitterly. Spare them the trouble. What’s the point of dragging this out?

He starts tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, muttering under his breath. “What’s taking so long? Are they trying to torture me or what?”

The door finally creaks open, and a staff member steps in. Hyunjin straightens up, expecting the examination to finally begin.

“Sorry for the delay,” the man says, his tone formal. “I'm afraid we need to reschedule the examination.”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Reschedule? What? Why?”

The man hesitates, looking uncomfortable. “News just broke out... CEO Flint has passed away.”

Hyunjin’s fingers abruptly stops tapping the table and he freezes on his seat. “What?”

“It’s all over the office,” the man continues. “Apparently, it was a sudden heart attack.”

Hyunjin’s mind blanks for a moment. Flint is dead. The words echo in his head, feeling surreal.

“A sudden heart attack,” he repeats slowly, almost as if testing how it sounds.

“Yes. I’m sure more information will come out soon, but for now, the office is in chaos.”

The man leaves the room, but Hyunjin barely notices. His hands rest on the table, fingers tightening into fists as the weight of the situation sinks in.

The spell worked.

His heart feels heavy, a mixture of relief, shock, and guilt flooding his system. Hyunjin isn’t sure what to feel. Flint is gone, and the dark cloud looming over his and your lives has lifted, but at what cost?

It’s been a week since the news about Flint’s sudden death, and Hyunjin’s been reinstated with a clean slate, or at least that’s how it seems. No conclusive evidence, no real suspicion, and here he is, back in his seat, his career still intact.

He should be relieved, he knows that. He should be celebrating that the spell worked, that Flint is gone, and he’s free from the twisted situation that had him tangled up in it all. But instead, there’s this hollow feeling gnawing at him, and it's impossible to ignore.

With a sigh, Hyunjin pulls the talisman from his pocket. The small object feels heavier in his hand now, its meaning no longer as simple as a mere piece of luck. This was supposed to be his victory—his triumph. The key to his freedom. And yet, all he feels is sadness.

His fingers trace over the edges of the charm, memories of the nights spent with you flooding back. The time he spent with you felt like an illusion now, a dream that’s shattered. He’s angry, of course, at the deceit. You cast a spell on him, used magic to manipulate him without his knowledge. He didn’t even have a chance to choose. Betrayed, he feels the sting of that truth, raw and cutting.

But underneath that anger is something else, something he can’t shake. A deep sense of loss. He can’t understand it. Why does he feel this way?

"I got what I wanted," he murmurs to himself, his voice tinged with bitterness. "So why does it feel like I’ve lost everything?"

The bustling noise of the office around him fades into the background as his thoughts consume him. He wants to hate you for what you did. He wants to walk away and leave everything behind. But he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, a part of him still cares for you. And that part of him can’t stop wondering if he made a mistake when he walked out of your apartment that night.

You take a deep breath as you gather the remnants of Flint's presence in your apartment—the items he touched, the things tainted by his energy. One by one, you place them in a bag, careful not to let your emotions creep back in. It’s not just about removing his physical traces; it’s about banishing the negativity that still lingers, suffocating your space.

With the bag clutched tightly, you step outside to a safe spot and set it ablaze. The flames crackle and hiss, consuming every last fragment. You whisper under your breath, a spell to release the darkness.

"By light of stars and flame of sun. Cleanse this space; let harm be none. All shadows fade, all ill be gone. This is my will; let peace be won. So mote it be."

The fire dies down, leaving behind nothing but ash. You exhale deeply, feeling a small weight lift from your chest.

Back in your apartment, the air still feels heavy, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You draw yourself a bath, infusing the water with a few drops of essential oils—lavender for peace, eucalyptus for clarity. As the warm water embraces you, you feel a subtle shift in your energy.

Once submerged, you whisper another spell, letting your voice carry into the water:

"From root to crown, from heart to soul. Let purity and light take hold. All dark removed, all wounds made whole. By power divine, restore control. So mote it be."

The words resonate through you, calming your mind. You close your eyes and let the spell do its work, envisioning the negativity dissolving into the water. You imagine it swirling away, leaving you lighter, clearer.

When the bath is done, you step out feeling renewed, wrapping yourself in a soft towel. The final step is to cleanse the air around you. You light a white candle and carry it through each room, whispering the same purification spell for the space. As the soft glow illuminates the corners, you feel the lingering shadows retreat.

Finally, you sit in the center of your living room, lighting a bundle of sage. The smoke curls into the air, spiraling upwards, carrying away the last traces of darkness. You speak firmly:

"This space is mine; it is sacred and free. No harm may enter; no ill may be. Only light and love dwell here with me. So mote it be."

The silence that follows feels comforting, like an embrace. You smile faintly, knowing you’ve taken the first step to reclaim your life and your peace. But before you can fully settle, there’s a knock at the door.

Hyunjin.

You debate ignoring it, letting the past stay behind that door, but the longing within you wins. Wrapping yourself in your robe, you pad to the door and open it.

There he is, standing on your doorstep, a faint, hesitant smile playing on his lips. It’s not the expression you expected—no anger, no bitterness, just something softer, something unsure.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his voice quiet but steady.

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. You don’t trust yourself to speak, afraid of what might spill out if you try.

The air feels heavy as you stand in the doorway, watching Hyunjin step inside. His presence stirs up emotions you’ve been trying to suppress for days. His smile is soft, but there’s a nervous energy about him, as though he’s unsure of what he’s doing here.

“I didn’t see you at work,” he starts, his voice light, as if trying to mask the tension. “Thought I’d check in. You know, make sure you weren’t... taking days off as a grieving girlfriend for Flint.”

His attempt at humor makes your chest tighten, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. You cross your arms, standing stiffly as he slowly moves around your space, his eyes scanning the room like he’s committing every detail to memory.

When he finally stops, his gaze locks onto yours. His expression shifts, the teasing gone, replaced by something deeper. “Why did you revoke the love spell?”

The question hits you like a wave. You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Part of you wants to avoid it, to bury the truth even deeper, but you know he deserves to hear it.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. “Because I love you,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Too much to keep you like that.”

The confession spills out, leaving you vulnerable in a way you haven’t been before. Tears threaten to blur your vision, but you fight to hold them back, not wanting to fall apart in front of him.

Hyunjin steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “You remember everything, don’t you? From when I was under the spell?”

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he presses, his voice tinged with both frustration and hurt.

“I tried,” you choke out, tears now freely falling. “I tried so many times but you... you hate me too much.”

Your voice cracks, and you look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. Every word feels like a dagger to your heart, reopening wounds you thought had begun to heal.

Suddenly, Hyunjin closes the distance between you. His hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. The tenderness in his touch makes you crumble, and you can’t stop the sobs from escaping.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispers, his voice soft now, almost pained.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle yet urgent, a mix of longing and regret. You melt into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he might vanish if you let go.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the ache in your chest subsides, replaced by the warmth of his embrace.

Tracing every curve of your body feels like a trip back to his favorite place. Hyunjin may not remember it but he knows, he's been here before and it brings out that sense of belonging. He uses his hands, his lips to retrace the steps and as he puts his body on top of you, his body fits yours like two pieces of puzzle.

“How can I forget such beautiful body?” He mutters with a gentle kiss on your navel.

He continues the kisses upward until his lips reunite with yours again and each kiss he plants is harder and longer than the previous one. One hand glides down your front and not stopping until his fingers meet your wet sex.

Intrigued by the delicate flesh, Hyunjin looks down as he pushes his slender fingers inside you, he watches as you take them and his eyes widen at how you clench around them. He gulps air before saying, “You know how to get me impatient.”

Slowly, he pulls his two fingers and not wasting time to shove them into his mouth, his luscious lips wrapped around his fingers as he sucks, hard.

“How can I forgot this sweet, sweet taste.” His voice is so low it's almost like a whisper.

His patience runs thin. He parts your legs wider and positions himself in between. While stroking his cock in his hand, Hyunjin’s intense eyes fixated on yours and the way he can see the want in your eyes... he's stroking his cock faster than before.

Hyunjin can’t waste another second just looking at your gushing cunt and let it tantalizing him the longer he looks at it. He holds the side of your thighs after placing his cock in your wetness, he begins rocking his hips back and forth, rubbing his length in between your slit and at the same time, smearing your essence all over it.

“Fucking goodness!” He breathlessly says with his deep, heavy voice, tinted with hurries.

Hyunjin glides his hands down to your hips and holds you still as he pushes his cock, his eyes fixated on watching his length disappearing into you little by little. He unconsciously holds his breathe watching you take it, the size, the girth, and the veins coiling around it.

The moment he's fully sheathed inside you, Hyunjin drops his head into the crook of your neck. With his mouth resting so close to your ear, you can hear his raw, low groans. After a moment of composing himself, Hyunjin hovers above you, a hand cupping your jaw.

“Tell me, mmh?” He hastily kisses your lips in between sentences. “Tell me how can I forgot this tightness, this... fucking good pussy?”

Hyunjin props his hands on each side of you as he begins moving his hips, slowly and deliberately, his eyes fluttering shut as if he can't comprehend the sensation of each his movement caused.

“Oh, fucking...” He can't even finish his sentence but pulls out of you immediately. He knows that if he's inside you for a second longer, he'll lost it.

He frowns at the detachment and makes up for it by kissing you, placing his lips on every inch of skin available to him that breathing becomes unnecessary to him. Hungry for more skin to kiss, he flips you over, one hand holding you down by the nape of the neck as his plush lips peppering your back with soft yet searing kisses.

“How are you so soft all over?” His voice filled with disbelief but he doesn’t necessarily needs an answer from you as he plants his mouth on the base of your spine.

He makes use of his other hand to fondle your ass cheeks and from there, it's making its way back to your cunt, fingers teasing around your entrance, making it wet as he's ready to penetrate again.

On his second attempt, Hyunjin has better self control, he takes a deep breathe once he's fully buried inside you and then slowly, he lays on top of you, his chest meeting your back, skin to skin.

Lying face down with your head on the pillow, he puts all of your hair to the side and then presses a gentle kiss on the column of your throat. With utmost carefulness, Hyunjin begins thrusting from behind you and the skin slapping sounds filling the room.

Putting his hand around your neck, he tilts your head to the back until your eyes meet his. “You feel so fucking good, do you know that?” A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he says it.

You only nod as you innocently gaze into his eyes and lowly moaning to his thrusts, arousing him more than he expected. You drop your head to the side, leaning against his forearm as he intently watches your facial expressions ever changing as the pleasure mounting inside you.

“You're close, mmh, beautiful?” He's picking up the pace but he asks you so sweetly.

Your wide-eyed gaze lingers on him as you lick your lips and nod.

Hyunjin can’t help himself but kisses your open mouth as he feels you tightening around his cock and plants a lingering peck on your lips. “I'm not going to stop until you come around my cock.”

He takes your hand and laces it together as he closes the gap between your bodies, his hips not slowing down even for a moment, determined to give you your release.

“Hyunjin...” you softly whine.

It's hard to ignore how you tighten around him, how you're sucking him deeper into yours as you hit your climax. He holds on to his last shred of self control to not lose it there. He wants to make this lasts for as long as possible.

As you're dealing with the waves of pleasure lapping over you, Hyunjin places kisses on your neck and shoulders, eventually your lips as satisfed moans spilling out of your parted lips. He holds you close and as he maneuvers himself to lay back on the mattress.

Giving you a moment of rest, Hyunjin uses the time to cuddle you, wrapped his muscular arms around you and stays like that as you're relishing your orgasm.

You turn your head to the back to face him, demanding a kiss from him and he gives it without a doubt, pressing a kiss on your lips.

The sheet is a crumpled mess as you bodies slithering together, limbs all over each other, touching, squeezing, pressing... it doesn’t take long to get you hot all over again.

Hyunjin reluctantly lets go one of his hands busy fondling your breasts and lowering it to your core, rubbing your clit that engorges the more he stimulates it. If only his mouth was resting close to it, he'd suck on it. He uses his fingers instead, pinching it in between, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Hyunjin,” you softly call his name. “Put it back in.”

In response, Hyunjin hastily kisses your lips. “With pleasure.”

In the midst of him thrusting you from behind, you lift your leg and put it over his thigh, providing him more depth and allowing him to continue circling your clit to give you extra stimulation.

His lips keep lathering yours and he likes how your moans spilling into his mouth, hot and sultry, and at times, he doesn’t stop himself from playfully sucks on your tongue.

“Keep clenching around me like that and I'm going to... oh, cum a lot inside you,” he finishes his sentence with a haste kiss on your lips. “Is what where you want it, mmh? Inside?”

You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close for a kiss. “Inside. Yes.”

“Thank fuck!” He playfully curses against your lips. “Cause I don't think I'd be able to pull out right in time.”

With that being said, Hyunjin moves at such ease, trying to delay his high as long as possible and savoring every second of it, his arms tightening around you as he thrusts into you slowly yet with such intensity that makes your body squirms in reaction.

His head is buried deep in your neck as he incessantly moving to chase his high and when he finally comes undone, he holds you tightly.

With his head still clouded with overwhelming pleasure, you bring his hand that is resting between your legs to your mouth and he watches as you take each one of his fingers into your mouth, sucking it with your eyes closed. Once you're done with all the five fingers, you bring his hand down to your breast to fondle it together with him.

You turn your head to the side to capture his lips in yours and Hyunjin likes every bit of this moment. The intimacy, the tenderness of it all, you.

He slightly pulls away from the kiss to say. “I don't want to forget this.”

Lying beside you in the quiet stillness of your bedroom, Hyunjin feels a rare sense of peace. He pulls you closer, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. His gaze softens as it meets yours, and he notices how the faint glow of moonlight highlights the lingering sadness in your expression.

Without thinking, his hand reaches for yours, his thumb brushing over the tender scar on your palm. It’s a reminder of the ritual you performed, the night everything began to shift.

His voice is soft as he asks, “Does it still hurt?”

You shake your head, your lips curving into the smallest of smiles. But Hyunjin’s heart aches all the same. Slowly, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred skin. The simple act feels more intimate than anything he’s done before, as though he’s sealing his own unspoken promise.

There’s something stirring in him—an ache, a yearning, a strange sense of déjà vu. It’s like his heart remembers moments his mind refuses to recall, fragments of the love spell that linger despite everything. As he holds you, Hyunjin begins to wonder if the spell merely amplified something that was already there.

His voice breaks the silence as he sees the tenderness in the way you gaze at him. “What are you thinking?”

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes searching his face, before answering quietly. “Do you still hate me?”

Hyunjin laughs softly, shaking his head and then presses a kiss on your lips.

“No,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “Not even close.”

Your mornings have become a ritual of their own. The day always begins earlier now, with Hyunjin beside you. The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, illuminating his peaceful expression as he lies next to you. It’s a moment you savor before the world demands the façade of professionalism you’ve both agreed to maintain.

Hyunjin stirs, pulling you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbles, his voice husky with sleep.

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “Only five,” you tease, knowing full well it’ll stretch longer.

Soon, what started as lazy cuddles turns into a heating moment of your bodies pressed so close together and a little later, he has you around him.

You're straddling him on the bed with both feet planted against the mattress as a leverage, allowing you to bounce on his cock. His hands resting on each side of your waist, angling your body and at the same time, guiding your movements.

Hyunjin’s mouth is full of your flesh, his tongue circling around your nipple before sucking it as hard as he could. His eyes are wide and dark with lust, looking up at you with his mouth gaping open.

“Keep going, baby.” He sweetly mutters with a haste kiss on your neck and jaw. “Fuck me good. Drain me.”

Instead of adding speed, you choose to keep the steady pace but you switch to roll your hips while intentionally clenching around him. You like watching him overwhelmed by pleasure, his mouth gaping open with raw groans spilling out of it.

When he finally cum around you, you hold his gaze and watch as pleasure filled his eyes. Hyunjin tightens his hold around you and draws you close as he releases his seed inside you. His lips begin to plant kisses on your skin, shoulder, chest, neck and then he traces down your jaw with his plush lips before capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“It's been more than five minutes, ” you playfully say and he looks so beautiful as you cradle his face in your hands that you can't help but kiss his red, full lips.

He shakes his head and wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Stay. Don't pull away yet.”

His hand glides up to the nape of your neck, allowing him to angle your head as he pleases as he leans in for a long, lingering kiss that takes your breath away. He smiles when he breaks the kiss and keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he jokingly says, “You didn’t put me under a spell again, right?”

You loop your arms around his neck and play with the tendrils of hair on the back of his head. “Even if I did, it's a spell to make you less clingy around me.”

Hyunjin lets out a low chuckle but it's enough to make his eyes form two crescent moons. “Are you sure it's not the other way around?”

“A hundred percent sure.” You place a long peck on his lips as he reciprocates with a longer one.

“We should do it.” Hyunjin says out of the blue.

You blink at him, confused. “Do what?”

“I saw it on your spellbook,” Hyunjin says, his gaze steady and unwavering. “The one that binds our souls together.”

Your reaction is immediate—your eyes widen in shock, and you shake your head. “No,” you say firmly. “You don’t have to do something like that. You don't have to prove anything.”

“It’s not about proving anything,” Hyunjin says, sitting up slightly so he can look at you more directly.

“It’s about not forgetting. I don’t want to lose this—or you—again. If there’s even a chance it could happen…” He trails off, his voice softening. “I want to remember. All of it.”

You sit up as well, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Hyunjin, this isn’t something to take lightly. Our souls would be connected forever. You don’t want to do this.”

But Hyunjin has already made up his mind. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I know what I want,” he says gently. “And it’s you. So if this is the way to keep you, then let’s do it.”

His resolve is unwavering, and though doubt flickers in your eyes, Hyunjin knows you’ll agree. You love him, and you’ve already sacrificed so much to be with him. Now, it’s his turn to choose you.

Reluctantly, you flip through your spellbook, finding the ritual you hadn’t dared to consider before. The process is simple, yet the weight of its meaning is anything but. You scan the instructions one last time and gather what you need: a spool of red thread and the candles from your altar.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of flickering candlelight dancing against the walls. You’ve drawn the rune onto the floor with meticulous care, the ancient symbol connecting you both to the magic you’re about to invoke. Sitting across from each other inside the rune, you watch Hyunjin’s face, searching for any sign of hesitation.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm.

“I’m sure,” he says, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“This is permanent,” you remind him one last time as you hold the spellbook in your hands. “Once our souls are bound, there’s no undoing it.”

Hyunjin meets your gaze, his expression calm but resolute. “I know,” he says.

You nod, swallowing the knot of nerves in your throat, and reach for his hands. They’re warm and steady as they clasp yours, his touch grounding you as you prepare for what’s to come.

With slow, deliberate movements, you begin to wrap the red thread around your joined hands, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you secure the bond. The thread feels heavier than it should, its weight symbolic of the promise you’re making to each other.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the words of the spell flow from your lips like a soft melody:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

The candles around you flicker, their flames growing taller as the magic begins to take hold. The air feels charged, alive with energy, and you open your eyes to see Hyunjin watching you intently.

“Repeat after me,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Hyunjin nods, his voice strong and clear as he echoes your words, completing the incantation:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

As the final words of the spell fall from his lips, you both feel it—the shift, the connection, the unexplainable pull that tells you the ritual has worked.

You look up at Hyunjin, your hands still bound by the red thread. His gaze is soft, almost reverent, and without thinking, the two of you lean toward each other. Your lips meet in a kiss that feels different from any you’ve shared before. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a vow, a seal, a promise etched into the very fabric of your beings.

When you finally pull back, the red thread glows faintly for a moment before fading into nothing, leaving only the warmth of Hyunjin’s touch and the knowledge that your souls are now—and forever—bound.

For better or for worse, you are his, and he is yours.

When the day finally begins, it’s with a shared rhythm. A warm shower where water cascades over tangled limbs, soft laughter echoing off the tiles. Breakfast at the table, the mundane act of eating transformed into something tender in the quiet intimacy you share.

Hyunjin always leaves first, heading home to change before work. You watch him go, knowing you’ll see him soon. True to habit, the two of you arrive at the office at almost the same time.

In the elevator, it’s a delicate dance. The veneer of professionalism must remain intact, yet the shared glances and sly smiles betray the connection between you. There’s a thrill in the secrecy, a spark that makes each stolen moment feel more precious.

As the elevator chimes at Hyunjin’s floor, he steps out, turning to flash you a smile just before the doors close. It’s small, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to you, it’s everything.

When the elevator resumes its ascent, you find yourself smiling too. But it’s not just the thought of Hyunjin that occupies your mind. As you glance at your hands, you feel it—the power surging beneath your skin, stronger than ever.

The binding ritual didn’t just intertwine your soul with Hyunjin’s. It did something more. It restored what you thought you had lost, your magic power returning with a force you hadn’t expected. The price? Flint’s soul.

You tell yourself it wasn’t intentional, that his death appearing so natural was merely an unforeseen consequence. Yet deep down, you know the truth.

The sacrifice wasn’t accidental. It was necessary.

Now, you’re more powerful than ever. Hyunjin doesn’t know, and perhaps he doesn’t need to. What matters is that your soul is bound to his, and with your magic restored, you can ensure it stays that way.

You clench your hands into fists, feeling the hum of energy within. For the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid. Not of Flint, not of losing Hyunjin, not of anything.

This is your world now. And you’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.

“With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

Support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #Hyunjin smut #Hyunjin x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut

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lex-the-flex · 11 months ago

Text

Soured Whiskey

Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: Your one night stand with a handsome stranger at the bar leads to a different endeavor.

Word Count: 2k

Warning(s): HEAVY ANGST, brief cursing, small moments of action and violence, brief drinking, Logan being protective, MEGA FLUFF, SMUT 18+ – Unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), oral (f! receiving), fingering, skin + body appreciation, Logan being a gentleman and the reader being lovely. (Basically distant soulmates).

A/N: I'm officially seeing Deadpool and Wolverine tomorrow and I'm so excited! But in the meantime, I thought I'd add to the pile of Wolverine smut.

Strings of ornately hung light bulbs decorate the bar, bringing a cozy old-school vibe to the modernized saloon. Closing the door behind you, the cold city atmosphere was instantly transformed into a quaint and warm invitation. You’re friends couldn’t stop raving about this new bar and that you all just had to go here and try the endless menu of cocktails and tapas.

So through your busy work week, your friends informed you to meet at the bar on Friday once the sun started to go down. But much to your dismay, your friends bailed on you, even after repaying that they’d be there for you and help you unwind, to de-stress.

You got stood up. By your own good friends who you thought had your back.

Sighing to yourself, it was too late to give up now. You were already here, so you might as well order a drink.

Sitting at the bar, you sat up straight on the stool, not paying attention to who was sitting next to you. It didn’t matter. Patiently waiting for the bartender, the sight of someone sitting next to you crosses your peripheral vision. The man’s muscular arms lean against the counter, reaching for a couple of fresh cashews.

“Hey there, what can I get you?” The bartender asks.

“Just a whiskey sour, please.” You reply.

“Got it, and same for you, sir?” He questions, pushing a singular whiskey glass to the person to your right.

“Yeah, thanks.” The stranger replies.

The stranger’s gruff voice takes you by surprise, but you pay him no mind.

Rolling the coaster in between his fingers, the bartender places your bright whiskey sour in front of you. The refreshing yellow foamy drink is adorned with a lemon swirl and a dried cherry for garnish. Just the sight of it makes a well-deserved smile rise through your lips. Taking a sip of the cold drink, the bartender turns to the back wall with the more expensive bottles of liquor, and passes it to the stranger on your right.

Getting a glimpse his way, the man finally comes into view. His masculine features take over your attention; the man’s full dark head of hair, beard, and strong jaw seem to put you in a hypnotic state. Glancing towards you, his light hazel eyes gaze into your e/c orbs, providing a somewhat welcoming gaze, however his stern and annoyed expression makes you turn away.

Returning to your drink, the stranger lowers his arm next to yours, letting you see a freshly lit cigar in his hand. Blowing the smoke away from you, he silently watches you take another swig of your drink before checking the empty text message bubble once again.

“Rough day?” He asks.

Sighing into your hands, you jokingly squint your eyes at the stranger, and set your phone down.

“You have no idea. I‘be been craving this damn drink all day.” You reply.

Running your index finger around the rim of the almost empty glass. Smirking, the stranger raises his glass towards yours.

“Name’s Logan.” He says.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Logan.” You answer, clinking your glass with his.

Finishing your drinks and dinner in a comfortable silence, Logan silently watches you, observing some of your mannerisms that stand out to him. The way you sit perfectly straight, how you wipe your mouth after every bite, and even the outfit you picked for yourself. Your light grey cardigan sits perfectly on your shoulders along with the casual white button-up shirt that was underneath it. The pair of black dress pants and ankle boots make you look professional yet comfortable and he liked that.

However, this minuscule moment of peace didn’t last long. The scent of strong liquor and the hint of douchebag lingers in the air behind you and Logan. Taking another puff of his cigar, Logan glances your way, warning you to not pay these drunken idiots any attention.

Polishing off the remainder of your drink, Logan waves for the bartender, and prepares to take your tab.

“I got it, Logan. Don’t worry about me.” You advise.

Placing his hand over yours, Logan stops you from using your debit card, motioning to the three men behind you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about, darlin’.” He warns.

“You shouldn’t worry about her, man. We can take care of her. We’ll take her off your hands.” One of the drunk men sneers.

“No thanks, boys. I’m happy where I stand.” You state, looking at Logan, rubbing your fingers over his knuckles.

Joining you and Logan, the bartender slams his hands on the counter.

“I told the three of you that you’re not allowed in here! Get out before there’s trouble.” He orders.

“Or what, man? What will you do? We’ve been coming here since… this place opened.” The idiot spurs, stuttering to give a clear answer.

Blowing off his friends, the young man stumbles to your left side, slipping on the way to nonchalantly lean on the bar, still desperate to impress you. Ignoring him, Logan watches the other two men leave the bar altogether, clearly done with their friend’s shit.

“Lemme take you out and show you a good time, beautiful. Surely I can do better than the guy on your right. I know I can fuck you better than him.” He explains.

Not noticing that he’s crossed your personal space line, you instinctively back up into Logan, who’s nearly at his breaking point.

“Look, bub. She said no. So, take the hint and get the hell out of here. She’s with me.” Logan rebuttals, just as a wave of rage overtakes his voice.

The sudden sense of feeling claustrophobic creeps out on every single inch of your skin. Glancing down at your hands, you discover that you’re now white-knuckling the edge of the wooden countertop, and Logan begins to ball his fist around his whiskey glass.

Leaning closer to you, the young man tries once again, and fully crosses the line.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me treat you better.” He whispers next to your face.

Suddenly, you see red. The stranger’s hand touches your mid thigh and you merely fly back on the barstool.

“Get the fuck off me!” You shout, pushing the man away.

Within seconds, Logan pushes himself from his own seat, and grabs the young man by his hoodie. Punching the man in the face, he falls to the floor with a streak of blood leaking out of his nose. Wiping his nose, the bartender manages to pull Logan away, before returning to tend to the young man. Tugging Logan closer, he subconsciously wraps his arms around your frame, making sure that you’re out of harm's way.

“You alright?” He asks in a low whisper.

Silently nodding, the two of you refuse to move, and your hand is still lingering on his chest.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You answer.

*****

Within seconds of shutting your front door behind you, Logan was on you. Deepening the kiss between you both, you could tell that he wanted more. Pushing you against the door, a growl escapes from Logan as he picks you up and walks into the kitchen. Placing you on the marble countertop, his hands work quickly to rid you of the cardigan on your shoulders.

Gliding his lips down to your neck, you wrap your legs around Logan’s waist. Feeling a small moan escape from your lips, you swore that he might fuck you on the cold countertop. But he wasn’t that rebellious. Tearing his own jacket off, Logan carefully carries you through the apartment and down the hallway to your bedroom.

Sitting you down on the edge of your bed, he momentarily breaks the space between you and lifts your shirt from your body. Tossing it across the room, Logan bends down and takes your face in his hands.

“You sure you want this, darlin’? I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.” Logan advises, gently stroking your cheek.

“I’m sure. I want this with you. And only you.” You consent with a nod.

Silently nodding, Logan slowly leans in and pulls you in passionately. His kiss is slow and steady, allowing him to relax at this moment. Feeling his heart swell, Logan couldn’t remember the last time someone wanted him in the way that you do.

Discarding the remainder of both of your clothes, you lay down on the comforter, melting into the soft fabric and Logan follows suit. Gripping his broad shoulders, your fingers press into his hot skin as his lips lock onto yours. Trailing his hand down your bare body, Logan’s fingers reach beneath the waistband of your lacy underwear and press against your clit.

Meeting your throbbing folds with his fingertips, you break the kiss and moan into his mouth. Staring into his hazel eyes, his orbs light up, fueling the sensation of your lust. Rubbing circles into your clit, Logan descends your body with a series of longing kisses to each part he passes.

Discarding the fabric from your core, Logan kisses the sensitive skin of each of your thighs, feeling you shake before him. His scruff makes you chuckle as he can hear your heartbeat ringing in his ears. Licking your folds, your breath hitches in the back of your throat as you watch Logan become more and more mesmerized by you.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N…” He whispers in the dark.

Connecting his lips with your clit, a moan escapes from your lips. Pushing his tongue past your entrance, Logan holds your hips in place to keep you from squirming. Gripping the thin comforter, you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to handle the heat rising in your face.

Watching you from afar, Logan continues to eat you out in a steady fashion, letting you enjoy the moment. Running your fingers through his thick hair, you can feel a butterfly sensation rising up to your core. Sensing your body working with his, Logan gently squeezes your hips, lifting you just a touch. Tasting your orgasm reaching its end, your toes curl against the bedding and you cum against Logan’s tongue.

Gasping for air, Logan crawls before you, and his entire physique comes to life. His strong muscles and veins don’t frighten you like so many others, but here everything about him brings you comfort. Wrapping your legs around his waist, Logan balances himself over you, still making sure this is what you want.

“I want you, Logan. All of you, I trust you.” You declare, wrapping your arms around him.

Your vow brings the thought of tears to his tortured eyes, knowing that he has truly deserved this moment.

Lovingly holding his face, Logan briefly touches the tip of your nose with his.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He responds.

“You won’t.” You advise him.

Leaning his forehead against yours, Logan rubs the tip of his cock in time with your folds, sending excitement through his veins. Sliding himself past your entrance, the two of you look at each other, sharing a loving moan. Thrusting his hips together, Logan longs to be deep inside you. He wanted to forget about the world and get lost in you.

Burying his face in your neck, Logan leaves no space between the two of you. Moving in time with his loving thrusts, the sensation of Logan’s manhood against your walls felt like a new stress reliever that you didn’t know you needed. Surrendering to this new wave of euphoria, your fingers run along the strong muscles along Logan’s back, touching the flexing fibers beneath his hot skin. Sinking deeper into you, Logan finds your sensitive spot, causing you to aggressively scratch his back.

Clutching the back of his head, the new scars heal within seconds, whilst Logan slightly groans from the light ripple of pain. A burning sensation of heat starts to rise in your core, you could no longer handle the tension, and Logan continues to ride out the remainder of your orgasm in pure awe of you. Gasping for air, Logan surrounds his arms around your body, and rolls the two of you on your sides.

Pressing his forehead on yours, Logan’s warmth cascades over you, giving you a blanket of warmth in the cool room. Shifting in his arms, he gently runs his fingers through your hair, just as you trace his dimples.

“Well, thank you for a very interesting night, Logan.” You whisper.

Smiling, the two of you share a loving laugh together, and Logan pulls the comforter over you, succumbing to the warmth beneath the blanket.

wolverine taglist ~

@dreamliners

@miss1sarcasmo

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@foursthemagicknumber

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bakubrattt · 3 months ago

Text

Cake After Sex

-Zayne x reader

After a grueling week of overtime at Akso Hospital, Zayne comes home to find you waiting up for him on Friday night. Exhaustion melts into longing as your usual teasing turns into something deeper, more desperate. In the quiet intimacy of his bedroom, he makes up for every second you’ve spent apart.

word count: 13k

genre/warnings: 18+ explicit content--no minors!--fluff, smut, domestic, multiple orgasms, doggystyle, Zayne has post-sex munchies

🩵My Zayne Masterlist🩵AO3 link🩵

The evening had long since faded into a quiet, snowy night. You lounged comfortably on Zayne’s couch, wrapped snugly in your favorite plush blanket, the gentle buzz of wine warming your limbs. The large flatscreen flickered brightly with your paused video game casting colorful reflections onto the polished wooden floors of his cozy living room. You glanced toward the clock, anticipation building softly in your chest as it ticked closer to the hour Zayne usually arrived home from his longest shifts at Akso Hospital. You had already showered, changed into underwear and one of his giant shirts, and made yourself dinner. Now you were simply indulging yourself while you patiently waited for him to step through the door. It was a miracle you managed to stay up so late. But tomorrow was Saturday, and you’d been missing Zayne terribly. You figured you could wait up for him tonight.

The sound of keys jingling outside snapped your attention to the entryway, sending a delightful flutter through your heart. Moments later, the door eased open, and Zayne stepped in, a sigh of relief escaping him as he crossed the threshold. His black hair, usually neat, was slightly tousled, tiny snowflakes melting into his dark strands, glistening softly in the warm, golden lamplight. The fatigue from his day lingered briefly on his handsome features, shoulders visibly relaxing beneath his thick winter coat now that he was finally home.

“Zayne!” You exclaimed with a wide, affectionate grin. In your excitement, you nearly toppled your glass of wine, catching it just in time before eagerly tossing your blanket aside to rise from the couch, “you’re home!”

“Careful,” Zayne chided gently, his voice warm with quiet amusement as he loosened the wooly scarf around his neck.

He slid off his heavy coat, neatly hanging it on the hook beside the door. With practiced ease, he placed his polished shoes onto the rack, leaving his briefcase on the small entrance table—right beside the snow-globe he’d won for you at the holiday carnival, and the framed photograph from your first Christmas together—a cherished memory only a month old.

His mild reprimand hardly registered. You swiftly crossed the distance between you, practically throwing yourself into the comforting strength of his embrace, arms winding securely around his waist. You buried your face against the solid warmth of his chest, inhaling deeply, savoring the familiar scent of his cologne mixed faintly with antiseptic from his day at the hospital.

“I missed you,” you murmured softly, your voice muffled against the fabric of his dark button up.

Zayne’s chest rose and fell beneath your alcohol-warmed cheek as he sighed, deeply and tenderly, wrapping you more tightly in his arms. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, gently threading his fingers through your hair as he crooned down to your level and pressed a lingering, affectionate kiss onto the crown of your head.

“I missed you too, darling,” he whispered, his voice deep and filled with genuine warmth, the quiet reverence of his words making your heart flutter softly against him, “so much…”

He held you close, his arms tightening subtly as though he feared you’d slip away if he loosened his grip even a fraction. You felt his lips brush your hair again, gentle and affectionate, his breath warm and reassuring against your scalp as he inhaled your calming scent at long last. The tenderness of his touch made your heart ache a little. God, you missed him.

You knew the week had been especially grueling for Zayne. Each day seemed to bring a new wave of wanderer victims into Akso Hospital, a relentless, heartbreaking parade of trauma that demanded every ounce of his attention. Every night since Monday, he’d come home drained, silent exhaustion lining his handsome face, leaving only enough strength to kiss you gently on your temple before collapsing into bed beside you. It was no wonder he’d been holding you like this now, as if you were precious and breakable, as if you were his only relief after an endless storm.

Your thoughts wandered back through the lonely moments of the past week. Zayne had insisted you stay at his place so that he could see you as much as possible, even if it was just to glimpse your sleeping half-naked form as he came and went in darkness. Every morning you’d stir slightly at the soft pressure of his lips, his quiet whisper of apology at having to leave you again so soon. You’d whine softly, clinging to the hazy warmth of his touch, feeling his fingertips linger just a moment longer on your cheek, as if reluctant to leave the peaceful comfort of the bed he shared with you more often than not.

Yet, amidst the loneliness, you’d managed to keep each other close. Every morning, he’d leave little handwritten notes for you, scribbled in true physician form—loving reminders that made you smile even through the sleepiness, little traces of his heart scrawled carefully on sticky notes, tucked into your lunch bag he’d pack for you. In return, you’d made sure he always had something fresh and comforting waiting in the fridge when he’d get home: homemade dinners thoughtfully packaged, accompanied by a pastry or candy to satisfy his ever-present sweet tooth. Even in absence, you two had kept your love nurtured and tender.

But tonight marked the end of that exhausting pattern. Tomorrow was Saturday, and finally—finally—you had the promise of an uninterrupted weekend together, something you’d been desperately craving since Monday morning. The anticipation had left you restless, unable to sleep properly for the excitement of being truly with him again, not just ships passing in the night. You had imagined this moment all day at work, envisioned the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, the softness of his lips against your hair—all these small, treasured details that now enveloped you in reality.

You couldn’t let Zayne go by the door, and it seemed he shared the sentiment. A quiet chuckle rumbled gently from his chest as his fingers slid affectionately through your hair, guiding your head to tilt upward so your chin rested against his firm chest. He towered above you with a presence solid and reassuring in a way only he could ever truly manage. It was like snuggling a giant, warm snowman.

He looked down at you with weary happiness etched faintly into his features, relief easing the tension from his brows. The smallest, gentlest smile crossed his lips as his fingers delicately hooked beneath your chin, coaxing you a step back so he could examine you. His gaze carefully roamed your face, taking you in, checking, assessing as he always did after being apart—like he needed to be sure you were truly here, safe, unharmed. His eyes trailed down your figure next. You wore one of his pajama shirts—large and loose on your frame, falling low enough to hide your underwear, yet leaving your bare thighs exposed. Your hair was just barely damp from the shower you’d taken a couple of hours earlier, strands drying softly around your bare face, fresh and comfortable.

“I see someone helped herself to a drink or two while staying up past her bed time waiting for me,” he teased affectionately. His thumb brushed softly over your lower lip, sending a subtle shiver trailing through your skin. His eyes danced playfully across your warm cheeks before he glanced past you toward the couch, spotting the game controller you’d left abandoned amidst your blanket and wine glass, “and you’re…Playing something?” A quiet chuckle slipped from him, shaking his head gently, fondly amused, “have you eaten dinner?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, sighing slightly with a regretful smile, your voice quiet but warm as you confessed, “I was pretty hungry when I got home…”

Zayne’s laughter was soft, soothing, his fingers brushing affectionately behind your ear, touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. You felt your body melt slightly under his gentle affection, your arms dropping slowly back to your sides.

“You act as if I’m going to be upset with you for eating before I get home,” he murmured gently, warmth radiating from his words, from his fingertips as they traced softly along your cheek, “I want you to eat as soon as you can. You need to replenish yourself sooner rather than later—and at an appropriate time. Doctor’s orders.”

His caring reprimand was so perfectly Zayne, tenderly authoritative, just as protective and meticulous as ever.

“I know,” you reached up, fingers gently tugging at the ends of his scarf, slowly unwinding it from his neck. Your palm lingered against his chest, enjoying the steady rise and fall beneath your touch, “I just like eating with you…”

“I do too,” he agreed softly. He lifted the scarf away from his neck, letting out a quiet sigh followed by the audible crack of stiff joints. His voice grew lighter, comfortingly hopeful as he continued, “but that’s why we have tomorrow and Sunday together. We can eat together for every meal over the next two days…And don’t forget, we have a reservation for lunch tomorrow.”

“ I didn’t,” you grinned brightly, playfully tapping your palm against his chest, “are you gonna tell me where?”

“A surprise isn’t a surprise if I spoil it beforehand,” he replied, lowering his head slightly to fix you with that mock-serious look he often reserved for your mischief, “but nice try, I give you credit for your persistence.”

He reached out and ruffled your hair affectionately, stirring up the comforting scent of your shampoo. Then, with a faint chuckle, he eased past you, his tall silhouette retreating down the hallway into the comforting shadows of his home.

You lingered a moment. Your eyes traced the familiar slope of his broad shoulders and the tired sway of his stride, knowing exactly where he was headed. Bathroom first—always the bathroom—to brush his teeth, to cleanse the exhaustion of a long day at Akso Hospital from his bones beneath the steaming rush of hot water. You knew his routines by heart, each habit and each subtle gesture embedded deeply into your memory. Sometimes, it startled you to remember that you didn’t truly live here with Zayne; but his home felt seamlessly yours, filled with shared quiet moments and whispered laughter.

“Is it that restaurant Jenna was raving about last week?” You asked impulsively, quickly trotting after him down the hallway, unwilling to give up quite yet.

“My lips are sealed,” he murmured, voice echoing slightly as he flicked on the bathroom light. Bright illumination washed over the pristine white tiles and porcelain fixtures, casting a glow on his features that softened the sharp edges of fatigue, “looks like you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to-“

In a heartbeat, you reached out, gripping Zayne firmly by the silky fabric of his tie and the crisp collar of his black button-up. With a swift, playful tug, you spun him toward you and rose onto your toes, pulling his startled expression down to your waiting lips.

The first touch of his mouth was a stark, intoxicating contrast—his skin cool from winter’s bite, mingled with the soft scent of jasmine that always clung gently to him. A chill ghosted across your face from his frozen cheeks, but the warmth of his mouth instantly melted away any discomfort. His initial surprise faded fast, dissolving into the familiar heat of affection as his lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss without hesitation. Your breaths tangled softly, tongues brushing in tender exploration, the quiet smacking of lips amplified by the echo of the bathroom walls.

Zayne’s hands rose to cradle your face, his large palms enveloping your flushed cheeks with a gentleness that made your heart skip. His fingertips, cool to the touch, traced soothingly across your heated skin, leaving trails of electric tingles in their wake. God, this man—every touch from him unraveled you effortlessly, no match needed to ignite the flame already simmering beneath your skin.

As the moment stretched sweetly between you, you gently eased away, palms pressing softly against his chest. There was a fleeting second of resistance, Zayne’s body lingering instinctively toward yours. And then you saw it—a brief, unmistakable flicker of vulnerability and longing passing through the green-hazel depths of his eyes. Warmth bloomed deep in your stomach, a tender heat spreading downward, making your breath hitch ever so slightly.

“What was that about sealed lips, Zayne?” You teased softly, head tilted in playful affection. You reached up, gripping his jaw gently, giving it a little shake as your eyes settled on his inviting mouth.

He gave you a look of mock offense, his brows knitting together as he carefully took hold of your wrist, gently prying your hand away, “my defenses were down,” he murmured dryly, though amusement flickered clearly in his emerald gaze, “I wasn’t exactly expecting my girlfriend to attack my mouth while I’m in such a vulnerable position,” he punctuated his words by pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your palm, warm breath skimming lightly across your skin.

“Well,” you pinched his cheeks lightly, “don’t be so easy to prey on.”

Without warning, Zayne grasped your hips firmly, lifting you off the ground as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. A pleasantly startled yelp escaped your lips, heart jumping into your throat as he swiftly set you down on the cold marble countertop behind you. A sharp squeal broke from your mouth as the icy surface met the sensitive warmth of your bare thighs, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance. Before you could gather your bearings, Zayne leaned in close into your personal space so swiftly that your head spun. Your breath caught sharply, pulse quickening when you found yourself pinned before him. His hand flattened against the wall behind you, effectively caging you in, while his other gently pressed against your knee, encouraging your legs apart just enough for him to slip comfortably between them.

Oh God. Ohhh, God.

Your stomach tightened into knots, adrenaline flooding your veins in a dizzying rush. Your senses became hyper-aware of every detail: the warmth radiating from his body so near yours, the subtle scent of jasmine mingling with the crisp freshness of winter air still clinging to him, the quiet, tantalizing proximity of his lips hovering mere inches away. Your eyes fluttered upward, meeting the dark sweep of his lashes, suddenly feeling unbearably exposed beneath the intensity of his gaze. A shaky exhale trembled past your lips as you stared while utterly defenseless. Your knees felt weak, incapable of supporting you even if you’d wanted to move. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for your chin, tilting your head gently away from him. His breath caressed the sensitive shell of your ear, voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

“Follow your own advice, dear,” he purred, the words a silky promise that sent heat cascading through your body, igniting every nerve ending and rendering you completely and deliciously helpless.

Good lord, you nearly fainted as he stepped back, the barest hint of a satisfied smirk ghosting across his lips. Your heart hammered violently in your chest, legs feeling more like jelly than limbs meant to hold you steady. You watched him carefully, breath shallow and quick, as he casually moved towards the laundry hamper tucked neatly in the corner of the bathroom. Just what did Zayne do to you? Was it him? Was it the wine? Whatever it was, you craved for more.

He loosened his tie with a practiced motion, tilting his chin up slightly as his long fingers deftly began unbuttoning his shirt. Each undone button revealed a little more of his toned chest, skin warm and smooth beneath the harsh bathroom lights. You squeezed your knees together subconsciously in an attempt to quiet the relentless tingling between your thighs. Your fingertips tugged nervously at your shirt collar, peeling it away from your neck as you released an airy, slightly embarrassed laugh.

“Phew!” You dramatically fanned your flushed face, eyes never leaving his figure as he shrugged the shirt effortlessly off his broad shoulders. Your gaze followed the gentle ripple of his back as the fabric slipped away, falling carelessly into the hamper, “not when you touch me like that… Kinda makes me wish I was one of those little lab bunnies right now.”

Zayne paused, confusion and amusement mingling on his features as he let out a low chuckle, “you’d want to be my lab rabbit?”

“Maybe,” you replied playfully, shrugging your shoulders and swinging your feet lightly over the cabinets beneath the counter. You twirled a strand of hair around your fingertip, your gaze drifting lower, following the tantalizing line of elastic as his briefs slid slowly down over the defined V of his pelvis. God. Zayne in black briefs was always a vision that stole your breath away, “and then maybe you’d sink your jowls into me or something. Like…A big, cuddly arctic wolf or something.”

Zayne laughed softly, shaking his head as he removed the last of his clothes, revealing himself completely, “that’s not what happens to lab rabbits,” he murmured, stepping gracefully toward the sink, turning the faucet handle as the water hissed gently into life. His reflection in the mirror was relaxed, calm, though you could catch the subtle gleam in his green eyes, “you, however…I could find better use for you.”

“Tell me,” you urged quietly, turning at the waist, fully facing him as anticipation sparked brightly within your chest.

“You’d be…” Zayne paused thoughtfully, genuinely mulling over your whimsical request. His expression softened, shifting from playful amusement to something far more gentle and sincere as he reached to turn on the sink.

You watched quietly as he began to wash his hands, falling into the meticulous routine ingrained into him by years of medical practice. Soap bubbles frothed over his skin as he scrubbed up to his elbows, just like the surgeon he was. Your gaze lingered on the graceful precision of his long fingers and the quiet strength in his movements as he carefully lathered his scarred forearms. Even now, in the mundane comfort of home, his discipline never faltered.

“…You’d be my personal assistant rabbit,” Zayne finally said, voice warm and gentle, as though the idea truly resonated with him. His eyes were fixed on the thorough scrub of his hands, a faint, almost tender smile gracing his lips, “I’d keep you tucked safely in my pocket during non-surgical hours, and set up a little personal seat for you outside the OR window so you could watch me work without getting lonely. I’d even bring you along with me to the café across the street for lunch.”

“You’re adorable,” you said with a genuinely bright smile, enjoying the unexpectedly sweet image he’d painted.

“Mm…” Zayne hummed softly in response as he dried his hands meticulously. He opened the medicine cabinet with a gentle nudge from his elbow, reaching for his contact lens case. He paused then, glancing at you with mock seriousness, his emerald gaze bright and playful “oh, and your most important job,” he added slowly, leaning forward slightly as if to emphasize the critical nature of this task, “would be to eat all of my carrots if there ever happen to be any in my food.”

Your laughter burst out suddenly, bright and loud, too big for the quiet intimacy of the bathroom. You bent forward, nearly doubling over, hand flying quickly to your mouth in a failed attempt to muffle the sound. Your shoulders shook with amusement as you looked back at him with incredulous delight, “Zayne! Are you serious right now?!”

“I’m entirely serious,” Zayne confirmed, nodding gravely as he leaned closer to the mirror. With careful precision, he widened his right eye, gently pinching the edge of his contact lens, “in fact, it would be your primary role as my assistant lab rabbit. Your entire life’s purpose would be eating all the carrots I don’t want.”

You chuckled softly, amused and slightly wistful at the gentle absurdity of his words. What an easy life it would have been—how strange and distant that felt, like an alternate universe drifting just beyond reach. Could it ever be that simple? The thought lingered, a gentle, fleeting pang of longing behind your laughter. Quietly, you watched as Zayne carefully removed his contacts one by one, placing them neatly into the little container before reaching for his toothbrush. Your gaze landed on your own toothbrush sitting comfortably next to his—both side by side, sharing the mundane intimacy of his space. You found a strange comfort in that simple detail.

He leaned over the sink, the soft, rhythmic sound of bristles against his teeth filling the silence. Something peaceful stirred within you then, a gentle contrast to the chaotic reality that you both shared. Zayne, the youngest and most talented cardiac surgeon in Linkon—constantly pressured, always exhausted—and you, balancing your life as a hunter amidst constant danger. But here, in his bathroom, stood an oasis of quiet routine. Domestic. Safe. A fragile haven you could both briefly escape into.

Gently, you eased yourself down from the counter, bare feet meeting cold, tiled flooring that made your skin prickle. Your thoughts felt hazy, a little softened from the alcohol as you moved toward the shower, turning on the water for him. Steam slowly drifted upward, swirling softly into the air.

“It’s not terribly far off,” Zayne spoke quietly, pausing in his brushing to gargle and rinse, spitting neatly into the sink. His gaze flickered toward you, reflection meeting yours in the mirror, “you are already my life companion…As a woman, not a rabbit.”

You smiled softly at his words, fingers trailing through the lukewarm spray of the shower as your thoughts drifted. Zayne’s voice was sincere—earnest and reassuring. But was that really how he saw his life? Could it truly feel so simple, despite all the heavy burdens he silently carried each day?

“You saying I make your life easier?” You asked softly, picking up on the subtle warmth behind his words.

Zayne put his toothbrush away next to your own. He stepped away from the sink, closing the small distance between you, hands gently claiming your hips from behind. Warmth spread from his touch, seeping gently through the thin fabric of your shirt. His breath brushed softly through your hair, comforting, familiar.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a tender murmur into the crown of your head, “happier, too.”

A gentle smile spread over your lips, your heart feeling impossibly light. You nestled comfortably into his embrace, your hand covering his arm as he tightened his hold around your waist. The warmth of his body enveloped you. Zayne’s other hand gently took your chin, guiding it around carefully to meet him halfway. Your eyes fluttered closed instinctively as he tilted your face upward, brushing your lips with a soft, lingering kiss.

“Same,” you breathed quietly into him, holding onto the kiss just a little longer, savoring every second.

He kissed you once more. It was gentle yet insistent as he squeezed you lovingly, pressing his body fully into yours. You became aware of a subtle firmness pressing at your lower back just before Zayne slowly pulled away, his touch slipping reluctantly from your skin as he stepped into the shower. Your curiosity piqued at that, so you stole a subtle glance in his direction, watching as water cascaded over his lean, pale frame, each rivulet accentuating every line and contour. The realization hit you quietly, a tender thrill blossoming low in your belly—he’d gotten a little hard just from holding you.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Zayne’s voice sliced gently through your thoughts, startling you back to the present. A flush rose warmly into your cheeks. Straightening abruptly, you noticed he wasn’t even facing you, his back turned as water cascaded over broad, muscular shoulders, “or are you going to come join me?”

“…I showered when I got home,” you murmured, folding your arms loosely across your chest. Leaning comfortably against the cool tile wall, your gaze shamelessly traveled the length of his tall, lean form.

Truthfully, his invitation was tempting. More than tempting—especially now. You were tipsy, flushed from the wine, and his naked, glistening figure made your pulse flutter hot beneath your skin. He looked impossibly good under the shower’s warm spray, and your mouth watered slightly as your eyes lingered on the smooth lines of his body. He must have sensed your lingering hesitation because he cracked open an eye, glancing at you over one shoulder.

His dark lashes dripped with water, a playful challenge in the emerald gleam as he sighed simply, “fine, suit yourself.”

With a quiet huff, you padded over to the toilet, dropping the lid down and curling your feet up beneath you. Wrapping your arms around your knees, you settled into your perch comfortably.

“I made you grilled lemon pepper chicken and rice for dinner,” you said softly, resting your chin atop your knees, “and some veggies…No carrots.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled, amused warmth coloring his voice, “but I might not eat this late, it may worsen my insomnia. Although, I haven’t had anything since breakfast—I had to work straight through lunch today.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, sympathy tightening in your chest. His casual admission of such neglect made your heart ache a little. You knew how often he pushed himself past normal limits, sacrificing his own comfort for his patients.

“What happened?” You asked quietly, concern softly threading your voice.

“A patient came in with a Type A aortic dissection,” Zayne’s voice carried over the steady thrum of water. Through the steamy, fogged glass, you watched him lather firm, careful circles across his chest and shoulders, “essentially, the inner layer of his aorta tore, and blood was forcing its way into all the wrong places. By the time we got him into surgery, he was already deteriorating. The tear extended dangerously close to the coronary arteries. We had to replace a section of the aorta before it ruptured completely.”

You listened quietly, gaze tracing the path of water cascading down the sleek contours of his back. Muscles shifted gracefully beneath his skin, tension still evident in the taut lines of his shoulders. The scars around his arms—the reminders of his Evol’s fury—shimmered faintly beneath the steam. Zayne’s voice was steady, professional even now, but beneath the practiced calmness lingered a quiet exhaustion as he recounted his day.

“You saved him, though?” You asked hopefully.

“I did,” he answered simply. But there was a pause—a weighted, thoughtful silence before he continued, “if he’d arrived ten minutes later…” His voice trailed off heavily, shoulders dipping with a weary sigh. Raking a hand slowly down his face, he finally turned, looking at you through the veil of steam, “what about you?” He asked, voice shifting subtly, growing warmer and softer now, “how was your workday? Any trouble with wanderers?”

You stretched your legs forward, toes brushing softly over the cool tile beneath, “a couple close calls, nothing out of the ordinary. One got too close to the West Sector before we could take it down. I ended up chasing it half a block before I got a clear shot.”

“You weren’t hurt?” His voice sharpened, concern instantly overshadowing his fatigue.

“Nope. Just a little annoyed,” you made a face, half playful, half frustrated, “my coat got ripped again.”

Zayne made a quiet sound between amusement and exasperation. He tilted his head back beneath the water, letting it stream down his throat and chest, “I swear, you go through coats faster than I go through sutures.”

You grinned, mischief lighting your eyes, “maybe if you stitched them up for me with those expert hands of yours, Doctor Zayne…”

He let out a soft huff of laughter, gently shaking his head, “I’m not sure my surgical expertise would help much in that department. But I can try.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, softened only by the steady hush of the shower. It was peaceful. Domestic. Moments like these reminded you how deeply grounding his presence could be—how effortlessly he calmed the storm inside you. You weren’t sure how long the two of you lingered there, exchanging quiet words, savoring the intimacy of catching up. It felt timeless, safe. You cherished every second of the tranquility Zayne brought to your soul, the way his simple existence anchored you, easing every hidden worry you held beneath the surface.

Eventually, he broke the stillness, his voice gentle as he turned off the water, “are you going to keep playing your video game?” He asked softly, reaching for the white towel draped neatly over the shower door. He pulled it toward him, rubbing it briskly through his jet black hair, “it’s late, I shouldn’t eat dinner this time of night…”

You watched as he stepped out, your gaze tracing the careful, precise way he dried himself—first ruffling the towel through his hair, then patting down his arms and chest in slow, methodical movements. The sight was soothing, familiar. Yet beneath it, you noticed the quiet signs of hunger lining his tired face. He never complained openly, but you knew him better than that.

“But you’re hungry,” you pointed out gently, rising from your seat as you moved closer. Your eyes softened, meeting his weary, emerald gaze, “I can see it all over your face, hun…”

Zayne sighed softly, the sound barely audible as he finished patting dry his upper body. Quietly, he wrapped the towel around his hips, securing it in place before finally meeting your eyes with gentle surrender.

“I’ll just eat the pastry you texted me about earlier,” he conceded with a subtle warmth, his tone almost sheepish, “is it still in the fridge?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at him, “oh, it’s too late for chicken and vegetables, but not too late for Mister Chief Cardiac Surgeon to clog his arteries with some dessert at midnight…”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, a subtle smirk curving his lips as he pushed open the shower door, steam billowing out around him. His voice was gently playful, a teasing, matter-of-fact lilt carrying through the warm haze, “and this is exactly why I get regular exercise and make sure to have a balanced diet,” he said evenly, stepping closer. He paused, his expression calm yet undeniably mischievous, “so that I can indulge in my sweets without any guilt attached…”

Before you could respond, Zayne leaned down toward you, his presence enveloping your senses instantly. You felt his warm, minty breath brush your ear, sending a gentle thrill down your spine.

“Don’t be jealous,” he murmured softly, his palm tenderly cupping your face, thumb tracing gently over your cheek, “I didn’t just come home to find you awake without planning on indulging in you too…”

Warmth flooded your face, your cheeks flushing deeply at his whispered promise. Your heart quickened, beating erratically beneath your ribs as he brushed his lips softly against yours in a kiss that lingered just enough to tease.

A playful grin broke across your face, eyes sparkling with growing excitement, “so you want a second dessert before bed? Is that what you’re saying?”

Zayne pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, amusement dancing openly within his emerald eyes, his brows raised in mock surprise, “just second, before bed? Implying, what, that I’m only having you once?”

His hands settled on your hips, gentle yet commanding, pulling you flush against the heat of his damp skin. Steam rolled off his body, curling around both of you, wrapping you in a cloud of warmth that mirrored the fire already smoldering deep in your core. His fingertips traced slowly, leisurely beneath the hem of your shirt—his shirt—brushing tenderly against your skin as he found the delicate lace straps of your underwear. A quiet gasp escaped your lips when his touch lingered there, teasing, patient, awakening every nerve ending along the curve of your waist. Zayne always had a way of unraveling you with nothing but gentle dominance. Even before things intensified, even before his slow touches became deep strokes, before gentle kisses turned into fervent, hungry embraces—he had you aching. He had you trembling, ready to surrender, craving him desperately, to beg for him before he even truly began.

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t been starving since last weekend,” he murmured softly, his voice a low whisper vibrating warmly against your ear. His fingertips skimmed higher beneath your shirt, exploring the softness of your skin, pressing you even tighter against his still-damp body. The heat that radiated off him mingled deliciously with the warmth already flooding your veins, “and since when is just one serving of you enough for me…When it comes to eating?”

His words set fire to something deep in your core, a molten pulse pooling urgently between your thighs. Your breath stuttered, hitching on a sharp inhale, fingers curling instinctively around his broad shoulders. Zayne knew exactly how to tease you—he knew exactly how to stoke your flames until you were trembling, needing, begging for him to finish what he started. You felt a rush of heat rise to your cheeks, mingling embarrassment with exhilarating excitement.

“I’m not gonna let you actually have your dinner right now if you keep talking like that, Zayne,” you warned playfully, voice breathless, a half-hearted attempt at control, “don’t make me be cruel…”

He only smiled at your feigned threat, his eyes deepening with amusement and unmistakable desire as he gently lifted your chin to meet his gaze, “you can be cruel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently across your cheek, voice thick with affectionate teasing. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, “my dinner can wait…But I think we’ve already waited long enough for each other, haven’t we? Five days is…Too long without you.”

He kissed you like he had all the time in the world. Slow, firm, hungry, but still in control—because he always was, even when desire pressed against the edges of his restraint, even when you could feel the heat simmering just beneath the surface. His lips molded against yours with a deliberate rhythm, deepening with every stolen breath, every slow press of his mouth against yours. And yet, you could feel it—the way his hands gripped you tighter, like he wanted more, like holding back was something he was forcing himself to do.

His fingertips dug into your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there as if anchoring himself. It wasn’t just need—it was possession, not in words, but in the way he chased your lips with fervent, open-mouthed kisses. The kind that made your head spin; made you unbearably needy for more. The kind that echoed off the walls, those quiet, wet sounds of urgency and heat, making warmth coil in the pit of your stomach.

You barely noticed the way he was walking you back—step by step, slow, unyielding. But then the edge of the counter pressed into your lower back, cool against your skin, and before you could think, Zayne was lifting you. Effortless. Certain. Like he had never considered not touching you this way. The air left you in a soft sigh as he settled you onto the surface, his mouth already finding your jaw, trailing heat down your neck with maddening patience. You let your head tilt back in his large hand, eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the way his lips mapped you, explored you. Zayne didn’t rush. He never rushed. He liked to feed his addiction of you slowly, like every inch of your skin was a fresh rush to his brain.

“Why are you still in my shirt?” His voice was low, warm, hushed against the sensitive skin of your throat between indulgent kisses.

And then his hands were on you again, slipping beneath the fabric, fingers skimming the width of your hips, tracing the feminine curve of your waist, exploring the familiar terrain of your body like he was committing it to memory all over again. The soft pads of his thumbs brushed over your ribs and inched the oversized shirt higher—taking his time, like he enjoyed this more than anything. Like he enjoyed you more than anything.

A slow exhale slipped from your lips as you arched away from him, giving him space, letting him pull the shirt off over your head and toss it aside, forgotten before it even hit the floor. The moment you were bare in his warm embrace, Zayne sighed into the delicate dip of your collarbone, pressing into it as if tasting the skin there. Then he dragged his mouth along your neck, breathing you in, nuzzling so softly it made your stomach tighten. God. Zayne made gentle look devastating.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as he moved lower, lips ghosting over bare skin, painting heat down your body, one kiss at a time. His hand curled around the back of your shoulder blade, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as his sigh grazed the curve of your breast, warm and deliberate. You gasped softly when his lips grazed tenderly over your sensitive flesh. His breath, hot and slow, teased your skin until his tongue circled your nipple, drawing it gently into the wet heat of his mouth. Your fingers tightened reflexively in his damp hair, holding him closer, encouraging the way he carefully consumed you. Soft, hungry sounds echoed faintly through the bathroom, mixing seamlessly with your own quiet moans as impatient heat bombarded your senses.

“Why are you still in a towel?” The words barely came out, breathless and uneven as your free hand found his hip, fingertips trailing down damp skin, fumbling, tugging.

The towel barely made a sound as it slipped from Zayne’s hips and hit the floor, but the way his body sighed in relief was unmistakable. You felt it—the way his muscles loosened, the way his breath deepened, the way the heat of him radiated into the space between you. And then you touched him. Your fingers wrapped around the length of him, stiff and throbbing beneath the silk of his damp skin, and the sound that left his lips—a breath, a low hum, a barely restrained groan—was enough to send warmth curling in your stomach. He twitched with need as you dragged your thumb over the bead of arousal at the tip, spreading it, teasing, memorizing the way his hips pressed forward, as if chasing the friction you gave him. His fingertips dug into your thigh then like he was on the edge of cracking from that sweet touch.

You reached for him, fingers slipping into the damp strands of his hair, tugging, coaxing, needing him to look at you. And when he did—God. The sight alone sent another wave of heat rolling through your body. His cheeks were flushed, pink blooming across the sharp angles of his face, dusting the tops of his ears. His lips were swollen, wet, parted just slightly as he caught his breath, and his eyes—those beautiful, hazel-green eyes—looked at you like you were something to be worshipped. You knew that look anywhere. Zayne was drunk on you already.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice soft, deep, warm in a way that made your chest tighten.

Then, you were moving, lifted effortlessly from the counter, wrapped around him, pulled into him like he never wanted to let you go.

“It’s time for bed,” Zayne’s voice was low, steady—final.

Every step toward the bedroom only heightened the anticipation, the warmth between you thickening, pressing into the space where your bodies met. His breath was measured, but you felt the restraint in it, the tension in the way his fingers curled slightly where they gripped you. And then—gravity shifted. The plush blankets welcomed you as Zayne lowered you onto the bed, the movement slow, deliberate, reverent. His weight followed, his presence enveloping you, his hands already seeking you out, slipping beneath your back, pulling you up the mattress with him, aligning you perfectly beneath him.

And then—his mouth was on you. The kiss was deep, consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs before you could even think to take another. His lips moved against yours with something hungry, something claiming, each kiss slow and thorough, as if he was memorizing the shape of you, as if he was making sure you felt this—felt him.

“God, Zayne—“ The words were barely a breath, swallowed between kisses, but he heard them, felt them in the way your fingers tangled into his hair, in the way your nails scraped lightly against his scalp, in the way your body arched into him, chasing the warmth, chasing him.

His lips trailed lower, down the curve of your jaw, down your throat, his breath coming hotter, heavier. The sound of it filled the air—every wet, lingering kiss, every slow, controlled inhale, every soft, needy sigh that slipped from his lips. It was intoxicating, the sheer intimacy of it, the way he took his time, the way he felt you, the way his mouth mapped the lines of your body like he had nowhere else to be, like he had all the time in the world to worship you properly.

“You’re making me crazy,” you whispered, breathless, wrecked, your fingers clutching at his back as he worked his way lower, “I need you—“

“—I know,” his voice was deep, low, thick with something indulgent, something dangerous. He sounded like he was unraveling, like he was barely keeping himself together, and God, that only made it worse.

His hands slid lower, gripping beneath your waist, lifting you slightly, shifting your body closer to his, pressing you into him as his mouth traced a slow, torturous path down your stomach.

“I need you too,” he murmured against your skin, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to the sharp curve of your hip bone.

“Then have me,” you whispered.

You tilted your hips up just slightly, giving him permission, inviting him to ruin you. A soft, ragged breath left him, his fingers tightening against your skin, as if those three words alone had completely wrecked him.

“You have no idea how much I want to,” he murmured, voice hoarse, his forehead briefly pressing into your stomach, his lips brushing against your skin, like he needed a moment to breathe, to compose himself, before he lost himself entirely.

But then—he moved. His fingers curled beneath the waistband of your underwear, peeling it down, slowly, his touch careful, deliberate, his breath hitching just slightly as more of you was revealed to him. And God, the way he looked at you when you lifted your head. His eyes were dark, blown wide, his pupils swallowing the green of his irises, his lips parted as if he was about to say something, but no words came. He just…Stared. You ached terribly for him, then.

“Zayne—“

He pressed a slow, lingering kiss against the inside of your knee as he lifted your legs and tossed your underwear. His hands grasped your hips firmly, possessively, drawing you closer, until there was no distance left to close.

“Let me take my time with you,” he whispered, voice low, heavy with longing, eyes locked onto yours. His words were both a request and a command—gentle yet undeniable, “please…”

Before you could even answer, he slowly lowered himself, enveloping you in warmth, lips grazing gently over the inside of your thigh. Your breath shivered out in a quiet, sharp sigh as you felt the slow brush of his mouth, careful yet intense, tracing warm kisses upward. Every touch sent pleasure fluttering through your nerves, your back arching softly, fingers tangling into the sheets beneath you. You were aching; head spinning as he inched maddeningly close to your core. You could feel the warmth of his breath graze over your slick, until finally, before you could beg, Zayne lowered himself completely.

The first stroke of his tongue was slow, deep, deliberate—dragging flat over your slick, swollen folds with a thoroughness that sent your entire body seizing beneath him. The moment he reached your clit, pleasure slammed through you, hot and consuming, a lightning bolt of sensation that had your spine arching off the mattress, your fingers clawing into the sheets.

“Oh my God-…!”

A deep, pleased hum vibrated against you, resonating through your core, making your thighs twitch into a deeper stretch apart. He felt your reaction, absorbed it fully, every tremor, every subtle jerk of your body beneath him, and God, he loved it. His fingers dug deeper into your hips, steadying you, anchoring you there, forcing you to take everything he was giving you.

“Y/n…” His breath came slow, reverent, his lips brushing against your soaked skin between words, his voice thick, wrecked, utterly ruined by you, “how are you this wet?”

A helpless whimper spilled from your lips as your hands fisted in the sheets. You could feel how wet you were, the sticky warmth of your arousal trailing with his saliva as his lips suctioned over your clit in a gentle, teasing pull before releasing it with a feather-light pop. Zayne sighed in delight, like he was savoring the finest dessert, like this was something precious to him, something he never wanted to take for granted.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured against you, his voice soft, almost apologetic. But his tongue betrayed the tenderness of his words, flicking out for another slow, devastating stroke that had your entire body tensing in response, “you’ll let me take care of you, now, won’t you, doll?”

“Yes,” you gasped, wrecked, completely undone beneath him, “God, yes-…!”

His grip tightened. His mouth pressed deeper, his tongue working in slow, thorough patterns, savoring you, worshiping you, coaxing every inch of pleasure from your body with precision that made your head spin. He kissed you with passion, with something deeper, something unshakable. His mouth was smothering, indulging, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he was starving for you, as if he was feeding off the pleasure he was giving you.

And God, you felt it. Felt the heat rolling through your insides like a slow, consuming fire, felt it tighten in your stomach as he sucked you into his mouth again, his tongue pressing you against the inside of his lips, massaging you between both, flicking his tongue in a way that had your neck stretching back, your head digging into the blankets as your vision blurred into nothing but the dark ceiling above you.

“Zayne…!” His name fell from your lips, breathless, broken, as your fingers latched into his damp hair, your hips rolling instinctively against his grasp, against the slow devastation of his tongue, “that feels-…That feels incredible!”

His deep, pleased hum vibrated against you, another wave of pleasure crashing over you as he absorbed your words, as he basked in them, as if they only spurred him further.

“You love this,” he whispered against you, his voice so tender, so loving, as if this was something sacred, something far beyond just pleasure, “don’t you?”

“Yes!” The word came out as a cry, a breathless moan as your body shook beneath him, “yes, baby, I love it-…! Unf, I love it!”

Zayne let out a hot, shaky sigh, his hands tightening, his body trembling over yours, as if he was barely holding himself together, as if the way you broke beneath him was wrecking him just as much. His tongue moved faster, his lips sealing around your clit, his suction deep and deliberate, every calculated flick of his tongue dragging another sharp, helpless gasp from your throat.

“I love it even more,” he murmured, voice thick, his breath hot against you as he pulled back just slightly, just enough to watch you. His eyes were devouring, heavy-lidded, mesmerized, flicking over your body as his fingers smoothed up your trembling stomach, pressing into your skin with quiet, possessive reverence, “love making you feel this way…Love watching you like this.”

A violent shudder ripped through you at the sound of his voice like that—deep, intimate, thick with something wrecked. Your heels dug into the plush blankets, your pleasure peaking, rising too high, too deep, your walls fluttering beneath his mouth, pleading for release.

Then—his hands moved. Those large hands, those hands that had held you so carefully, that had touched you with such intent, such adoration, suddenly molded over your breasts, claiming them in his palms, his fingers spreading wide, testing the weight of them. Your jaw dropped, a silent hitch of breath escaping as you felt the squeeze, the way his fingers pressed firmly before pinching, rolling your nipples between his thumbs. You damn near lost your mind. The sensation shot through you, heat igniting through every nerve, your core already throbbing beneath his mouth, but now—the stimulation was everywhere. His tongue working your clit, his lips sealing around you, the firm heat of his hands rolling your nipples between his fingers, sending tingling pulses of pleasure shooting from your chest down through your stomach, through your entire body, tightening the coil that was already unbearably tense.

“I-I’m gonna cum-!” The words tore from you in a breathless, panicked heave, your hips jerking upward, pressing into his face, pleading for him to take you over that edge. Your hands flew to his wrists, gripping them desperately, as if holding on to him would somehow keep you grounded, “Zayne, I’m gonna cum! I-I’m! I’m gonna-!”

And then—he gave it to you. His rhythm snapped into something merciless, something that sent pure fire licking through your veins, his tongue flicking faster, more precise, destroying you in seconds. His face pressed into the heat of your core, smothering himself completely, as if he wanted to drown in you, as if he wanted to feel you come apart in every sense—against his lips, against his tongue, against the heat of his mouth as he took your pleasure and demanded more.

The coil snapped. A sharp, helpless scream ripped from your throat as you convulsed, as your body arched, as white-hot pleasure erupted inside you, spreading everywhere, consuming everything, setting your nerves alight. Zayne felt it. Felt the way you tightened around him, the way your legs tensed, the way your body shuddered violently as the orgasm slammed through you in waves, pulsing, dragging, never-ending. You were writhing beneath him, your body thrashing under the force of pleasure so intense it was borderline unbearable. It was beautiful. It was glorious. And heavens, it was too much.

Zayne’s mouth was still on you, still working, his lips mouthing over your clit between breathless, wet smooches, kissing you like he never wanted to stop, like he could live between your legs, feeding off your pleasure. But you couldn’t take it anymore. Your body was too sensitive, the overstimulation too much, making your legs jerk, making your breath stutter into a half-sob, half-moan as your hands reached for him, your fingers gripping into his damp hair.

“Stop-stop-stop,” you voice was desperate, breathless, pleading, your body twitching beneath him as you finally pushed that ravenous man away, forcing him to get a hold of himself before he pushed you past a point of no return.

And God, the look on his face when he finally pulled back—Flushed, panting, his lips shining, his pupils blown, his expression utterly wrecked— He looked like a man who had just worshiped at the altar of your pleasure. And would do it again in a heartbeat.

Your body was still trembling, shudders rolling through you in slow, uneven waves, your breath a soft, wrecked stammer as the aftershocks of your orgasm lingered in your limbs. You could still feel the heat pulsing between your thighs, still feel the remnants of pleasure humming in your veins, but Zayne—he didn’t rush you. He knew. He always knew. Instead of diving back in, instead of overwhelming you with too much, too soon, he let you breathe. His hands smoothed up and down your hips in slow, rhythmic strokes, grounding you, bringing you back, loving you through the haze of sensitivity. His fingers traced along your heated skin, worshiping the aftermath of what he had just done to you, soothing the overstimulated nerves with gentle, reverent care. His lips followed. Pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the insides of your thighs, lingering there, savoring the warmth of your skin beneath his lips. His breath came slow, measured, fanning over your sensitive core without touching, without taking more from you just yet.

“You did so well for me,” he murmured, voice low, velvety, filled with something deep and sated, something utterly mesmerized by how beautifully you had come apart for him. His words were slow, intentional, pressing into you like his touch, like his kisses, like the weight of his body between your legs, “so perfect, sweetheart. So perfect.”

You sighed, your fingers twitching weakly, your body still humming, still glowing from everything he had given you. His hands slid higher, tracing the curves of your waist, his thumbs stroking slow, affectionate lines into your skin, his lips pressing higher, pressing closer.

“I can still feel you shaking,” he whispered, his lips dragging along the crease where your thigh met your hip, his breath hot, his voice full of something devotional, something endless, “let me do it again…”

God help you, you wanted him to. Your fingers found their way to his hair again, tangling, holding onto him, pulling him closer.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice still shaky, still soft with the weight of your pleasure, with the deep, aching need that hadn’t faded.

Zayne let out a slow, indulgent sigh, his hands tightening against your hips, his lips pressing one last kiss against your inner thigh before finally—finally—his mouth found you again.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come undone, how many times his mouth worked you to the brink, only to tip you over again, and again, and again. Each orgasm melted into the next, overlapping, rolling through you in an unbroken chain of pleasure so relentless, so thorough, that it left you shaking, your body wrecked, sensitized to the point of delirium. Every time you thought it was over, every time your breath staggered out in a weak, pleading whimper, his fingers would press inside you, curling deep, stroking that devastatingly sensitive spot with the expertise of a doctor who knew anatomy—but more than that, the devotion of a boyfriend who knew you.

And God, he knew you. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to build you up without letting you break, how to keep the pleasure simmering in your stomach, swelling just beneath the surface without letting it burst completely. He never let you go too far, never let you spill over into that final, uncontrollable release—never let you squirt when you came, never let you fully let go, limiting you to his mouth. And that was when you realized—he was saving that built up pressure in your tummy for sex. Your body ached with that fullness, your insides swollen with need, the pressure inside you taut, almost painful in its intensity. He had spent what felt like hours building it, stoking the tension, drawing out each orgasm only to keep liquid release just out of reach, winding you tighter and tighter until the desperation was borderline unbearable.

And that was when you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands searched blindly through the haze, reaching, grasping, finding his arm, tugging him with what little strength you had left. It was needy, urgent, a silent plea. Zayne stilled, just for a moment, his lips parting from your soaked, aching core, his breath ragged against the heat of your skin. His pupils were blown, his lips glistening with evidence of his indulgence, his expression ruined—but lord, the way you were looking at him. The way your eyes pleaded for him. He knew. He knew what that meant.

And heavens, his body was aching for it, burning for it, the need to let go borderline painful now. He was heavy with it, so painfully hard it was exhausting, but he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop himself from feeding this indulgence, from losing himself in the pleasure of giving you everything. But now—Now you were begging him. And he was about to ruin you completely.

Zayne barely had time to breathe before you pulled him up, your hands clutching at his arms, his shoulders, anything you could reach as you dragged him toward you. Your body still trembled from the aftershocks of everything he’d given you, your muscles weak, spent, but your need for him burned through the exhaustion, fueled you, made your limbs work through the heavy, languid pleasure still rolling through you. The moment he was close enough, your arms wrapped around him, locking him in, pressing his weight against you, your lips colliding with his in something deep, needy, completely breathless.

He tasted like you. It sent another sharp pulse of heat through you, igniting something hotter, something hungrier, something that made your fingers tremble as they slid up to his face, to his jaw, gripping, clutching, trying to hold onto him as you kissed him deeper, as you let yourself drown in the feeling of his lips against yours. Zayne groaned into the kiss, his hands in your hair, his body still shaking from the sheer restraint he had forced himself to maintain. He was aching for you now, painfully hard, every muscle tensed with the need to finally, finally bury himself inside you—but then, God help him—You bit him. Not harsh, not rough, but sudden, just the sharp drag of your teeth along the plush of his lower lip before you released him, just enough to sting, to tease, to make him chase after you. A deep, throaty groan vibrated through his chest, his breath stuttering as his lips chased yours, as his hands tightened on you, as if instinct alone demanded that he take more, that he claim more. But before he could, before he could even think about positioning himself between your legs, you moved.

Zayne barely had time to process it before you were shifting, flipping over, your body still shaky, still wrecked from the relentless pleasure he had given you—but God, the way you moved, the way you offered yourself to him, the way you looked—His breath caught. You were on your hands and knees, spent but glowing, your thighs still trembling slightly, your back arching, your movements slow but purposeful. your skin was dewy, glowing under the slivers of moonlight cracking through his blinds, kissed by the sweat of pleasure still radiating from your body. Every curve of you gleamed soft in the pale blanket of night, a stunning contrast to the cooler light spilling into the bedroom from the bathroom across the hall, catching on the damp strands of his dark hair, on the faint sheen of perspiration along his collarbone, his chest—When you turned your head, when your eyes met his, half-lidded and smoldering as you looked back at him.

“From behind…”

It was barely a whisper, a breath of sound curling into the air between you, but hell, it destroyed him. Zayne swore he forgot how to breathe. His brain needed a second to catch up, to process what you were offering, what you were asking for. The sheer want radiating from you, the way your body curved, the way your legs squeezed together, plush thighs framing the beautiful, perfect shape of your ass as you arched deeper, waiting, ready—He didn’t need to be told twice. A sharp exhale ripped through him as he moved immediately, his knees hitting the mattress behind you, his hands spanning over your hips, adjusting, positioning, taking in the sight of you as if it was something holy. But before he could even think about taking you, he stopped. He let himself look. Let himself feel. His hands smoothed over your soft, heated skin, his palms dragging over the swell of your ass, squeezing, pressing slow, appreciative touches into you.

“Look at you...” The words were murmured soft, almost to himself, almost like a prayer, his fingers spanning over the shape of you, as if he needed to memorize the way you felt beneath his touch, as if he needed to commit this moment to memory.

Then—he dipped forward, his lips brushing against your skin, kissing you there, slow and reverent, his breath warm as it ghosted over the curve of your ass, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he needed to show you just how much he adored you, just how much he cherished you. It made your skin pebble, the hairs on the back of your nape stand on end as you took in his love.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was low, thick with something heavy, something aching. He spread his hands over your thighs, coaxing them closer together, guiding you to squeeze tighter, the shift making your ass tilt higher, pressing back into his hips, framing the heat between your legs so perfectly it sent a violent shudder through him, “you’re going to kill me like this…”

His hands roamed, sliding up the soft, perfect curve of your backside, gripping, adjusting you exactly the way he needed to, aligning his height with yours, making sure you fit against him, making sure he could claim you completely. And God, the sight of you like this—He sighed, his head tilting forward as he crooned down, his forehead briefly pressing between your shoulder blades, his body shuddering as he breathed you in, as he let his hands stroke slow, appreciative lines over your back, over your arms, until his fingers found yours. He took them. Laced them with his. Pressed them down into the mattress, pinning you there beneath him, holding you, claiming you—not with force, but with something deeply tender, something unshakable, something that felt like pure, devotional love.

His breath fanned hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, reverent whisper, “let me love you properly…”

Zayne positioned himself, the thick, aching length of him pressing against your entrance, the heat of him heavy, throbbing, already leaking against your slick folds as he nudged forward. His breath shuddered, his chest expanding, his fingers tightening where they were still laced over yours, grounding himself, holding onto you, holding onto this moment. And then—he pushed in. The stretch was slow, deep, overwhelming, inch by inch, his cock sinking into you with a thick, deliberate glide, forcing your walls to part for him, forcing your body to take him, forcing you to feel every inch as he filled you. Your jaw dropped, lips parting in a silent gasp, your eyes fluttering back, vision blurring as the sheer fullness of him sent heat flooding through your core.

“Oh my God-…!” Your breath hitched, the words barely a whisper, barely coherent, your behind arching deeper into him as he stretched you further, the pleasure so sharp, so blinding that it stole the breath from your lungs.

And heavens, Zayne was feeling it too. Even through the haze, your eyes flickered open, catching the movement of the body mirror across the room—and there he was. His wrecked expression, the sheer pleasure contorting his face as he sank deeper, his brows furrowing, his eyes squeezing shut, his perfect teeth catching on his lower lip as he let out a low, broken groan, his entire body shuddering at the way your walls clenched tight around him, gripping him in silky, fluttering heat. The sight of him like that—so lost in you, so utterly wrecked by how you felt around him—made your body pulse around him, made your breath stutter into a gasp, made the pleasure double, stretching through every nerve. It was so much. So deep. So perfect.

Zayne let out another slow, shaky breath, his forehead dropping for a moment between your shoulder blades, his lips brushing against your damp skin as he felt you adjust to him. His hands tightened, his fingers flexing over yours, gripping so hard you saw the whiteness of his scarred knuckles, the tendons in his forearm standing out beneath his skin as he held himself still, indulging in the suffocating grip of your walls around him, in the way you squeezed down on him, pulsing in sharp, needy little flutters that sent another violent shudder through his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he breathed, his voice thick, wrecked, pressed into your shoulder as he tried to compose himself, tried to slow down, but hell, it was already too much.

You both knew this wasn’t going to last long. Not like this. Not after everything that had led to this. Not when Zayne was gripping your fingers so tightly, his entire body trembling with restraint, his cock throbbing inside you as he fought the urge to move, as he forced himself to hold still for just another second, just one more second—But then—He moved. A slow, deep, dragging withdrawal that made your entire body shudder, your walls clenching desperately to keep him, to hold onto the fullness of him, before he eased back in, pushing deeper, steadier, like he wanted you to feel every inch, like he wanted you to remember exactly how perfectly he fit inside you.

“It’s so good,” you breathed, voice breaking on a gasp, your fingers tightening beneath his, your entire body trembling as pleasure coiled inside you, thick and intense, radiating outward from where he was buried deep, where he was stretching you, filling you, “so deep…God, I missed you so much…Missed you inside of me…”

“Me too,” Zayne sighed, his forehead pressing into your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, “you get even tighter when it’s been this long…Too long…I missed you terribly.”

His hands flexed around yours, his grip tightening, his hips rolling again, another slow, deliberate thrust that made your breath stutter, that made your back arch deeper into him, that made your thighs tremble beneath the weight of his body. You saw it all in the mirror. The way his jaw tensed, the way his brows twitched in that damp furrow beneath stubborn strands of his jet-black hair, the way his eyes fluttered shut as he sank deeper, as he felt the way you held him inside you, the way your walls clung to him, fluttering with every slow, aching grind of his hips. And Zayne—Zayne was losing it.

“Zayne!” Your voice was high, breathless, your body shaking beneath him, and God, the way you said his name, the way you gasped for him like that—He snapped.

His movements shifted, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, a little faster, the slow, agonizingly deep strokes making your stomach tighten, making the pleasure coil tighter, making your entire body tremble against his.

“You’re taking me so well,” he sighed, his teeth catching on his lower lip as he felt you squeeze around him, as he felt your body react to him so perfectly, “s-so tight, so warm, so beautiful-…!”

He rolled his hips again, grinding deeper, pressing his cock against that devastating spot inside you that made your vision blur, that sent white-hot heat coursing through every inch of you.

“Damn it—Zayne!”

Your fingers clawed at the sheets, your body helpless beneath him, your thighs quivering as the pleasure built, as he drove you toward the edge again, as he owned you in a way that made your entire body burn with need.

“That’s it, doll,” he murmured into your skin, his lips dragging over your shoulder, praising you, worshiping you, his voice thick and breathless with reverence, “take me, just like that-…! I love you like this, Y/n…”

You were already so close again. Zayne barely had a moment to breathe before your voice broke through the thick, heated air between you, high and desperate, trembling with something raw, something uncontained.

“Zayne, please! I-I need you to-…!” Your words hitched, breathless, unraveling into something close to a sob as your body pressed into his, your fingers clawing at the sheets, the pleasure too much, not enough, everything at once, “harder!” You gasped, voice weak, pleading, “faster—Zayne, just—just ruin me alre-“

But your sentence never finished. Because before you could even process what was happening, before the last syllable could leave your lips, Zayne’s fingers unlaced from yours. And then—he moved. His hands left yours, and for the briefest second, for one fleeting moment, the absence of his grip sent a sharp spike of adrenaline racing through your veins, your body tensing, your breath catching as realization struck—He was about to destroy you. And he did. His hands snapped down to your hips, gripping you tight, holding you steady, and then—you remembered how strong that gentle giant actually was. He thrust forward, his hips slamming into you , the impact sending a sharp, white-hot shockwave of pleasure ripping through you. Your breath snapped, a broken, helpless cry catching in your throat as his body met yours with a force that sent your thighs quivering, your entire body jerking forward under the sheer intensity of it.

The sounds—God, the sounds—filled the room. The deep, obscene squelch of your soaked, wrecked core stretching around him. The rhythmic smack of his hips meeting you , his groin clapping against your splayed lips, sending soft ripples through your flesh with every relentless thrust. Your gasping, pleading moans, breathy and helpless, tangled between the sharp exhales of his breath, between the ragged, deep groans being pulled from his lips.

“Zayne!” You screamed his name, your voice breaking as your body arched into him, your hands clawing at the sheets, fisting them so hard your knuckles ached.

He was gone. His voice dipped into something low, something husky, something that sent goosebumps racing down your spine, “is this what you want?” His breath shuddered as he snapped his hips forward again, sinking so deep that it sent a sharp pulse of heat curling up your spine, forcing another helpless moan from your lips, “you want me to go mad with desire, don’t you?”

The way he said it—the dark edge to his voice, the reverence woven into his tone, the undeniable possession in the way his fingers tightened against your skin—made something in your stomach tighten, made your pulse race, made the pleasure peak to an unbearable, blinding level.

You nodded, frantic, desperate, shaking in his grasp, “y-yes! Yes, please!”

Zayne let out a ragged groan, his body shuddering as he felt the way you responded to him, the way you gave yourself to him so completely, without hesitation, without fear. His hands tightened, his pace brutal, unrelenting, driving into you so deeply, so perfectly, each thrust hitting that devastatingly sensitive spot inside you, sending sparks of fire rippling through your core. You couldn’t take it anymore. The unbearable weight in your belly snapped. Your body convulsed, pleasure detonating out of you in pulsing waves of liquid heat, your walls clamping down around him, gripping him so tight he groaned, his voice breaking into something desperate, something completely lost. You could feel it—how wet you were, how slick you were making him, how each relentless thrust sent another sharp splash against his hips, coating him, soaking everything, the mess between you making each impact filthy, obscene, a testament to how utterly wrecked he had made you.

He groaned, his voice barely coherent, breathless with reverence, “say my name!”

And God, that did something to you.

The pleasure, the raw reverence in his voice, the way he worshiped you as you shattered in his hands—

“Zayne!” You gasped, barely able to think past the pleasure ripping through you.

“My good girl,” he breathed, voice low, deep, wrecked, his pace never slowing, his hips still pounding into you as if he never wanted this to end, “you’re so good, darling…!”

Your mind was gone, your words dissolving into incoherent gasps, your lips parting around his name in breathless, mindless chants, moaning it like it was the only thing that existed, like it was the only thing you knew. And heavens, that broke him. He was at the point of no return. His fingers dug into your hips, his breath coming faster, more uneven, his body trembling as he felt you around him, as he felt you falling apart, as he lost himself in the heat of your body, the slick mess between you, the way your walls were still fluttering, still gripping him so tightly.

“I-I’m going to cum,” voice was shaken, strained, his hands tightening, his hips snapping forward in sharp, deep thrusts that made your vision blur, that sent another pulse of pleasure rocketing through you.

And then—Your hand reached back, grabbing at his wrist, fingers squeezing, clutching, your voice cracking on a breathless, desperate plea, “cum for me! Cum inside me!”

Zayne’s head snapped up, his eyes flickering to the mirror, locking onto your wrecked reflection, onto your pleading gaze as you begged him for it. That was it. Hearing you say it—feeling you say it—completely broke him. His entire body seized, his mind blanking, dissolving into nothing but pure, overwhelming ecstasy. His breath shattered as his hips snapped flush against you, burying himself as deep as he could go.

“Y/n!” Your name tore from his lips, breathless, drawn out like a prayer as his body gave in, as the last thread of restraint snapped and he lost himself in you.

A violent shudder racked through him as his cock throbbed, spilling deep inside you, twitching with every slow, helpless pulse of release. His muscles locked, his jaw clenched, his entire body tensed against yours as hot, thick ropes of his climax filled you, as he emptied himself completely, his mind spinning, his senses overloaded. And then—he collapsed. His chest pressed into your sweat-slicked back, his lips falling against your shoulder, his breath shuddering, uneven, warm against your damp skin. His hands trembled where they came to cover yours, holding on, like he needed you to keep him there to keep him from falling apart completely. His heart thundered against your spine, erratic, pounding so hard you could feel it, matching your own in its desperate, spent rhythm.

Zayne made the sweetest sound, then. A soft, helpless whimper slipped from his lips, fragile, barely there before it dissolved into slow, shaky panting, his breath hot and damp against the crook of your neck. Neither of you moved. Neither of you could. You stayed like that, wrapped in each other, drenched in sweat, in heat, in the heady, breathless aftermath. His body covered you, warm and heavy, his skin sticking to yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both gave into exhaustion, keeping you grounded, keeping you in the moment. Neither of you spoke. There was no need. There was only the feeling of his lips softening against your shoulder, of his hands still gripping yours, of the slow, intimate rise and fall of your bodies pressed together, existing in the same perfect space.

“I love you,” it was a whisper, barely audible, hoarse, shaken, but so deeply felt, “more than anything…”

You smiled, your eyes still closed, your fingers squeezing his as you breathed, “and I love you…”

Zayne sighed, slow and content, nuzzling into your skin, absorbing the moment, cherishing the way it felt to have you beneath him, to be so completely entangled with you. And then, finally, with a deep, shuddering inhale, he slowly pulled out, his body spent, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. You barely had time to react before he pulled you into him, rolling you into his arms, gathering you completely against his chest. A slow, sated silence stretched between you, both of you still catching your breath, still feeling the moment, still existing in the warm, intimate haze of what you had just shared. Minutes passed—long, lazy, quiet minutes where neither of you moved, where neither of you wanted to move. And God, it was so warm. So perfect.

Zayne’s fingers threaded through your damp hair, his lips pressing slow, lingering kisses to your forehead as he whispered, “let me clean you up and bring you water…”

You barely managed a response, just nodding against his chest, too blissed out to form words. It took a long moment for either of you to move, limbs heavy, breaths still slowing, but eventually, he sighed and forced himself up, trembling slightly as he dragged himself off the bed. Before stepping away, he took your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips in a soft, affectionate kiss before heading toward the bathroom. The loss of his warmth left a chill in the air, but you welcomed the moment of stillness, letting yourself sink into the mattress, still floating in the afterglow. When he returned, he was careful, warm towel in hand, his movements gentle as he wiped you down, cleaning the mess between your thighs, soothing your sensitive skin with soft, deliberate touches. He didn’t rush, didn’t say anything—just took care of you, the way he always did.

Once you were both cleaned up, he grabbed a fresh pair of briefs from his dresser, slipping them on with a slight wince, his muscles aching, his body spent. You forced yourself upright as well, and he was already there, steadying you with his hands as you stood, making sure you weren’t too shaky on your feet before guiding you toward the bathroom. While you took your time, he made his way to the kitchen, the cool air blissful against his overheated skin, finally offering relief from the burning flush still clinging to his body. He filled a glass of water, taking a long gulp before carrying another back to the bedroom for you.

When he didn’t see you, he called through the bathroom door, “I’m setting it on the counter. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you murmured, voice soft, tired.

After using the restroom, you lingered at the sink, running cool water over your hands before pressing them to your face, cooling down, trying to ease the lingering flush that still warmed your skin. You were a mess—your body tingling happily, muscles sore in the best way, your legs still unsteady beneath you. Padding back to the bedroom, you reached for the glass of water Zayne had left for you, gulping it down in deep, greedy sips, the ice-cold relief soothing the dryness in your throat, calming the heat still simmering under your skin. You made your way to the dresser, pulling open a drawer—his dresser, but half of it filled with your clothes. Fishing out a fresh pair of underwear, you slid them up your sore legs, sighing at the feel of soft cotton against your skin before heading to his closet. You didn’t even think about it before reaching for one of his many black button-ups, pulling it from the hanger and slipping it on over your shoulders. The fabric was soft, cool, hanging loose over your body, unbuttoned, draping down past your thighs in a way that felt so natural it made you smile to yourself.

But then—Zayne still hadn’t returned. You frowned slightly, wondering what was taking him so long, but then—you felt it. A quiet knowing, a flicker of amusement tugging at the edges of your exhausted mind as you turned toward the doorway, a suspicion already forming as you stepped into the hall. You yawned, stretching your sore limbs as you padded toward the kitchen, following some instinct, some pull, and when you finally reached the light—

You found him. Zayne, in nothing but his briefs, sitting on the floor in front of the fridge, the dim glow of the light spilling over his flushed skin, his back leaning against the inside of the appliance like it was the coolest, most relieving thing in the world. And in his hand? A fork. And in the other? The pastry you had bought him earlier. Your lips parted slightly in pure delight at the sight—Zayne, so composed, so controlled in every other aspect of his life, now sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, indulging in his late-night craving like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. His cheeks were still flushed, his damp hair mussed from your fingers, his chest rising and falling in slow, sated breaths as he brought another bite to his mouth, eyes momentarily blissed out.

He looked like he was in heaven. The sight was so adorably ridiculous, so completely unlike the brilliant, highly esteemed cardiac surgeon the rest of the world saw, that you couldn’t help it—You laughed, a soft, breathy chuckle that immediately caught his attention. Zayne blinked up at you, mid-bite, fork still raised, his pupils heavy with exhaustion, but his lips curled slightly at the corners, like he knew exactly why you were laughing.

Without a word, you made your way over, sinking onto the cool tile floor beside him, letting the chill of it soothe your overheated skin. He didn’t move at first, just let his eyes drift over you, taking in the way his own shirt draped over your body, the lazy, satisfied warmth in your gaze, the quiet fondness in your smile. Then, after another bite, he carefully stabbed the fork into the pastry, lifting it toward you. Wordlessly. An offering. An invitation.

And as you leaned in, lips parting to take the bite he fed you, your fingers lightly brushing against his scarred forearm—You couldn’t help but think, God, I hope to marry this man one day.

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dhampling · 1 year ago

Text

the gate girl!dadstarion, 1.5k

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail. - astarion is a school-gate dilf on his first pick-up adventure with you. wc: 1.5k a/n: dadstarion fridays! wooooo! hope you enjoy - love, dal x

“Come on. We’ll be late.”

Your hand meets his with a toothy grin.

Astarion teeters a little.

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too.

He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail.

Weeks spent designing the overcoat now covering his clothes - almost feltish in texture, a deep blue with gentle golden threading. Brass buttons. The smallest red ribbon detailing in the seams. The fit is immaculate, despite the fact he had to take his own measurements. The gloves match beautifully, just as he’d intended.

Shoes polished within an inch of their lives. Shirt and trousers pressed to perfection. Hair neatly coiffed with assistance from your gentle hands.

He grimaces.

“She’s going to think I’m weird.”

“Is this for her, or you?’

He takes a moment. Examines both sides of his glove with a flex. Sniffs pointedly.

‘She’s not going to think you’re any weirder than she already does. She’s your little freak.” You grab at his sides playfully and he shimmies around your clutches, breaking into a timid laugh.

The dark skies of Deepwinter are primed to allow Astarion his first ever school pick-up.

He hasn’t slept, you know that. Bag in hand holding the gift he’d spent the short day hidden away working on. Your matching scarves around your necks. The biting chill beyond the threshold of your hearth.

Eyes round in a contemplative lax as his hand rests atop the door handle.

“I’m being stupid, aren’t I?”

Your eyes roll fondly into your skull.

“Yes. Now, get moving.”

It takes you enclosing your hand in his for the door to open, immediately facing a brutal fracas of ice-cold winds lapping at your face.

“How in any realm is a child expected to walk home in this? Ridiculous!” He shuffles from foot to foot as he chunters while you lock the door and pocket the key, looking up to the stars.

“With a coat. And gloves. And…’

You point to the bag in his hand as you interlink your arms.

‘A scarf.’

Astarion gives a small smile, pressing a chaste kiss to your head.

‘Come on, now. We might get there in time to see her out the door.”

The walk there isn’t the leisurely gander Astarion had dreamt of when he’d thought of this moment.

In his head it was always late summer. Sunblushed.

And yet as you turn your head to him in your giddy half-canter; cheeks flush and breath clouding the space around your perfect head, he can’t believe he ever imagined it any other way.

The stars overhead are familiar as they always have been. The slightest slippy tread of frost on the cobble. Windows around you lit with candles and the loud taverns you pass en-route seem well hunkered-down.

He finds himself pulling you closer with each corner turned, stumbling to keep with your gait.

And then, there it is.

A huddle of parents waiting out in the cold, hands rubbing together; a low hum of chatter. School gates still closed. When you greet some of them with familiarity - one or two even getting a hug as you make your way to your preferred circle - and introduce him as your husband, his heart swells.

He didn’t realise you were friends with these people. That these fellow parents could be people to have anything in common with in the first place. Astarion is hardly the enigma he used to be within the city walls and they know of him. They know you’re with him.

But none have ever seen him in the flesh.

There’s a minute where he ponders what they think of him. How you’d described him, how they may have looked at your daughter under the orange gloaming light of Leaffall and wondered which features of hers came first from him as opposed to you. How they’d pieced him together in their minds.

He feels a little out of place as you chatter - hyper aware of each stolen glance in his direction. The whites of new eyes flickering in the darkness.

It isn’t often he meets new people anymore. Even his client roster is exclusive.

“Why would I tell you how good-looking he is when he isn’t even here to hear it?”

He tunes back in. They all look, you included.

“Hm?”

“Marta-’

A faux accusatory glance on your face as you look over to the human who - Astarion presumes - is Marta.

‘Asked why I hadn’t told the group just how attractive you are.”

The way the most blinding smile breaks over your ruddied cheeks. He melts behind a scoff.

“Actually darling, Marta has a point. I’m hurt, frankly.”

Gods. They’re all laughing. Your gaggle of school-gate friends and he has them laughing.

“No, it’s just dark. See him by light. Then you’ll change your minds.”

You huddle closer despite the brazen lie and the group laughs away. He throws in a small chuckle for good measure and presses a kiss to your head once more.

They’re all relatively harmless, he decides.

What do school gate friends do? Why have you never invited them over for wine or something?

“I mean - Astarion, what do you think?”

“Hm?”

“They’re showing a rather keen interest to come over one evening for dinner. Inconspicuous, I’m sure.”

He looks around warily. Can they read his mind? Is someone here a weird school gate mind reader freak? What the fuck?

Your eyes narrow at Marta in jest.

Oh.

If you’re even showing the slightest hint at wanting the doting husband, the doting husband he will give you. Freely and willingly. Far too easily. Naturally.

“Oh! Whatever you want, my love. Anything.”

Astarion takes your head in his hands and brings you close for a warm kiss, eyes softening as he holds you in place. A gentle smile against the harsh wind.

“What’s in the bag?” Another asks in a jarring fettle. Your head whips round. He answers softly.

“I- I made the little one a scarf.”

A coo arises from those huddled around the two of you.

“He’s a tailor. A good one, too. Really good.”

You nod with a smile, looking at him. You’re mid-cycle and the idea of your daughter spotting him with those big eyes makes you a bit weak.

A saccharine voice from somewhere in the mix - “He’s immaculate, honey. I’m a little jealous?”

If he can blush, Astarion feels one coming on. This feels staged.

“He can’t take his shoes off without kicking them up the wall. Or catch spiders.”

As you resume your quiet chatter amongst the group, Astarion catches the door open in the near distance and a soft amber glow pouring from it from the corner of his eye.

It’s a trance. He looks over the heads obscuring his view, the tips of his toes touching the ends of his pristine shoes.

And there she is.

Absolutely perfect. Small, searching the crowd for the parent she knows will be here.

Then she sees him.

It’s not difficult from afar, even in the dark - she recognises the shock of white hair anywhere - and the look of sheer confusion painted on her face shifts to unfettered joy in seconds.

Gods. She’s running. Tiny legs, bag flailing in her hand. Shouting-

“DADDY!”

As she hurtles towards him, he realises he’s never seen her run like this. She can’t run like this in the house. It’d be enough to make him sad if he weren’t so wholly elated.

He crouches just in time for her to barrel into his open arms.

The way he cups the back of her head is as if he hasn’t seen her in years, spinning her as he stands and holds her at his hip. She’s babbling something wicked and all of it sounds like utter nonsense and he’s so besotted it doesn’t even matter.

His little girl, out in the world. Being a person.

And it’s him that she chooses to run to.

“Charming! Hello love!” You shuffle closer and plant a large kiss on the back of her head, taking the bags from her hand and hoisting them up over your back in a routine twirl.

You take Astarion’s hint of a glance toward his bag and roll your eyes fondly, feeling for the scarf and slipping it back into his hand.

“My little darling! Hello! I have something for you - close your eyes.”

He haphazardly wraps the scarf around her neck with one hand as she bristles against his hip, wiggling her shoulders in some impromptu happy dance.

“Look now! You match us!” He exclaims.

She opens her eyes and squeals with glee you haven’t seen at the school gate before, ever.

And true to his word, the scarf wholly matches both of yours. Embroidered with small golden stars on navy fabric. Her name in some immaculate loopy hand. Far too big for her at present, but warm on this coldest of evenings.

“I love it daddy. I want another one.” She nods acutely and smatters his face in small kisses.

As you look to Astarion, he raises both brows in amusement at her request. She tucks her head in under his chin.

“Come along now. Let’s get you warm by the fire.”

✦

#my writing #astarion x reader #dadstarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #dadstarion fridays #tailor dadstarion

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sheerfreesia007 · 9 months ago

Text

Spoil Me

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader

Word count: 6,074

Content warnings: Arranged Marriage, Fluff, suggestive

Summary: You and Seungmin have been committed to an arranged marriage together since before either one of you were born. When the two of you finally tie the knot it takes a surprisingly short amount of time to grow comfortable with each other. But Seungmin finds that even though he’s been living on his own for years now he rather likes it when you spoil him.

Part Two: Spoiled Rotten

The soft clinking of silverware is the background noise of your dinner as you sit in the cozy family run restaurant cutting a piece of chicken before raising it to your mouth. Slowly chewing your food your eyes dart over to your dining companion and you can’t help but let your eyes dart over his stoic features. As your eyes move along him you notice how much he’s changed over the years since you’ve known him and you can’t help but feel your heart stutter in your chest. His dark black hair is styled in a side part and there is a section of his hair falling over his eyes as he looked down at his plate while he cut into his dinner, it made your fingers itch to reach across the table and brush it out of his eyes. He was dressed in a clean white pressed button up shirt that he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows with a dark tie that complimented his skin tone perfectly, the simplicity of his attire made your stomach heat with desire for him.

Every Friday night ever since you were a teenager you had a standing dinner date with Kim Seungmin, your betrothed. The two of you were committed to an arranged marriage that had been set up by both of your grandfathers years ago before either one of you had been born. It was a simple affair arranged by two best friends who had only wanted to see their families connected in a way that would last for generations. When you had been younger and just introduced to the idea of having your husband already picked out for you it had rubbed you the wrong way and made you feel stifled that you couldn’t make that choice on your own. But as your mothers had coordinated meetings between the two of you, your feelings on the matter had slowly morphed into one of understanding and then further into total acceptance of your fate.

Kim Seungmin was ever the perfect gentleman whenever he was around you. Always so polite and making sure that you were alright in every instance. He may be more on the quieter side, almost aloof and distant, but that was because he was so focused on his role in his family’s company. He was placed in a powerful position in the company and was in charge of a large department within the company. It was a position of pride for him and he took his role very seriously, which is why he was so business minded.

While he was so stoic and solemn you always made up for that with your boisterous urge to talk, and at times you thought that you got on his nerves with your penchant for being a chatterbox he never actually voiced that or made you feel insecure about it. Just like now when you feel the itch in your throat to fill the air with words you bite your tongue trying to curb the desire. You just loved talking to him and telling him about things in your day while learning everything about him, every little detail that you were able to pull from him made your heart swell with affection for him. Because he was so quiet it was almost like a game to you to be able to learn a new detail about him and his life before the two of you tied the knot.

“So do you have any preferences for flowers or colors for the wedding scheme?” you asked curiously as you cut another piece of chicken on your plate. Your eyes darted up to see him lift his head as his eyebrows furrowed softly before shaking his head.

“No, I trust that you have an idea of how you’d like our wedding to look.” he said softly and you smiled brightly at him before nodding your head.

“Yes, but I don’t want it to just be all my ideas. If you have any preferences, please let me know. It’s our wedding not just mine.” you said earnestly and Seungmin blinked at you for a quiet moment before his neck flushed slightly at your emphasis on the word our. He quickly shook his head before ducking it back down towards his plate making you smile softly at his awkward gestures.

“No, I don’t have any preferences. I know you’ll do a good job no matter what you choose. You’re better at being in charge of those things.” he said softly and you nearly preened with his soft spoken praise.

“Thank you.” you said happily and watched as Seungmin nodded his head quickly at you as his flush reached further up his neck to his cheeks. You grinned affectionately at him before biting into your food and chewing slowly, ever since your teenage years you knew you had some sort of affect on Seungmin he had never been that good at hiding his reactions to you even though he refused to voice his feelings for you. And you lived to see him affected by you, you had once gotten him so flustered that he had blushed as red as a tomato and had stumbled over his words. But while you loved affecting him in this way you knew that it made him feel awkward and uncomfortable so you didn’t push his boundaries too much or too often.

“Do you need anything from me for the wedding? Do we need to adjust the budget for the wedding?” he asked suddenly as he lifted his head slightly and his eyes found yours that were already looking back at him causing him to flush slightly more under your attention.

“No, we're still well within budget for the wedding. Right now I’m working with the wedding planner to run through the schedule with all the vendors once more before it’s all locked in. Your mother has been a huge help, she’s been able to keep me focused on task with all of the things I have to keep track of. I’ll have to send her something to show my gratitude for all her help lately.” you begin to ramble to him and Seungmin smiles softly as he nods his head at your words.

“You always were thoughtful when it came to other people’s help.” he said softly and you suddenly come to halt in your words as you blink at him with wide eyes. Seungmin furrows his brow slightly at your sudden stop before looking over to you again. “What?” he asked softly, you could see the worry starting to cloud his face as he watched you stare at him stunned.

“I just didn’t think you’d notice something like that about me.” you said softly as a blush creeps up your neck at his perceptive nature before you grin softly to yourself and begin cutting another piece of chicken for yourself.

“I’m not that clueless.” Seungmin gripes out softly and you burst out into surprised laughter at his words. You shake your head as laughter falls from your lips and your eyes crinkle with delight at his indignation while your hand comes up to wave in front of your face. Seungmin sits across from you, eyeing you quietly with a raised eyebrow before you slowly calm yourself.

“You’re the least clueless person I know.” you tell him honestly before grinning softly at him with affection. “But you’re so business minded and focused that I’m surprised you noticed something as trivial about me as me being thoughtful to others.” you explain to him kindly and he frowns softly at your confession.

“I always notice that stuff about you.” he says matter of factly and your heart stutters in your chest at his admission before you feel your stomach start to flutter with butterflies. You are so hopelessly in love with this man and have been ever since you came to terms with your arranged marriage, over the years your love and affection for him has grown into a soft warming love that fills you with some much happiness. Seungmin isn’t often affectionate with you but when he does have those rare moments you cherish them as if you’ll never have them again.

“What else do you notice about me?” you ask slightly breathless and Seungmin’s eyes focus sharply on your mouth for a second before darting up to your eyes causing your butterflies to begin fluttering like crazy. But he just shakes his head as his lips pull to the side in a lopsided smirk as his eyes sparkle at you knowingly.

“You’re teasing me.” he says softly and you adamantly shake your head at him.

“I’m not. I’m curious to see what you notice about me.” you insist but he shakes his head some more and you know he won’t answer you. Feeling slightly dejected you nod your head before shrugging your shoulders slightly trying to come off as unbothered by his side step of the question. You are so desperate and eager for any glimpse of affection from him that you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from begging him. “What kind of gift do you think your mother would enjoy?” You ask then effectively steering the conversation away from yourself. You like talking with Seungmin but you know that he is a stoic person who doesn’t like to show much emotion. You’ve known this your whole life after meeting him for the first time, why should it bother you now that he won’t share how he views you? You don’t notice Seungmin’s sharp eyes watching you quietly as he takes in your now more subdued attitude change, his lips twisting on his face in indecisiveness for a moment before sighing softly to himself.

*-*-*-*

The morning of the wedding comes all too quickly for Seungmin and he finds himself being swept up into the chaos of getting ready for the big day. This day has been coming for a long time and he knows that you’ve been hard at work planning it and making sure that it all went according to plan. Oftentimes during your Friday night dinners the past couple of weeks you would grow quiet to the point that he would worry about you. Your quiet was something completely out of the norm for him to experience, he was usually so used to you filling the air with chatter. But recently you had grown subdued and quiet not voicing much about your plans and work, he had realized that he had come to miss your nonstop chatter.

He wonders idly how you’re managing with the stress of your wedding day since he knows it’s much more stressful for the bride. He hopes that you’re able to find some moments of quiet and peace during your morning to enjoy it. From what he had observed his mother talking about with his father about the wedding during family dinners you had taken on all of the tasks of finding appropriate vendors for every aspect of the wedding and had only delegated certain tasks to the wedding planner. His mother had often worried that you were taking on too much of the work while actually working at your corporate position. Seungmin was reminded of that one dinner where you had asked him what he would prefer to have at your wedding and wondered quietly if that had been your quiet request for help from him.

Sighing softly, Seungmin focused his eyes on his mother as she stepped in front of him and began to slip his russet orange tie, paired nicely with his midnight blue tuxedo, around his neck before expertly tying it in an elaborate knot. When she slid it higher up his chest to lay perfectly under his collar she looked up at him with a beaming smile on her face. Her make up was done perfectly to showcase her beauty and he wondered what make up look you had chosen for the day. He knew whatever you had chosen would only highlight your beauty and make you stand out as the most beautiful woman in attendance. You were always so well poised and perfectly put together that it amazed him whenever you broke away from that perfectly curated image, he loved when he would get to see those little glimpses into your character. It made him feel closer to you as if you were opening up to him and allowing him to see behind the mask that you erected for the public eye.

The two of you were always expected to represent your family in such a perfect way that oftentimes it would seem almost statuesque. But you always managed to pull him back from that mind numbing headspace that he would often fall into whenever he was thrust into the public, it was usually just you scrunching your nose at him playfully or winking at him teasingly. Or even that habit you have of needing to fill the quiet with words, it had always been a habit of yours and an almost urge that you couldn’t stop even when you were kids. Every once in a while it would be a bit too overwhelming for him but oftentimes he enjoyed your chatter, your voice was so pleasant to listen to and normally would drive away any of his frustrations from the day or any of the worries that he had. He had come to expect to listen to your voice whenever you were together and the few times that you were quiet were when he worried about you.

“You look so handsome.” his mother said softly as her hand came to brush some of his hair out of his eyes.

“Thank you.” he answered softly before smiling at her. “How is she? Have you gone to see her?” he asked quietly and blushed softly when his mother’s smile widened on her face.

“She’s a little stressed but she’s managing just fine. I think once it all starts happening then she’ll be able to relax and enjoy herself. It’s all turned out so beautiful.” his mother told him. Seungmin frowned softly at her words, his worry starting to rise for you. “Don’t worry, once she sees you she’ll be able to enjoy it all.” she reassured him with a soft pat of her hand to his bicep. Seungmin took a breath and slowly exhaled it while puffing out his cheeks and his mother smiled softly at him.

*-*-*-*

His mother had been right, everything has turned out beautiful. Seungmin stands at the altar with his best friend Jeongin standing next to him as they wait for your entrance. Seungmin can’t help but look around at all the decorations that hung around the inside of the church. There’s flowers in a pretty color scheme of russet orange, dark blue with light browns and creamy whites that manage to tie in the fall themed wedding that you had planned. There’s even denim blue and russet orange gauzy material draped along the pews in pretty loops and bows that catch his attention. It’s all done so simply that he can’t help but feel calmed by it all.

As the music suddenly picks up his eyes dart towards the end of the long aisle and his breath stutters in his lungs when he spots you. You’re absolutely beaming in a pretty long sleeved lace wedding gown that accentuates your body and leaves his heart racing. You’re not showing much skin besides at your collar bones where the neckline of your dress dips down just below them, but just that peek of skin has his breath coming out in soft pants and makes his heart climb up his throat. Jeongin nudges him and Seungmin clears his throat softly before slightly shaking his head. You duck your head as a pretty blush blossoms on your face while your eyes sparkle with delight at catching his reaction to your appearance.

When you finally reach him at the altar he bows deeply to your father before accepting your hand from him and tucking you into his side quickly before guiding you to where the priest is waiting for the two of you. The ceremony rushes past him in a blur of movement and tradition until the vows are ready to be read, panic suddenly consumes him and he looks panicked at Jeongin who’s standing next to him with a slightly bored look on his face. He forgot to write out his vows. Turning to you he grips your hands gently in his and feels the panic and regret start to rise up inside him like bile that’s waiting to spew from his mouth.

But as the panic is starting to take control of his body there’s something slipped into his hands and he looks down to see you smiling softly at him before winking cheekily at him. He takes the slip of paper that you had slid into his hand and turns it over to see a few sweet lines written in your neat handwriting and relieved twinged guilt grips him as his eyes dart up to your own. You had written out vows for him already knowing that he would be too distracted by his work to remember to do this. Guilt grips him tightly in silence and he promises to do something nice for you in return.

You nod once and he begins to recite the soft words that you had written out for him, the words soft sweet affirmations that he’d be true to you without any doubt in his heart. They were words that he could see himself actually confessing to you if he had remembered to write out his own vows, but once again you were being thoughtful and taking care of him. He was surprised by how well you knew him to be able to write something in his own voice and he’s gripped once more with guilt of not knowing you as well as you know him.

His eyes darted to you periodically as he recited the vows and watched as you smiled sweetly as your eyes slid closed letting yourself listen to the words without any distractions. He wondered if you were trying to imagine that he had written these words himself or if you just wanted to hear the soft words in his voice. And when he finished reciting the vows he could feel his heart stutter in his chest with affection for your thoughtful nature, he didn’t realize he was going to move until he lunged forward and cupped your face before pressing his lips to yours causing you to gasp loudly as the guests all gasped as well at his bold move. When he let you go and pulled away you were blinking up at him owlishly for a few quiet moments with your lips still pursed causing him to smirk softly at you before your face broke out into a dazzling smile.

After the reproving stare from the priest, which had caused you both to chuckle softly at Seungmin’s actions, it was time for your vows and Seungmin couldn’t help but mirror your action of closing his eyes and listening to your sweet voice promise to always uphold him above all else in your heart, mind, body and soul. Seungmin had felt the truth within every word that you spoke in your vows and while he knew that he wasn’t the most romantic man he silently vowed to always take care of you and cherish you.

Once everything was done and over and the priest had allowed him to kiss you after pronouncing you husband and wife, Seungmin couldn’t help himself. The first kiss he had stolen but this one was deliberate and he boldly slipped his hand into your hair to tilt your head to the side as his mouth captured yours once more. The first taste he had gotten wasn’t enough for him and he hummed softly against your lips now in pleasure. He hoped to always be able to find pleasure in your presence like this.

*-*-*-*

A week after your honeymoon, found both you and Seungmin comfortably moving all of your packed boxes into his luxury apartment. You had both decided that since his apartment was located much closer to his family’s company that it would just be easier for you to move in with him and not the other way around. Since you would be transferring into a position in the Kim’s family company it made more sense for you to live with Seungmin closer to the company.

You huffed softly as you set the last packed box down on the living room floor and watched as Seungmin set his box down as well before flopping tiredly down onto the couch. He exhaled heavily causing you to chuckle softly at him before quickly rushing over to flop against him. His loud groan at your weight landing on him made you grin and snuggle closer into his side while his arms wrapped tiredly around your body.

”So do we actually have to unpack all of it today?” He whined softly at you and flinched slightly as his nose dragged along your neck. “I know at least five better things to do with our time than unpacking.” He teased huskily to you as a blush darkened your cheeks.

”You've been insatiable since we got married.” You teased him softly as you quickly pecked his lips as they pouted prettily at you.

”My wife is pretty, I can't help it.” He grumbled out softly as he pouted his lips further trying to entice you. Your body heated with love for him as you pressed your lips firmly against his and he grunted softly before shifting to hover over you as his lips deepened the kiss. “So can I convince you to unpack later?” He asked softly.

”I have my first day of work tomorrow. I should really get the unpacking done now.” You said softly with regret and Seungmin quickly shook his head at your words as his lips trailed down your neck slowly.

”It can wait, I want to hold you first.” He whispered softly against your neck. “Let me give you a tour of the apartment.” He said sultrily while nipping at your neck. You chuckled softly at his words before smirking softly at him.

”You’re just going to give me a tour of the bedroom.” You said knowingly and his eyes sparkled delightedly at you causing you to chuckle at him.

”At least you’re not unaware.” He teased as he scooped you up into his arms and carried you down the hallway while sucking dark marks into your neck.

*-*-*-*

“What is this?” You asked with a slight curl of your lip as you pulled out an old container of take out from the fridge and tossed it into the garbage can without opening it. Seungmin sat at the kitchen island while watching you with quiet eyes, it was the weekend after your first week of work at the Kim family company and you had told Seungmin that you couldn’t live off take out for the rest of your life.

”Food.” He answered you with a shrug of his shoulders before you huffed at him while shaking your head.

”Seungmin there’s nothing in her but take out containers.” You said softly as your eyes widened while you took in his nearly empty fridge. Walking over to you he wrapped his arms around your waist and tried to close the fridge so that you didn’t judge him anymore. You were stronger though as you quickly pulled out the rest of the take out containers and handed them to him to throw out.

“I don’t know how to cook.” He grumbled out softly after tossing the containers and moving back over to your side. You turned to face him before smiling softly, you reached up to cup his face and pulled him down slightly to you before pressing a soft kiss to his lips that he quickly reciprocated hoping to distract you.

”C’mon let’s go to the grocery store baby. I’ll cook for you from now on. Make sure you’ve got a healthy diet.” You cooed at him and Seungmin felt his cheeks heat with slight embarrassment.

”Don’t tease.” He grumbled softly and you grinned up at him before kissing him deeply, effectively stealing his breath and embarrassment from him.

”I would never.” You gasped out softly. “My former bachelor.” You teased with a wide grin before dancing out of his reach as he moved to swat your ass.

”Get back here wife.” He said darkly as his eyes heated with a sultry look directed at you as you laughed brightly at him while grabbing his car keys and tossing them at him.

“C’mon former bachelor, let’s go.” You teased over your shoulder at him with a wink and Seungmin growled low in his throat before stalking after you.

*-*-*-*

Seungmin stared at the large sleek looking coffee machine with a raised eyebrow as you eagerly bounced in your place next to him. His eyes darted from you back to the machine with a tilt of his head as confusion began to fill him. He knew you didn’t drink coffee, preferring to drink tea so he wasn’t too sure why you would buy such a fancy coffee machine.

”You don’t drink coffee.” He says softly trying not to sound so ungrateful or confused, but when your face softens as you turn to face him he can’t help but feel his heart stutter in his chest.

“I don’t, but you do.” You say excitedly and Seungmin can’t stop the smile forming on his face as you let him know that you’ve remembered that tidbit about him. “I’m going to learn how to make an iced americano better than your favorite coffeehouse.” You tell him determinedly and he chuckles softly at the sure look on your face as he wraps his arms around your waist tugging you into his side while burying his face into your neck to hide his smile. “Already cook all your meals might as well make your coffee for you too.” You tease him and growls softly into your neck before nipping it softly causing you to yelp delightedly.

”Keep it up, wife.” He grumbles into your neck and smirks when he feels your body melt against his. “You like when I call you that huh?” He asks teasingly, enjoying the turn of events now.

”A little too much.” You confess softly on a gasp and he smirks deliciously against your neck. He begins to guide you out of the kitchen as you try to weakly stop him but when he nips once more at your neck you instantly melt against him.

”C’mon wife, lunch and coffee can wait for a moment. I need to show you something in the bedroom.” He says sultrily against your ear and he feels his heart stutter with delight in his chest again when you shiver against him. He managed to distract you enough until it was nearly dinner time and he promised to try your iced americano tomorrow morning.

*-*-*-*

Seungmin frowned as he heard the voices of his department employees just outside his office by his assistants desk. Standing from his desk he walked over to the door and leaned against the doorframe while crossing his arms over his chest. He smirked softly when he spotted you dressed in your work outfit holding a tray of chocolate chip cookies as his employees greedily took cookies.

”What’s this?” He asked bemused and you looked over at him with a grin on your face as your eyes crinkled softly at him.

”Cookies.” You say happily as you show him the half empty tray with a proud grin. Seungmin smirks softly as he scoffs softly before walking over to your side. He peers at the tray before grabbing a cookie and taking a bite out of it as he smirks at you.

”Delicious.” He says softly and watches delightedly as your cheeks flush prettily.

”Your wife is a great baker!” Comes praise from one of his employees and Seungmin hums softly and he finishes chewing the cookie before wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you closer into his side.

”She’s a great cook.” Seungmin proudly tells his employees who all smile knowingly at him.

”Spoiled rotten.” Gripes out one of the employees and you burst out into happy laughter as you turn your face into Seungmin’s shoulder.

”I can’t help but spoil him. It’s my job.” You say with a cheeky grin that has Seungmin puffing his chest with pride.

”Be jealous.” He snips out and you laugh softly at his words while shaking your head at him.

”Ignore him.” You tell his employees and Seungmin pouts exaggeratedly at you. “I’ll make you guys more cookies and bring them around more often.” You tell them and they all cheer while Seungmin pouts at you. He then takes the cookie tray from you before setting it down on his assistant’s desk and guiding you into his office. When he shuts the door behind the both of you the jeers from his employees make you blush softly but Seungmin pays them no mind as he wraps his arms around you tightly and pulls you close.

”I missed you today.” He coos softly at you and you sigh as his fingers card through your hair and tilt your head back to stare up at him.

”Missed you too.” You whisper back at him and he grins before capturing your lips while humming softly.

”How much?” He asks sultrily as he backs you up to lean against his desk and you squeak softly as you feel his body press flush against yours.

”So much.” You whisper before sighing against his mouth dreamily. “I have to get back to my department though. I just meant to bring cookies for you and your department.” You tell him softly and he whines quietly against your mouth.

”Don’t go yet.” He whispers and you hum softly as your lips move against each other. “Just a little longer, please.” He said softly and you smiled softly at him before kissing his once more.

”Just for a little longer.” You promised softly, causing him to hum in delight.

*-*-*-*

The next morning Seungmin frowns darkly as his cell phone alarm blares loudly on his end table. Turning his head to bury it further into his pillow he groans softly and tries to get away from the offending noise. As he blinks his eyes open he frowns even more as realizes that his alarm had woken up instead of the smell of your cooking or your soft humming along to your favorite song.

Just then his alarm shuts off and his cell phone begins to ring with your ringtone, he frowns deeper before blindly reaching over to grab his cell phone and answer it.

”Good morning handsome.” You coo at him in a tired tone which causes his eyebrows to furrow at the tone and the fact that you’re calling him.

”Good morning sweetheart, where are you?” He asks in a soft raspy voice as he slowly wakes up from his sleep.

”I had to go into work earlier because of a new project. Remember, I told you last night at dinner?” You reminded him and Seungmin grunted softly as he rolled to sit up in bed.

”I was a little distracted last night.” He grumbled softly and you laughed teasingly at him before cooing softly as he rolled his eyes at your antics.

”What’s the matter handsome? Did your wife give it to you too good last night?” You tease him softly and Seungmin’s cheeks heatedly in memory at everything you two did last night.

”Watch it or I’ll come find you at work and give it to you just as good.” He grumbled out and you chuckled softly at him.

”You wouldn’t dare.” You teased and he smirked softly at you through the phone.

”What do you think the whole point of having my own office for is?” He asked darkly and heard your breath catch in your throat causing him him to smirk softly.

”Alright, alright. Anyway I wanted to greet you good morning and let you know that your breakfast is waiting for you in the oven and your iced americano is on the counter with your lunchbox.” You told him sweetly and Seungmin smiled softly at the knowledge that even when you weren’t able to be home with him you were still taking care of him.

”You take such good care of me.” He cooed softly at you and you chuckled softly before coughing tiredly.

”Well someone’s got to.” You grumble out and he laughs delightedly at your words. “I gotta get back to work. I love you, I'll see you at dinner tonight.” You say to him and he quickly responds knowing that you needed to get back to work.

”I love you too sweetheart. I’ll see you tonight.” He says softly feeling slightly dejected that you weren’t here to have breakfast with him but the phone call would have to do to hold him over until dinner tonight.

*-*-*-*

When Seungmin gets home that night he tiredly slips out of his work shoes before stepping into his house slippers and setting his briefcase down by the door and undoing his tie. He’s missed you all day today and he’s so eager to finally get to see you, his body and mind craving your presence after your absence. But as he walks further into the apartment he frowns softly as he notices that he can’t smell any food cooking and the kitchen is awfully quiet from your normal favorite music playing over your speakers.

”Sweetheart?” He calls worriedly as he moves through the living room to the kitchen to see what you were doing before he hears a soft low groan from the couch. Turning he finds you splayed out on the couch cuddled up against the pillows as a fluffy blanket is covering you completely. He walks over slowly before crouching down in front of you, he smiles softly and reaches forward to brush your hair out of your face to see your peacefully sleeping face. “Aww sweetheart.” He coos softly at you causing your eyes to blearily blink up at him.

Your eyes are bloodshot and your face is clouded with sleep making his heart clench with affection as he stares at you. You’re so pretty with your face swollen from resting against the pillows while your lips smack softly against each other. You groan loudly before a loud cough rings out into the air and Seungmin watches quietly as you frown before tucking your head back into the pillows.

”Are you okay sweetheart? Starting to feel sick?” He asks softly while running his fingers through your hair to comfort you.

”I think I’ve got a cold. Might’ve been running ragged lately.” You rasp out softly to him and Seungmin frowns softly before he quickly wraps his arms around you and scoops you up to cradle you against his chest. “Seungmin!” You cry out softly as you cuddle closer into his chest.

”I’ve got you, don't worry. Let’s get you into bed and I’ll make a call to your supervisor letting them know you’ll be out for the rest of the week while I nurse you back to health.” He says determinedly and you gasp at his words.

”Nurse me back to health?” You ask bewildered and he looks down at you with a furrowed brow.

”Duh sweetheart, can’t have my wife sick and still taking care of me and her job.” He said matter of factly as he walks towards your bedroom. “It’s my turn to take care of you now. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll make sure you have plenty of medicine, I’ll ask my mom for her soup recipe, and I’ll keep you well rested in bed the whole time.” He assures you. He smiles proudly as he watches you melt into his arms with a tired sigh and a sweet loving smile on your face.

”You spoil me.” You tease him softly and he grins while shaking his head at you.

”It’s my job.” He responds softly before he enters your bedroom holding you close to his chest as he presses a soft kiss to your temple.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin

#my writing #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin #kim seungmim

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